Ten years ago...

On the 24th of September, it will be exactly ten years of me living in the United States of America. And although I consider myself very much a "matter of fact" person, those "mile stone"- dates always give reason to think and thank.
I am one of the thousands of young artists who moved to NY "for a year" that never ended; where one thing lead to the next, and who suddenly found himself more at home in a foreign country than in his original home.
I have learned a lot about myself and about life by taking this rather risky step in 1998. I went through a lot of great times, but also through a lot of hard times, and I wonder if I could do it all again today. Honestly... I don't think so. There is a reason why people have to be extremely young to do certain things, and looking back it is this youth and fearlessness that is responsible for my not giving up.
I knew I was in for quite the adventure, when on my way from the airport to the place I was staying at (the apartment of a friend's friend, who graciously took me in and shared her place with me) my cab got into a car crash. My head banged against the window, and I actually blacked out for a moment. When I came to, a cop opened the back door, asked me if I was OK, and after learning that I just moved to NY said: "what a welcome!!!".
I later went through periods without knowing where I would spend the night; periods where I had no money, and my belongings were scattered through several friends' places. I went through times where I would have wanted to just go back home, but didn't allow myself to give up.
Yes... I became an adult in this country. I learned about the importance of being proud of who you are and where you are and what you do. Manolo and I were in NY on 9/11, and saw the city and her people go through tragedy, and I saw myself get more and more attached to the place that had such a big influence on who I have become. I started to understand the concept of patriotism - a concept that is foreign to the average German. We are taught in school and by our families that our bad history does not allow us to be proud of who we are. And until I saw with my own eyes how strong the American belief in their country, their rights and their freedom is, I never even understood how amazing this pride can be. How important it is to feel that way about one's roots. How empowering it is, and how strong it can make an individual and a country. Feeling this power all around me has made me want to be a part of it. Just seeing how the sound of the "American Anthem" makes the eyes of an American light up. I am not sure if this is obvious to the ones who are born and raised in the middle of it all, but to me it is wonderful.
I love being here... (despite the fact that for eight of my ten years a rather unfortunate little guy was living in the White House.)
Ten years ago...; I guess today - ten years ago - my flight was already booked; I probably started putting some stuff in my over sized suitcase; I probably said "good bye" to some people that I wouldn't see before my departure; I probably said "yes... I am sure" a thousand times to my mom who still hoped I would change my mind.
It is interesting to me how everything BIG that happens in life is always a result of taking risks. There are all these moments when we choose to do something that might either break our backs, or get us to a better place in life. Why is that? Is it the universe's way of "testing" how much we are willing to give for our goals?
I don't know; but this is an interesting time for me... once again. A time of change and a time of jumping without knowing how broken or strong I will be once I land. But what I do know is that I am in the right place and that I am proud of being a part of America.
Did I ever mention that at the age of twelve I would tell people that one day I will live in the USA? Isn't that strange? Before I spoke a word of English (except for the lyrics to "I wanna dance with somebody"). Come to think of it... I think at that time I just wanted to come here to be closer to Whitney Houston. And hey... she was born in Newark; Trenton is a pretty close shot!!!???

Like father, like Shih- Tzu

It amazes me to look at our two dogs, and to find just how different they are from one another. Not too long ago it occurred to me that both their personalities are a lot like Manolo and I. Although both of them are somewhat equally attached to the both of us, it is certainly clear that Kitry is closer to Manolo, while Fiby is very much my little monster. And so it is interesting to see how many similarities there are between us and our "assigned" babies.
Kitry has this "thing" about her... this aura, I wanna say. She will not beg for attention; she knows that she will get it simply by being in a room. And if she doesn't, then it is obviously not worth it anyway. She is cautious and elegant in everything she does, and if you upset her, she simply turns around and ignores you until she decides it is time to move on. She likes being part of the group, but wants her space. She hates being crowded, and SHE says when, where and for how long she "accepts" your attention. She doesn't walk through puddles on the street, and when her leash gets caught under her front leg, she stops and lifts her paw for us to fix it. Quite impressive, and oh so much like her daddy.

Fiby is all me. She is clumsy, she doesn't take "no" for an answer... she runs into things while running one way and looking in a different direction. She has no concept of when it is time to relax, she can't sit still for a moment, and is quite exhausting to entertain. She throws herself into everything she does without caution or fear, and is not to be calmed down. She is hard to train, but thinks that with one cute look or kiss she can make it all good. HMMM. I guess I am not giving myself a great review here!?

When it comes to work, I am very focused and work oriented. But at home, I can be rather distracted and a little all over the place. As an example I think I want to write about one of our friend's favorite "Bernd- Stories".
When we first moved to Trenton and finally got a car, the thought of taking care of a vehicle was quite overwhelming. My dad is a car mechanic, and my whole life I knew that "dad is the one taking care of anything that has to do with the car". I never went to have a car fixed, I never did an oil change... I rarely even got my own gas. So - faced with the new challenge, Manolo and I took our Hyundai to get an oil change, and to the inspection station withing the first few weeks of ownership. A few months went by... we started getting used to having a car, and all was well.
One fine day Manolo told me that we needed to get the oil changed again, and asked me if I would mind doing that, while he stayed home cleaning the house. I didn't like the thought - remembering how long it took us the last time, but hey... it needed to get done. I got to the place, and as expected, the line was looooong. I lit one cigarette after another, listened to my "car- cd", and watched the minutes creep by. Finally; about an hour later it was my turn to get to the front of the line. I rolled down my window, and told the guy that I needed my oil changed. He looked at me... looked at some sticker on my wind shield, and said: "Not here you're not getting no oil change". I pulled up one eyebrow (my right one... the other one doesn't lift individually), and he answered my approaching attitude by saying: "This is the DMV inspection station!"
I felt like a complete moron. And of course... once you are by the entrance to the inspection hall, you can't just turn around and get out. Traffic had to be redirected, everybody was involved in my ordeal, and DMV- workers' faces lit up as the story of the idiot wanting an oil change made its round. It was humiliating, to say the least.

I am sure if Fiby had a car, she would have done something equally dumb, and it is great for me to have her to relate to. We have compassion for one another; if she bangs into a wall, I pick her up and say: "I know..." (because I KNOW), while Manolo and Kitry just sit there, shaking their heads in disbelief.

Manolo is a great guy; I don't think I mention him enough. He has this way of talking to people and of getting his point across that not many people could get away with. He is not unfriendly or impolite... but direct and witty and quick, which some people don't quite know how to handle.
A while ago, Kitry had a surgery. We dropped her at the hospital, and knew that we could pick her up later that afternoon. While being worried parents, we spent the day buying her things (naturally). Among those things was a stroller. She likes her fresh air, but we knew that she would have to stay off her feet for a while after the procedure. We got her back that night, and a few days later decided to go for a beer at the pub down the street. Now... as much as I talk about this neighborhood, you can imagine that this is not the place where two gay guys might want to walk around with a little dog in a stroller, let alone enter the neighborhood hang- out, but we did it anyway. We got to the pub/ bar, and sure enough... several slightly obscure looking guys were sitting at the counter, turning their heads as we pranced into the establishment. When we walked past one particularly big and unfriendly looking fellow, we heard him say: "Damn... now I've seen it all". Without missing a beat, Manolo looked him straight in the eyes and replied in a rather lecturing tone: "You really need to get out more often".
At first I though we are gonna get beat up in there... but the truth is that his response changed the entire place around within a minute. His drawing the line in such a smart way set the tone for respect and acceptance. Straight "dudes" ended up buying us beers, girls went out to smoke with us and we were THE in- crowd... stroller and all.
And again... if Kitry could talk, I am sure she would have said the exact same thing.
And here is Fiby now... laying next to my feet on the floor, sleeping. NOW she is sleeping! At seven in the morning she wakes us up, wanting to play. And as soon as we are downstairs she cuddles up in a corner and goes back to sleep. I sometimes wonder if those two dogs were amazingly great people in a former life, who now came back as those cute little things who just live to be pampered, loved and adored. I guess we'll never know.

Headline change...

I just decided to change the headline on my blog. It might not be the "normal" thing to do, but to be honest: When I first started this thing, I had no idea how any of it worked. It didn't occur to me then that "Summer 2008" would be the main and permanent title, even once the summer has long passed.
So I thought what other headline to give my blog...; something a little more informative, a little more specific. Something with meaning - ideally more than one meaning. Something that might say something without really saying anything. And TADAA!!! I present the new title to my blog: I WILL SURVIVE - in Trenton.
I tend to say mostly negative things about Trenton - unfortunately. And one might say: "Move somewhere else!" But I have also learned to like this place; especially the home we made here. A little oasis in the middle of chaos. The reason why I say a lot of the bad stuff (besides being sarcastic and sometimes border line bitter)is that I am still hoping for this neighborhood to come around. Things can change if people just make a little effort.
It is not much more difficult to throw trash in a trash can than it is to drop it on the side walk. It is not much more time consuming to say "Good morning, how are you", than it is to say "what the f*** are you looking at". It is not impossible to have a good time in the back yard, without blasting music at the highest volume, and it shouldn't be impossible for the city to pay a little more attention to the stuff that is really going on around here. I have the feeling that a lot of people have basically given up hope for this area, and that it has almost come to the point where we have to "police" ourselves.
Our friend, Christine (who lives across the street) and we have come up with the thought that we should just make our street uninviting for "the bad guys" to hang out on. How do we do it? By keeping the street clean, by putting planters out in front of the house, by encouraging people on the block to put Christmas lights out when the season comes, and by simply making our block "disgustingly nice". I am not attempting for the three of us to take full credit for things, but the truth is that our block happens to be the cleanest, friendliest (well... aside from the woman in the window - see previous post) and nicest part in the area. We watch out for each other, we greet each other, we help each other out. Bad people just don't feel comfortable with all that politeness and garbage- free environment.
I guess what I am trying to say is that there are ways for the individual to make a difference, and all it takes is a couple of us on every block.



This is a picture of the village I grew up in, and where my family still lives. I sometimes think that people don't believe it when I talk about the tiny place with not even 1000 residents. A place without a grocery store, bakery or corner deli. A place where trains don't stop anymore, and the train station was converted into the mayor's office. A place where the street lights automatically turn off at midnight. The river is the beautiful Danube, and Strauss must have been sitting in my village when he wrote his famous waltz.
It is quite the culture shock for me to go from Trenton to Untermarchtal, as you can imagine. The village actually competes with the surrounding towns in something called "Schoenes Dorf" - (beautiful village). It encourages people to keep their house fronts nice and clean, their planters well taken care off, the sidewalks sweeped and their gardens in top- shape. And at some point, a committee goes through all the competing villages to vote for the winner. It is a place where people have privately organized street party's with barbecue, a fire in a field, everybody brings stuff to eat (and drink... it is Germany, after all) and talk about the latest gossip. I think the reason for bringing up this place is that things work by example. There is no police station or security guard... the street-cleaning truck only covers the (one) main road, and it is up to the residents to keep the rest clean. People just know that if everyone carries a part of the load, things won't get out of hand.
I understand that life in a big city can never be compared to the idyllic ways of a small community, but it can't hurt to look at it and see what we might learn from them.
Now I am all into writing about my home!
Just looking at the picture, I remember the stuff I did as a kid growing up. It was amazing. Sadly - as a kid it was really nothing special to me. It was "normal" to play in the woods, to build "hide- outs" by the river, to drink milk directly from the cow (no kidding), to get on a little boat one village north and arrive on the sand bank in front of my grandparents house just in time for the barbecue. But finding it all "normal" was not the bad part. The bad part was that once I moved away to boarding school in Stuttgart, I turned into a teenage snob, who started looking down on the woods, the hide- outs, the cows and the Danube. In my hope to aspire a different future, I ridiculed my past. I started looking at the people there, thinking that "I want to go places... I don't want to be stuck here... I don't want the same routines day in and out". I would go there to visit in my designer clothes, feeling sorry for the "poor villagers" who might not even know how to spell GUCCI, when in reality the time it took me selecting my wardrobe, they spent just being happy! And now I turn around, draw a line and summarize to find that at the end, we all just live our lives the way we know how. I went away, followed my strange dreams and did crazy stuff all around the world. But now I am back to being a "routine person", and I sometimes wonder why I wasn't happy being just that to begin with. A stabile life, a steady relationship, a little back yard, two little dogs, cooking at home, making a living, dealing with the every day stuff. The same stuff that the people I used to look down on have been dealing with all along. It almost feels like all I did was avoid reality for a while; an extra loop before getting back on the road of life that we all travel on. It sometimes is hard to find a distinction between what's real and what's not. Things that we never think possible turn into reality, and once they end it is like they were never real at all. We all make choices, and I know that a part of me will always have the need to aspire new things, take on new challenges and learn about whatever comes my way or grabs my interest. But I now also know that where I come from and what I have done in my past will always be part of who I am today, tomorrow, next year or in three decades from now. I therefor want to say "I'M SORRY" to my little village - for not appreciating it enough when I was still there, and for not giving it the credit it deserved once I left.

How exactly did I end up talking about all this in a post that was supposed to be about me "surviving in Trenton"???
Oh well... got side tracked.
Have a great Sunday, keep your streets clean and please... next time you see me, don't make fun of me for drinking milk directly from the cow!!!

Teen drop in the hood...

A few weeks ago, my dear friend forwarded me the announcement of "Anchor House" turning a corner building right in our neighborhood into a teen drop for kids in trouble. When I first read it, I thought "what a nice thing to do...".
And then I started thinking. I take the bus to work, which departs right across the street from the future "safe haven", and it ain't pretty. Isn't there a reason why recovery centers, rehabs and other "get-people-out-of-trouble"- institutions are usually located in a safe and quiet part of the world? Let's see what the responsible people are trying to achieve here, and let me point out why it is going to fail miserably:

"It will be a one-stop shop for the various things teens need," said Aleah Hosszu, Anchor House's director

No kidding. Dealers are selling their drugs on one corner, prostitutes (male and female) are working it diagonally across, and directly opposite is Hub's liquor store. Could troubled teens possibly need anything else? Is it me, or is it normal to house drunks and addicts right next to drinks and drugs? Call me old fashioned... but it just sounds a little odd.

"They need to stay occupied with something. A place like the Anchorage keeps you from thinking about doing a lot of bad things."

Yep... I am sure that hooking, shooting up and stealing for their next fix will most certainly keep them pretty occupied... there won't be much time to think about doing bad stuff; it'll just come naturally!!!

"Youths and young adults will be able to watch television, get something to eat, and use computers to research schools and jobs. Anchor House will hold discussions at the center on topics such as violence prevention and AIDS awareness. Teens will be able to use a shower and a bathroom and receive hygiene supplies."

In reality it will be as follows: They hang out watching "Saw 1, 2, 3 (is there a forth one? I mean... how many limbs can one cut off???), download porn online, get food - along with rolling papers - at the corner store, eat and drink on the stoop and "discuss" violence and AIDS by harassing people walking by (with their little shih-tzus...).
Am I against helping kids in need? Absolutely not. But any idiot can see that the proposed plan is not going to work - not in this part of town. They are targeting young people - age 16 to 20, and are hoping that eventually this place will run 24 hours a day. As a resident in the area I can assure anybody that those kids will learn all the bad stuff they might have missed so far simply by walking out that front door.
The truth is that I am not only concerned with the kids and the influences they will have to face on South Broad Street while "recovering" from their troubles. (Although the thought alone makes me laugh... WHAT ARE THEY THINKING?). I AM also selfishly concerned about the neighborhood, and eventually about MY well being. How many more messed up people do we really need within a two block radius? We are dealing with burglaries, break ins, car theft, occasional shootings, drugs, noise, gangs and violence on a daily basis here. What if the neighborhood just doesn't need a pack of bored teenagers to add to the list?
As an individual I strongly believe in helping others. I believe that people deserve chances and that it is the duty of the ones who CAN give, to give to the ones in need. We hear TV hosts, Movie Stars and celebrities talk about it all the time... "I used to have nothing... so, once I made it, I felt that I needed to give back". Key words: ONCE I MADE IT.
This neighborhood is so far from "made it", that at this point all this messed up corner can give to troubled teens is a contact list of every dealer, crack addict and criminal in the South Ward. I just don't understand who the hell thought of this! It's like sending your daughter to a whore house, expecting she will come out a nun! Come on, people... THINK!

Check your weaves!!!

I want to encourage all girls (and maybe some drag queens) walking around the South Ward to check their weaves. Some of them are getting thinner by the day. How do I know that? Because I keep finding tracks on the side walk all around the neighborhood. I am not really familiar with the way these things work... Do they just fall off after a certain amount of time, in which case - Wouldn't one notice when a big chunk of hair is missing? Have they been pulled out during a desperate act of self inflicted hair pulling, or did I miss a cat fight that was going on right in front of my house? Is the dropping of weave tracks along my street a modern "Hansel and Gretel" version, in which a girl was led into the woods and left her cheap, synthetic hair pieces so she could find her way back home? I am just very confused about the whole situation.
Anyway... here are my suggestions for every scenario: If you lost them accidentally, here they are; weave 'em in tighter! If you pulled them out yourself in an angry rage, see a therapist (after collecting your hair). If some other girl pulled them off your head in a fight, take your tracks and place them in her boyfriend's car. And if it was Gretel: Please pick them up on your way back! (By the way: Glad you made it home!!!)

Update...

As an update to my post about almost killing our dogs, I have to give credit to the person from the poison- control office we called that night. A few days ago, we had a message from them on our answering machine, asking how Kitry and Fiby (mentioned by name!!!) are doing. I found that very thoughtful.

Art vs. Business

(This was me - before a performance, and midway through taking off my make up after. I like those two pictures - a good friend of mine took them, and was great in capturing the difference between show and reality)

A while ago I had a very interesting conversation with my sister, Alex. When we were kids, we really didn't get along too well. We are very different personalities, and it took us to grow up until we could fully appreciate each others differences. Not that we hated each other... we just didn't understand where the other one was coming from. She liked to play soccer with the boys in the village I ran away from. She is a police woman... I became a ballerina. Need I say more? I also left my parents house to go to ballet school when we were both pretty young, and from then on we really didn't have much of a chance to work things out the way "normal" kids would. Anyway;
I actually remember the turning point in our relationship - it was a letter she sent to me (before either one of us had e-mail) almost ten years ago. She opened a door for us, and I know she agrees when I say that we have become "best friends" from that point on. I love her dearly, am proud of who she is and am lucky to have her as my sister.
So - the conversation I had with her revolved around her concern about me not missing my life as an artist. She was wondering why - after years of being dedicated to ballet - I don't show any signs of sadness about having left my childhood dream and my life as I have lived it for so long.
Hearing her say this made me think. Am I covering things up? Am I hiding my TRUE feelings about the whole situation from myself and from others? Am I even fully aware of the fact that everything I have worked for as a dancer has come to an end? I started thinking about other dancers who have retired, going through rough times while trying to deal with the end of a career and a new start. And of course - thinking about it made me question myself even more. What is wrong with me? Why am I not suffering from withdrawal symptoms?
For the true test, I watched one of my old performances on DVD the other day... and NOTHING! The only thing I was thinking while watching was:"My feet hurt!"
The truth is that there are a lot of reason why I think I am happy about the way things are. For one, I think I did well while I did it. (I am sure there are people out there who think otherwise, but then again - there will always be people who enjoy thinking or talking badly about others, which is more a reflection of them than of me - or so I like to think)
Another reason is that I started this whole thing when I was very young, and have dealt with every aspect of it since I was 12 years old. And while some things got easier as I grew up, other things never really changed. Having some insight into the business world now, there are so many differences, it is hard to count them all. I now realize how unbelievably emotional the life of an artist is - unnecessarily emotional. People argue, people scream, people are jealous, people get mad, people cry, people are on diets and therefor in bad moods, people are on edge from the moment they get up until they go to bed.
Every place I have been - schools, small dance projects, companies - it has been the same thing. I mean; in every other work place, most of the stuff that goes on in theaters would be taken to court! People would quit left and right, and offices would be empty! But from the moment a kid steps into the arts, we get told to shut up and just be happy to be allowed into this school, this choreography or this company. And we do it for the most part! Looking back at my time as a student, I remember classrooms with 18, 19, 20 year old grown guys, who would get yelled at, humiliated and embarrassed in front of an entire studio. Where else would a young man let this happen without throwing his fist in someones face? And why do people feel they have the right to talk to others like that? At an office people make mistakes, get to work late or accidentally mess up their computer! Could you imagine your boss screaming at the top of his lungs at you for all your co- workers to hear? It would be unthinkable!
Of course - living life on such an emotional level is also exciting, and there are millions of reasons why I loved being part of this world. I am not bringing any of this up as an accusation towards anybody in specific. I guess this is just how the dance world functions - and always has. I almost think that without this constant level of adrenaline and emotion, something would be missing. It drives people and makes them do what they never thought they could. But knowing this, everybody has a choice to say "STOP". So at the end, was I too weak to go on any longer? No... if I was too weak, I would have stopped many years ago. I was simply sick of it. Sick of ignoring my body telling me:"I am hurt!" Sick of accepting things that I would never accept outside of the theater. Sick of (and this is my own fault) putting myself down and being quiet out of fear of being kicked out of a school, losing a scholarship, getting on someones shit-list or having a role taken away.
The other interesting thing is that as a dancer you are constantly judged while doing something that cannot really be judged without a doubt. And not only do others judge us... most of all, we judge ourselves. But it is art... not math. Of course, falling flat on your ass is a clear flaw, but when it comes to general performance quality, who's to say for sure how well or poorly one does? It is a matter of opinion. Back to my new job in the none- dance world: At my job now, nobody could tell me:" You aren't doing that great!", because I could reach right into the drawer, pull out my numbers and say:"... Well, let's see what the numbers say!" No emotions! Just facts. And you know what? In the three months at my new job, nobody has cried, nobody was yelled at, nobody had a fit, nobody stormed off in anger and nobody was treated disrespectfully. And yet: The job gets done! How can that be?
As a conclusion to my thoughts about why I am as OK with my retirement as I am, I was simply ready to move on. I love and cherish the memories I have of my past... Walking down the same street back and forth from high school to boarding school; my first performance as a kid in the Stuttgart Opera house; my first modern classes in Munich; moving to NY; getting coached by Merce Cunningham; touring around the world with an extraordinary Company. I look up at the wall in our breakfast room, with a gallery of photos of Manolo and me in front of the Eiffel Tower, the great wall of China, in a London phone booth, on the beach in Hawaii, on stage, in Athens, in Moscow, with a koala in Australia.
I can truly say: No regrets. I am ready for new challenges and tasks, and am as excited about my future as I am about my past.

Another gay thing...

I just turned on the LOGO channel, and am following the discussions about gay marriage in amazement. WOW.
How many people out there call themselves educated, freedom loving, fair, open minded, believers in people's rights?
I like to find simple solutions to simple problems, and my solution to this issue is a simple one: If you don't like what you see, don't look!
Do people seriously think that the number of homosexuals increases or decreases according to the legal status or the overall acceptance? If that were the case, my fellow Germans during WW2 would have put a definite end to us, which they clearly have not. Never was being gay less accepted than during that time, and yet - we never stopped being gay. Looking at the other side of it, legalizing gay marriage would certainly not encourage Silvester Stallone to turn into Ru Paul! What are people thinking? If a teenage boy wants to explore different kinds of sexuality, the taboo of being gay will certainly not discourage him from doing so. And a die- hard straight bully will most definitely not try to "go the other way" just because it became socially acceptable.
The truth is that we will not go anywhere! Like it or not, we are here... planning your weddings, designing your clothes and houses, doing your hair, selling you furniture, grooming your dogs; and to step away from stereo types, we might even read your gas meters, do construction on your homes, fix your cars, act in your favorite movies, or be your married next door neighbor. You might never know it, and you should really not give a damn!
And please... keep the Bible out of it! I think the Bible would jump out of some people's hands if it knew how ignorant, vicious, nasty, negative, intolerant and stupid the creatures holding it, praying by it, and hiding behind it are! None of this could possibly be "God's will"! Who the hell knows about God's will anyway!? Who did He say to: This is wrong!? And how could the "All Mighty" have made the fatal "mistake" of creating gays and lesbians? Is it not a sin to imply that God made a mistake, or do people still think it's our life style choice, rather than something we are born with?
Let me quote Marlene Dietrich, who was heard saying: "The only human flaw I cannot excuse is stupidity." How right she was! The other bad flaw is ignorance - and the combination of both is downright dangerous. Unfortunately, this is exactly what we as gay men and lesbian women are facing when confronted with hatred and discrimination - just like every minority group throughout history.
Few things really upset me. I am a very calm person, who doesn't sweat the small stuff. But listening to people's outrageous opinions and views on a topic that actually involves me and "my people" gets my heart rate going. At least lately.
"People have no idea about the consequences of opening Pandora's Box" - is what one woman just said on TV, defending the sanctity of marriage. And this is when I have to switch the channel, before throwing something at the screen.
When I came out to my mother many years ago, I had a pretty good idea that it was not going to be a big issue. I have said this before - but I don't mind repeating it: I was pretty damn lucky with my family. But prior to my coming out, I still went through years of being nervous about it, wondering how they would take it, what it would do to our relationship and to my parents' feelings towards me. It was a weight on my shoulders that I carried around for a long time, draining and exhausting me. There is nothing worse than spending a life behind walls, hiding your beliefs and denying who you are. The night I had "the talk" with my mom, ... yes... there were tears and questions and initial drama. But funny enough: Around the same time I started smoking, and left my secret cigarette butts on the stairs behind my family's house. After she left my room that night with the truth about my sexuality, she knocked on my door about 20 seconds later, saying: "I forgot to tell you; if you really think you need to smoke, at least throw your cigarettes somewhere else. Your grandparents don't need to find them!" At first I thought how strange it was for her to bring up my smoking at a time like this, but then I realized that it was her way of saying: "It's all good... there are worse things than being gay... I love you... let's focus on the things that matter - like your lungs." And that was the end of it. My mom told me later that she talked to my grandparents about me being gay while my grandma was baking Christmas cookies she was planning to send to me. After my mom broke the news to her, she looked up and said: "I'll still send him his cookies!!!". I love my family! No talking around the bush, no long discussions. Just straight to the point, and moving on. So - when I hear stories about people whose struggle doesn't end, it breaks my heart. And when I hear about people who make their kid's lives hell, and who stick their noses in business that is none of theirs, and when people spread aggression and hatred and negativity against a group of people that does nothing but make the world a better dressed one, I just get mad. I know how much it meant to me to have an "army" of people backing me up, being there for me and standing by my side. Without them, my life would not be the same. And back to the question of acceptance opening Pandora's Box: I doubt that my family encouraged other people to jump on the "gay waggon" by accepting my life the way it happens to be. But it sure is great to know that if another gay one would show up in our home, they would simply keep baking cookies!

Anybody wants a dog?

If you think I am offering one of our Babies, you must be out of your mind! But there is a little dog "living" (I will explain the "" in a second) diagonally across the street from us, who desperately needs a new home.
I remember when those guys first got their little puppy - he was tiny, cute, playful and sweet. A brown, wiry little thing; probably some mix. As time went by, we started seeing him more and more on the sidewalk without a leash or collar. And in the past few weeks the situation clearly got out of control. He seems to spend more time running the streets than in his home, and it is a miracle to me that he has not been hit by a speeding car yet.
I obviously love dogs, but this one is starting to really bug me. I know, I know... it is not his fault. But the fact is that whenever he comes our way, Fiby acts like a little tramp and is impossible to walk. She wants to play (or god knows what) with him, and I can literally see fleas jumping from his hair into hers. Aside from that - there is no more thought of doing her business, because he becomes the main focus of her walk. So here I am... pressured for time to walk my dogs before having to run to work, and here HE is, distracting Fiby from doing what I have trained her to do for months now. And whenever he sees us walk, he follows us the entire walk. There is no shaking him off. We can run, but we cannot hide. Well... those are my selfish problems with the dog across the street. The not-so-selfish problem I have with the situation is the poor little guy, who was clearly brought into the wrong house. Why the hell do people have animals if they can't take proper care of them? I would understand if they had gotten the dog for their kid, who might now be over the initial excitement of having a pup. But there is no kid. It is all adults who like to hang out on their stoop and look at Manolo and me like we are crazy people, walking our well behaved, well taken care of dogs. Twice in the past few weeks I knocked on their door, bringing their dog back who followed us for twenty minutes around the neighborhood. If I am not upset about our peaceful walk being disturbed, I am mostly sad for the dog, who shows clear signs of fleas, skin diseases and hunger.
I sometimes watch "Animal Cops" on TV, and am wondering if such a thing exists in this part of the country!? Since we know who he belongs to, I wished some authority figure could talk some sense into those guys. I really don't want to call animal control, because I don't want them to take him and do god-knows-what to him. He is cute, with only one ear standing up, looking a little clumsy and silly. I could see him being a very sweet pet and making somebody very happy. Unfortunately Manolo and I are fully committed to Shih-Tzu's, and most of all: Fiby has not been spayed, since we are hoping to find a nice SHIH TZU (!!!!!!!) boy for her to have puppies with in the not so far future. The last thing we need is an unplanned pregnancy with an unidentifiable half- stray, and her good reputation is ruined! She is already considered the "Paris Hilton" of the family, and after an affair with "one-ear", no respectable male would look at her twice!
So... If anybody out there wants to be a good parent to a sweet dog, hang out in my neighborhood, and help the little guy out! Obviously his owners are not too eager to have him, and not too concerned about him getting lost to begin with. The next time I see him, I'll try to take a picture of him and post it. He needs help, and he needs it before bugs, disease or a car get the better of him.

I almost killed our dogs!!!

Of course... I didn't willingly almost take our babies lives, but I still feel guilty enough.
The whole thing started last weekend, when Manolo and I noticed that both, Kitry and Fiby were very itchy. We were not quite sure what it was - Mosquito bites in the best case, fleas in the worst case. But whatever it was, it needed treatment, and it needed it NOW. We have - of course - used the flea treatment for Kitry before, and when Manolo told me to get the medication during my next PetCo visit, I thought I knew exactly what he was referring to. He even said: "get the expensive stuff...", and when I approached the anti- insect isle at the pet store the next day, I found "the right thing" within minutes.
As soon as Manolo saw the package, he showed signs of doubt. It was not the brand he was thinking of, and only when he mentioned the TV commercial Betty White does on "Lifetime, television for women" I knew what HE was thinking of. Anyway... how bad could this one be??? I got it at the pet store, for heaven's sake!
That night after dinner, we got one dog after another up on the couch, applied the liquidy stuff on both their necks, and were sure our itch- problem was about to get solved.
Kitry likes to watch TV lying on the couch, and at times Fiby sees this as her chance to play "pull Kitry off the sofa by her hair" - a fun little game that makes us laugh, Fiby happy and Kitry very annoyed. As soon as Fiby started pulling Kitry by her hair that night, I stopped her - knowing that she just grabbed Kitry by the neck hair that was soaked with the medication. I didn't think much of it, and the evening continued quietly.
And than the quiet times ended...!
Kitry was the first to act strangely. She started running through the house, barking at us from wherever she ended up running to. She "led me" to the basement door, and ran down into the dark as soon as I opened the door for her. Once downstairs, she barked again - and for those who know her, you know she never barks! She is a Lady! The symptoms got worse by the minute. Within half an hour she had what appeared to be cramps, making her jump up and scream every time one approached.
Now Fiby started acting out as well... showing the same signs, plus a swollen, burned mouth. In addition to that, she started drooling like a saint Bernard! I have never seen anything like it, and we began to lose our minds with two sick babies on our hands! Both of them got very needy for attention - barking at us as soon as we stopped padding them.
The situation got worse and worse, and it became clear that the four of us were in for a very long night.
At two in the morning Manolo finally called the "poison- control- number" on the back of the flea- medicine box, and it seems that receiving complaints about their product was really nothing new to those guys. The Lady advised us to wash both dogs with dish soap, to get the greasy stuff completely out of their hair and skin. We rushed to the bathroom, and started with Kitry, who HATES baths. To our surprise, she must have realized that this time it will actually be to her benefit to get cleaned, since she cooperated like a pro! While I started blow drying Kitry (a process that takes easily 1.5 hours), Manolo grabbed Fiby and bathed her.
They got better pretty soon after that, but kept us both up until about eight in the morning. Manolo stayed home from work for the morning, and by the time we had to both go they were back to their old selves - with INCREDIBLE hair from the dish soap!
The product we used is called "sentry pro", and I do recommend for all dog owners to stay away from it. Had it been only one of our dogs, I would have believed that it was an allergic reaction to some ingredient. But for both to have the same reaction, I do believe that there is something seriously wrong with the product.
Both of them are well again - we took them to the vet, and he declared them healthy and happy.
A few days later I cooked one of my German dishes - thin slices of beef, seasoned with salt, pepper, garlic and mustard, small pieces of ham, rolled up and cooked. Very, very good. Keeping the roll from opening, I stick a toothpick through the meat. I must have forgotten to tell Manolo about it, because as we ate he started making strange noises and bent over as he was choking on a pointy object.
Needless to say - he now believes that he lives with a serial killer, who first tried to kill his kids, and now moved on to him! It's kind of funny to see him looking at his dinner plate before eating lately! I can see his mind wondering... looking at the food, looking at me... at the food, at me...! It is especially funny if I quote lines like:" Do you still hear the lambs cry, Manolo!?"