Just A Few Writings by Brenton J. Michales August 15^th, 2005

I always say half-full.

Pessimistic Optimism.

My wisdom teeth were yanked out flawlessly, and the pain was more than manageable (especially with the wonderful Vicodin ES they gave me).  I saved some pain pills for “emergencies,” though.  Exactly a week after my wisdom teeth extractions, my brother’s best friend and his wife came back to Cortland to visit.  Tom and Mairead were my lovely hosts to the state of California, and I feel not just my brother’s friends, but mine as well.  I didn’t get to see them all that much on this visit; however, I was pre-occupied with work, a wedding, and a night out with my girls.  I guess we should start with my Friday night out (on the 5^th of August) . . .

So I went to a house party, at Miller’s.  I had expected to be pre-gaming at my brother’s house with the family and the Hickeys.  That plan fell through, which worked out better, since no one else got to pre-game either.  I should have been pre-gaming, because you need to be if you’re going to a party at the Miller residence.  He has rules.  They are listed on the wall and include: “Don’t bring beef!” and a bunch of other nonsense.  I walk into the party to Miller washing out plastic cups.  No joke.  Thank god I had no plans on drinking beer - Ash and I had decided to drink a cheap bottle of Ron Rico rum - because gays DO NOT drink out of hand washed, previously used, plastic cups.  Had I wanted to drink and known that 99 cents was too expensive for Miller, I would’ve brought my own.  After a few shots of Ronnie Rico, and a few cig chats, I was ready to leave on the small buzz I had gained.  Miller tried to drag me into playing flip cup (which was gender-segregated) and had tried to get me to pay for beer, which I had never drunk (mostly because he was too fucking cheap to pay for it himself).  So we left early, and I was fine with that.

Saturday was boring.  I went to work at Eckerd.  I came home to rest.  I had a wedding to get prepped for.  A new pair of charcoal colored pants, my black J. Crew loafers, a beautiful striped purple dress shirt, and a gorgeous silk tie from Banana in blue polka dots.  May I just preface the rest of the wedding part by saying: I fucking broke onto the purple scene like it was my job!  Purple is definitely in my future.  I was fully expecting, since the wedding was in the middle of nowhere and on the ‘hick’ side of my family, that I would most likely be the only person dressed in purple.  I was wrong.  But believe me, no one stole my thunder.  With that said, here comes the bride. 

So I’m sitting on my couch, as no one else is getting dressed for this nighttime wedding, and then I start getting dressed before everyone else.  I decided I wanted a Windsor knot, instead of the Half-Windsor knot for my tie, and suddenly my whole family is shouting at me that they are leaving.  The ONE time I am ever late for anything, and my family has the audacity to shout at me to hurry up.  Completely unbelievable.  The car ride was interesting.  Driving 80 mph on country roads we come upon a detour sign, stating that the bridge ahead is closed.  Now, we were quite possibly only 5 minutes from our destination at this point.  After a car vote, we decide to turn around and see how far ahead the detour is, since the majority of the car (myself, my brother, mother and sister-in-law) that the sign said “Bridge Closed: 40 miles ahead.”  Ridiculous as it sounds, we thought, well, maybe they are just being cautious.  The sign actually said “Bridge Closed: .40 miles ahead.”  Who the hell puts that on a goddamn sign?  That’s what I want to know. 

Mr. Rogers, here’s where I wanted to call you.  After finally arriving, the ceremony quickly got under way.  All was going well.  I had seen a cute guy that may or may not have been my gay cousin’s boyfriend, but most likely was just a friend whom I should’ve sparked up a conversation with, or at least a cigarette (he was wearing purple, too).  The priest opens his mouth, and I got the giggles, which I quickly tried to suppress.  It was The Princess Bride come to life.  “Marriage.  Marriage is what brings us together, today.”  I mean, honestly, if you have a speech impediment, stay away from having to talk in front of crowds.  It was in that moment, that I really knew that I was facing eternal damnation, and not just for the gay thing, mostly just for laughing at some stuttering, lisp-talking priest.  I think my being gay had been forgiven up to that point, and then the Lord just tacked it onto my long list of sins.  So I did what anyone would do at that point.  I drank.  And I mean, I DRANK.  I started off with nice meager Amaretto Sours before dinner.  Had one or two after dinner, then started a Whiskey Sour, then went back to Amaretto Sours (because they were just a little bit sweeter), and then finished with a few beers.  I danced a few times.  I had some pictures taken.  I had myself a decent time.  I never really got as drunk as I had hoped, though.  Which is a good thing for the crowd I was with.  I didn’t need to be a loud-mouthed, drunken fag and get down with the other two non-outed boys there.  The thought did cross my mind, though. 

Tom and Mairead had dinner with our family on Monday night.  I got out of work at nine o-clock and caught the ass end of some dwindling conversations.  Luckily, Tom and Mairead came back again and chatted some more over another glass of wine.  We got to talking politics, which is one of my favorite topics of conversation.  I was discussing my outlook on the next few years, the presidency, what America was ready and not ready for, and despite utter disagreement in my views, Mairead said something incredibly remarkable to me.  She told me: “I love your optimism.  It’s refreshing.”  And it was heartfelt.  It was sincere.  It inspired me.  I have been told all throughout my life that I was always so pessimistic, or told to "stop being so negative.”  I had never once been called an optimist.  I have negative thoughts.  Everyone does.  I normally express mine through humor, and oftentimes my thoughts are merely concerns that I feel are more easily conveyed through witty banter and dry sarcasm.  I am an optimist, but more importantly, a realist.