GOYA (Get Off Your Ass)

Cruising at 35,000 feet on a transcontinental flight from New York to Los Angeles, my iPhone off limits—which means Angry Birds is verboten—and looking at five hours in the air trapped next to a very loving yet noise filter-less French family, and I decided that I had better write to alleviate bordem, circumvent my ADHD, and prevent myself from committing an act of war against the people of France.

When one finds oneself questioning whether or not the Geneva Conventions apply when traveling 500 miles per hour, it is best to do something to redirect ones attention and aggression.

I am on my way to Los Angeles to celebrate the marriage of an old and amazingly dear friend Candise Ketcham. I met Candise my first day on campus at La Universidad de Puerto Rico-Rio Piedras back in August 1999. The first day on campus found all of the international exchange students herded together on a trolley bus. As the students gathered, they broke into several camps: the French Girls (we hated them), the Brits and Cali Gals (we loved them), the Midwestern Posse (exactly two of us: me and Bernie plus we claimed Kylah since she was living in Wyoming and no one knew what the Hell to do with that...plus it was right after the brutal slaying of a young white gay man in Laramie, so I thought it best to keep an eye on the girl from the same town), and an assortment of random Latin kids from the U.S.

I can't remember exactly how our powers combined to form the GOYA crew, but by the end of the first day, we had fairly clearly gelled together. I was the only boy that was consistently with the crew (the other boys were either really awkward or were native Spanish speakers from the U.S., so had easily slid right into making new, local friends). My roll in said group was cemented when the ladies discovered 1) that I was big old gay and didn't want to poke any of them, and 2) to their surprise and my own it turned out that I did, in fact, know a fair amount of Spanish....enough that I was the one that did all the translating, talking, and coordinating of our cross island adventures.

(In one instance, I made a deal with Bernie that if she bought the 10 books required for one of our classes that I would read them and tell her what they said, and we would study together. When we got our midterms back she got an A, and I got a C...I was like...WHAT THE HELL! I grabbed her paper....it was in English....the professor told her to write her paper in English. When I approached him to tell him that I was also a native English speaker he looked at me and said, “You're Puerto Rican...learn the language,” and walked away. Wasn't that a bitch!)

The GOYA crew, so named after the ubiquitous GOYA products found throughout Puerto Rico (and which we turned into an acronym which stood for GET OFF YOUR ASS), could be found together eating rice and beans for lunch and for dinner and for breakfast. We ate most of our meals together (la UP...pronounced YOU PEE...didn't have a meal plan)...and we only had meat about once per week, but with 20lb bags of rice, dozens of cans of GOYA beans and the rice cooker that I carried in my carry on bag from Minneapolis to San Juan, we were ready to go! Our weeks were fairly regular: Monday-Thursday, we had class...Thursday night I hit the gay bar with my queer island friends (and later boyfriend) that I met. Friday was beach day, Saturday was island adventure day, and Sunday was back to the beach. Not a bad way to spend a year of your life, eh?

(The person in the seat in front of me just shoved her seat backwards into my computer and almost knocked my ginger ale over onto the keyboard. There would have been murder a mile high in the sky if that had happened. Trust.)

Since the GOYA Crew officially disbanded in 2000, and we all went back to our respective campuses and lives and went about the business of growing up, some of us have seen each other in various configurations. One year Karly, who now lives with her British gal pal in England (she was our SoCal surfer chic dudette with the kooky Hawaiian middle name) did a road trip, scooped up Kylah in Montana and then drove to Denver to see me when I was staying there in 2001. And a couple of years ago, my beloved Candise aka Crack Ass aka Aunty Crackity picked me up from LAX during a brief trip, and we had dinner. Most of us have kept in some sort of touch over the years, but this trip is going to be extra amazing because one of the core GOYA Crew and my other most beloved of the group besides Crackity, Miss Keeley Pratt of Londontown, has flown in from Merry Olde Anglaterre for the wedding. Oh yes, the British Hussy is back and in full effect!

Keels and Candise kept me in stitches, and over the years, thanks to the Grace of God and Facebook, we have been able to keep tabs on each other, but tonight I will be in the presence of two of my favorite spirits, and I can barely stand the excitement...I may punch one of the Frenchies sitting next to me in excitement.

But wait! There's more!

There's also Ebony, Togba, Pradeepa, Manish, Stacey, Tay Tay, and perhaps even the deliciously sexy Mr. Kurt Gering (he used to teach at my high school...thank God he came a couple of years after I graduated or I would have been a star in my own After School Special). So many of my loved ones have up and moved to SoCal and of all the regions of the U.S., except the Pacific Northwest, it is the one area I travel to the least. And now, I get to see 'em all in one fell swoop!

I am missing my Puma something fierce at the moment, and by the time Tuesday comes around, I am going to be McKookers for Puma Puffs, but I am truly excited to see, spend time with, and love on some really amazing people in my life.

Get Off Your Ass!

The Road to Bristol Part Two: Word to Yo Memere

So this weekend, I met David's parents, brother, sister-in-law, and niece and nephew. Talk about shittin' bricks on the train ride to Bristol. I knew a few things about my man's fam:

1))His parents were from Northern Maine, which might as well be from a galaxy far far away...as they speak French as a first language (but a dialect of French that sounds like Klingon), and they spoke English with a Vulcan accent;
2)David's Mom was an avid Scrabble player but eschewed Facebook because it was too personal;
3)David's Dad was a hard workin' factory man that was a bit rough around the edges
4)David and his brother, once upon a time, didn't get along the best but had smoothed things out;
5)David's sister-in-law was addicted to on-line sweepstakes and had won a flat screen TV recently;
6)His niece loved her big gay uncle and was a dancer;
7)His nephew loved his big gay uncle and was a ball player

All of those things proved to be true.

All of those things were the tip of the iceberg of these fantastic people.

and I arrived at the train station in Waterbury, where we were greeted by his parents. I am completely conversant in Parent, Old Parent, Grandparent, and Venerable Elder. His parents, especially his Mom, turned out to be WAY hipper than I had imagined. I was able to speak Parent most of the time with the occassional foray into Old Parent on certain occassions. At one point, I asked his Mother for a new garbage bag, as I had taken out the trash. She handed me a bag that smelled like a cross between crotch powder and Summer's Eve. Imagine my surprise when Nancy said that she hated the smell of the bags since they reminded her of the scent of feminine napkins.

I just about shat enough bricks to build them a new addition to their house.

I mentioned in a previous post, after dinner that evening, Don (aka Dad) turned red in the face and said how happy he was that I came to visit. I found out later that he told David that he liked me and that I was way better than the last one. Score one for Brandon...awwww yeah (please note...David was with the last one for a decade...I don't know if that says a lot about me or about the ex...probably both).

The first night, we went to watch David's niece Emily in a dance recital.That is where I met David's very straight brother who introduced himself by walking up to me in my seat and straight guy punching me in the arm. I seriously looked up like I was going to have to fight a white man in rural Connecticut. I was sure that this was it...the Good Lord had called my name, and I was going to punch this big man and get strung up on the stage. Luckily, he just laughed, I realized he must belong to David somehow, and I thanked the lord that no one would have to call my Mom and tell her that I had been the main dish at a good old fashioned lynching.

We also sat next to David's sister-in-laws two sisters, who, were frickin' hilarious. We got along so well that the sister-in-law's SISTER invited us over for a BBQ the next time we head to Connecticut. Sharon, the sister-in-law was a sweet but proper suburban Mom; her sisters were wasted on Bristol, CT.

dance recital was sooo...ummm...Drop Dead Gorgeous-esque that it will have its own blog...with pictures. Suffice it to say that shortly before the end of Act II (of four acts total) we buzzed out...after watching David's niece's dance troupe do a routine to Walk Like An Egyptian dressed in faux-Arabian I Dream of Jeannie gear. 'Nuff said...for now...

Saturday evening the family gathered, and we had a cook-out. I played frisbee with David, his brother, and nephew. I refrained from stealin' the spotlot from the 11 year old boy when he confidentally told his Grandparents that Einstein had invited the bi-focals (Benjamin Franklin invented them about 120 or so years before Einstein was a German Jew zygote in his Mader's uterus). I watched, happily, as the entire family beamed and smiled and heaped praise on the two youngest members of the Berube clan. In a word, it felt like home.


On Saturday, David, his Mom, and I went from a hike in Sessions Woods...where we saw all kinds of nature, including the Minnesota State Flower bloomin' as nice as you'd like right there in the middle of Connecticut. I think it was a sign from God.

I was also pleased to find out that when David popped over to visit his brother and his brother's family on Monday, I was missed (I was napping) and Emily made a point to tell David that I was cool.

In the end, I found a wonderful family, full of laughter and joy and love. It was a great gift to spend the weekend with them. I cooked dinner for the family on Sunday night, and I, in the words of Paula Dean, “Knocked their socks clean off and into the washing machine.”

It was a good weekend.

P.S. I did beat Nancy and David at back-to-back games of Scrabble. HOLLLA!