You got the Bear- Now what?

Me and Gal Pal Drew in "Bad Dream"

POW !

Orlando is a little concerned. Not only has he entered the Funhouse of P.A., it truly hit him last night as we were going to bed that I have indeed given up acting. I think what really frightens him is that I may end up focusing fully on him. “But you love it so..” he said in his sweet little boo boo voice which makes me want to squeeze his head and kiss his face.

“Loved dear..as in past tense. I’ll always enjoy  watching it and perhaps talking about it, but the whole process of being in a play or almost any show just depresses and overwhelms me. It’s no fun anymore. I over think everything. I am saying my lines in my head before I speak them. My hands shake so badly I can barely hold a prop. I can’t relax and enjoy the audience anymore because I am too worried and focusing on their reactions. Don’t worry. I’m not going to miss it.”

We crawled into bed and he growled and bit my ear and then pulled me into him closer. “I dunno Honey. It just seems like it’s a central part of your being-of who you are.” I was worried for a second he was going to bring up Jeffrey as a possible irrational reason for this choice, Jeffrey who you may recall- had died of cancer a few years ago was an integral part of my San Francisco theater world and cronies. He died an ex-friend-much to my chagrin. This lack of resolution made me distance myself from nearly everything and everyone related to him. There was once a powerful drive to do it physically when I was considering leaving my job and moving up to Redding CA to live with Orlando. After some clear thinking, two realizations came to surface; FIRST I should want to move because I want to live with Orlando -and no other reason and SECOND -Redding California is hotter than the hinges of hell 8 months of the year. Eventually -the  mutual theater cronies that Jeffrey and I had that mattered to me, (all three) began to wander back into my life. It was if they knew and we never had to talk about it. Still my desire to go back to the stage never felt the same.

I flipped over from our spoon position and touched noses with Orlando in the dark. “It’s Okay” I whispered. Then I realized I was whispering and spoke full voice. “ I am not going to miss working 40 hours a week and rehearsing 35 and feeling exhausted all the time-and barely getting paid for any of it. I am not going to miss egomaniacal Director’s who would rather exercise their mind control then their ability to direct a play. I am not going to miss being told I am too Gay to play certain characters. I am not going to miss playing truly queeney characters. I won’t miss working in drafty poorly heated theaters that smell weird. I won’t miss working with dysfunctional costars with a myriad of personality disorders. I won’t miss sucking up to people who are vapid and unkind to help the theater I am performing in to get the things it needs because it doesn’t have any money. I won’t miss never having a weekend free-think about that one honey-. It’s stupid. It’s not like it’s Broadway and I am Channing saying I am through and I’m never doing another Dolly! I am P.A. Cooley. A guy that a handful of Gay Senior Citizens in San Francisco might - I say MIGHT... remember. I am not famous.

“alrighty then”  He attempted to drift off. I grabbed his shoulder.

Party ON Garth

“BUT...there’s always film...I mean. It’s a medium I can control. Editing - no audience -no surprise elements The technology is changing all the time making easier and easier for the average Joe to make films. If I can just start filming those exchanges I want to start doing with Drew and I ya know- chatting and work on editing them and you can help too.!!! You are getting really good with my cameras...so...

“Yes ..yeah - of course...( he yawned ) I mean -I was just thinking. Maybe you could find something to do yourself?”

“Myself?” I asked

“Yeah ..well I mean. I got my racquet ball going on now at the gym and since you are not doing theater ,maybe you could form a group or something? “

A group? A group of guys videoing each other...? “

Oh C’mon! You know what I mean!  (To Be Continued)

The Ones that got away -Thank God!

 I sank back gratefully into the couch cushions feeling like I had been racing around   Disneyland for a solid month. Orlando and I had been living together for only about 3 weeks now. Currently he was off investigating a new gym to play racquet ball in.  I sipped on my cocktail. It had been days…weeks even since I had just come home after work and made myself a drink and plopped on the couch and flipped on Tivo… alone.  Orlando’s shiny impressive flat screen massive TV now stood where my very Old very large clunky one had once sat. We didn’t have the energy to deal with selling my TV, so we just lugged it to the technology recycling pile in the garage of our building.

  I listened to the early evening sounds of our building around me, and the very faint hiss and whistle of the radiator.  Despite the fact that we had unpacked every box, the apartment still had a cluttered appearance. The bits of paper around my desk were dropping to the floor. His various back packs –ok he only had 2 –plus his lap top bag, were strewn around his “place”. He seemed to gravitate toward the Club chair. I liked looking over at him just after dinner, watching him struggle to stay awake when we watched TV. Eventually our evening cocktail and the dinner won out and his head would sink back into the soft club chair for a cat nap of 20 minutes or more –eyes closed –mouth wide open and I found it endearing. Especially when his head snapped back up and he asked, “What’d I miss?”

Add caption

I got fetal on the couch with my cocktail and balefully glared at an unruly shelf in desperate need of clearing.  Then a new thought fibrillated through my body and I sat up in surprise …”Hey..I live with someone now” There was no doubt I was living with the right one but,  I suddenly felt  like a race that I had been running for ever had finally finished. It was good feeling. Relief and not confusion settled over me.  A relationship –like raising children, is one of those learn-as- you- go- sort –of- things.  There are plenty of books and classes and helpful friends and relatives but you don’t get it until you are actually in the thick of it. I have learned much in the past few weeks. I have learned much in the past several years. It’s not that I am a late bloomer…I had been studying  how to do this for a very long time and now it was time to practice what I had “learnt”

Before I had met Orlando my relationships were not exactly wise choices-at least not on the inside but on the outside they seemed like very good choices.  Allow me to explain. One man worked for a non-profit and his job was to glad hand big wigs into giving this particular non-profit money. He is attractive in a congenial good guy way that almost gives off a cherubic innocence. He’s the kind of guy that could watch a football game or a Science Fiction Movie. He was very good at his job. He was so good in fact that the San Francisco Examiner took note of it and pointed him out as one of the up and coming stars to keep an eye on. (It helped him that his non-profit was enormously appealing too, because it gave enterprising kids a chance to succeed in forming their own businesses.) He was age appropriate (38) and dammit…he looked good on my arm-and vice versa.

As my Jewish Friend asked, “It didn’t take?” No –it didn’t take. At that point in my life I kinda told my boss of 7 years (at the time a Mortgage Broker) to go take long walk of a short pier. Thinking that a bright impressionable lad like myself could reinvent myself, I figured getting a new job would be a piece of Princess Cake. I didn’t realize the economy would choose that particular time to tank. The San Francisco Examiner’s Pick of the Litter couldn’t handle the strain of being my personal bread winner and was fearful that at any given moment I would ask the fateful question, “ Honey? How do you feel about me moving in?” Since I was empathic and I loathed people sensing any weakness with in me. I cut bait and sailed Gay-ly forward. I have to admit -he was a good guy and the sexual attraction was still there, but he couldn’t handle vulnerable P.A. Strong P.A. on the other hand was another matter altogether….

My 24 hour rebound was ( all this unknown to me at the time) a high school senior named Bam Bam. When Mr. SF Examiner and I were breaking up at the Mix quietly in the corner, my phone rang and it was Bam Bam asking when we were meeting that night.  I admit it. Look. Don’t judge. The writing was on the wall. I knew the relationship was doomed and earlier that day I had been trolling the internet for …attention. I held the phone looking directly at my soon-to-be-ex and said, “20 minutes.” My ex was shocked that I took a booty call during our break up but I was hurt that he felt he couldn’t handle the WHOLE P.A. Cooley and I needed comfort and Bam Bam looked… very comfortable to me. –and indeed he was. After my evening of comfort with the Bam, his phone rang the next morning. It was his Mom, making sure he wasn’t late for wrestling practice…she even asked where he was so she could pick him up and take him there. I strongly urged him to um…meet her on the corner somewhere. I tried very hard to resist the Bam’s charms for future assignations and succeeded…sometimes.

My attraction to big brown eyes and baldheads and dark skin never faded …(Orlando may be Puerto Rican but take a good look.) and after Mr. Examiner I met The Nurse. Well one would think that a Nurse would make an excellent life partner right? WRONG!  Be wary of a nurse. A Guy or Gal who spends their days being humiliated daily by ego maniacal Doctors, after doing very difficult thankless work that requires intestinal fortitude is either very crazy or a living Saint. I know. I work with them everyday. Let me tell you. The Saints are very few and far between. This one lived in LA. His big loving moment with me was when he drove up to see me on 4 hours of sleep after I had a horrible dental procedure that left me swollen and doped up on my couch. I awoke on my couch to find him asleep on the rug beside me holding my hand. It endeared him to me so I fell down the rabbit hole of love yet again.

I waited tables on weekends part time, so he always drove up to see me. He was 23 at the time. He made twice what I made at my two jobs, but when I bought him an inexpensive pair of sneakers he got on the phone and crowed to his friends how his man got him some new “treads” Did I mention he looked liked a thug? I liked the Ying and Yang that he looked like he might kill you, but he spent the day being compassionate to frail sickly people…(or so I thought). In the end, I lent him several hundred dollars feeling guilty about him having to pay for all that gas for his Mercedes. This turned out to be a poorly thought out move. Upon lending him the money he dumped me immediately and told me “I was no better than a woman”. I never saw the money again.  In retrospect I found it more irritating that he found calling me a woman insulting than the actual act of being dumped. I recall going through the motions of being heart broken and well…not being all that into it. I was furious about losing my money. It got a little worse as he left some maniacal rants on my voicemail indicating he was truly unhinged. He said he had a mysterious genetic disease for which there was no cure and he would be dead in 2 years. Well it’s been 4 years. He looks healthy and he’s moved to San Francisco now. He looks very cerebral and introspective in wire rimmed glasses and khakis and expensive sweaters. When I see him out and about, we glance at each other making note of each other’s presence but that’s about it. He tries to friend me on facebook. I hit ignore. I’d rather hang with Mr. SFExaminer than the Nurse any day if I were to hang with an ex.

Then I met the Lando man. It was all supposed to be a weekend hook up and well ….that hook up has been going on since 2009. (An Author smiles smugly to himself, sips drink, and stops writing to watch Chelsea Handler. Author is enormously pleased with how things all worked out)

Post Bear -R u kidding me?

 It’s hard for a Bear out there….or is it? I guess that would be depending on what category of bear you put yourself in. What’s that? You didn’t realize there are different categories of bears?  Oh yes my friend.  Diversity is epidemic in the Bear Community and there are some men out there that have a REAL problem with it. They call themselves Post Bear.

The Post Bear long for the day where hirsute men with average and heavyset builds could hang together in an easygoing environment where beer was served and there would be a ballgame on the tube. They could grope and paw at each other and sneak in a kiss and- hey- who knows- maybe there would be a hook up after the game. Now wait a minute- since when did that stop?

It’s not that those days are gone exactly, it’s just become a different terrain. The intimacy is gone. The social gatherings hosted at peoples houses- generated by feeling uncomfortable in a bar or club with the insidious clone perfection standard of the 70s and early 80s-rarely happen. In most cases they aren’t needed due to the popularity of Bear Runs. A Bear Run is a 3 to 5 day event held where all forms of Bears can convene and cavort in a (relatively)  twink- free sexually charged environment.  Zaftig, furry, men from all over the world build their vacations around Bear Runs. (If there was some way to harness the sexual energy and convert it into electricity, you could probably provide power to the Eastern Seaboard for a year or more.)  Imagine- if you will-A bunch of homosexual men who have spent the last 11 months sexless in a remote part of one of those square states in the middle of the US, gathering all together in a place that’s clothing optional and serves alcohol - I can assure you- the combo is nothing less than a conflagration and definitely worth the price of admission.

It’s not the same though. –so say the Post Bears. The boys that show up to Bear Runs now are younger and thinner.  The creation of the “Muscle Bear”: the very masculine very well muscled version of the species- has added even more significant changes to the Bear Community. Slowly the chunkier guys slipped out of the limelight. Twinks thought Musclebears were hot so they showed up where the Muscle Bears went and the guys with a 40PLUSinch waistline didn’t have room to move with all those Twinks and Muscle Bears taking up all that space!  Now the big men weren’t the only game in town, and what’s worse, they began to feel SELF-CONSCIOUS of their size. They got mad. They were there FIRST!!! So the bigger men all got together and decided to not…get together anymore and they stayed at home. They threw away their Bear Wear and they never said Grrrr or Woof and secretly went on diets and exercised more. They eschewed all things Ursine. They let the world know that they had gone…. “Post Bear”

Well something had to give after months and months of all that ridiculous diet and exercise crap. Eventually they started to return to the Lairs that they knew so well…..But It got confusing. You’d hear how a Bear hooked up with a skinny twink and they were “gasp” ..DATING!!! The big guys got even more bewildered when they befriended the Muscle Bears. It all started when a very burly, very buffed Dude cracked a very funny joke about Caprica on the Syfy Channel –  the Post Bears were mesmerized! Then they all eagerly discussed the entire Call of Duty Gamer series and lasting friendships were created!!

Here’s the thing fellas. “Post Bears” are the stuff of unicorns and Big Foot. They have not organized. A coupla guys bitched about how everything had gone bear crazy and they missed the days of the origins of the movement. If you find yourself being negative about high profile bears and the endless commercialization- quit bitching. Change is good. Get out there and “come out” as a bear and do something good for the community. Show them you’re happy and they can be too.

OR – you can call a few buds and meet at a Twink Bar, ask them to turn on the Game and make out with each other, and have a few laughs..

An Actor prepares for test results

I awake nearly every morning with a feeling that there is never enough time to cram all this living in. I have almost forgotten what it feels like to sit still and take in what is happening around me. I try to remind myself that all this hurrying around is meaningless if I can’t absorb the beauty of that flower over there -or contemplate the history of a certain building or why the young boy riding the bus with me is looking so wistful at the moment. It feels to me that -in an instant I will find myself sitting in a wheelchair, staring out of a window in a nursing home wondering -how the hell did I get here? Wasn’t it yesterday that I was an excited 25 year old man boarding a plane for the very first time, and moving to the the Untied States biggest Gay Mecca?

Now, nearly 25 years later, I have found someone to help me slow down and take a moment. My partner Orlando and I were strolling down a San Francisco street, late Friday afternoon in the NOPA district, while fervently seeking a place to grab a bite to eat. I had been fasting all day due to the CT scan I just had and was ravenous. I emailed my Doctor the day before and asked if there was anything else I needed to do to prepare for the CT scan -other than just show up. He wrote back that I probably shouldn’t eat anything and water should be fine. I interpreted that as- I shouldn’t eat anything for the whole day.  My Doctor was trying to determine the cause of my headaches that I had been experiencing for nearly a month since I had moved to Oakland from San Francisco. The headaches had begun to occur just prior to the move. (For those of you thinking that my current environment may be harmful to my health, be aware that the mold situation in the place I had lived in for over 10 years was potentially far more harmful to me.) Orlando hustled me along and then slowed down. “Sorry.” he said, “ I was in New York mode.” 

“It’s okay” I said and stopped to peruse a Vietnamese restaurant Menu.

“Do you want to eat here or the Sushi place that’s  supposed to be just on the next block?” he asked while consulting his phone. I pondered this a bit wondering if I should adhere to my “Flat Belly Solution Diet” that I was currently on or just make it a “cheat day”. I figured, if I just avoided wheat gluten and sugar, I would be fine in nearly any Asian restaurant. I had been eating like this for almost 2 weeks and already was noticing my pants were more comfortable around the waist. The eating plan began due to two reasons: my Doctor had noticed it one of my earlier visits to him. “ I see you have gained quite a bit of weight since I last saw you Paul-Andrew.” He lowered his little chin and adjusted his glasses which seemed to convey non-verbally-”and what do you plan to do about it?” I explained that Orlando and I liked our pizza, and ice cream-particularly Ben and Jerry’s Cinnabun Flavor. We had both deemed it one of the most wondrous creations on earth-worthy of worshipping. Yet Orlando went on a diet first-dropping a dramatic 40lbs in just 30 days. It was the same program that he had done before he had met me and dropped an even more jaw dropping 80lbs 2 years ago. Somehow during the nearly 2 years we had been dating - he gained 40 odd pounds back. It could have been all those pork roasts and pasta that I fed him...maybe. Now it was my turn to find my waistline back to it’s 33” circumference. He measured his weight loss in pounds and I kept track of mine in clothing sizes.

We chose the Vietnamese restaurant. Unsure what oils were being used and what -if anything-was organic, it became a semi cheat day.  I was allowed rice, and chicken on my plan and I ordered a green papaya salad. The most incriminating item was an appetizer of small fried egg roles. I didn’t consider the spring rolls since my calorie intake for the day had been zero thus far. Orlando and I shared everything because it was only 4:30pm and there was a chance we may eat dinner at 8:00. He had asked me if I had wanted him to come down to be with me while I had the CT scan the weekend before. Originally, I had thought it was silly for him to do that, but then I chose to play the needy-boyfriend-card and asked if the offer was still on the table when we Skyped earlier that week. He agreed to meet me at the hospital.My last memories of a CT scan or CAT scan as they are also called-was at age 13.

Debilitating eye-watering headaches had begun when I was outside playing croquet with my foster sister in the summer of “76”. My brother Matthew, 5 years my senior, had been diagnosed with a brain tumor at 14. He died at 15. That was sometime in “74”.  My parents became numb with the thought that they may lose another child to this disease. My mother couldn’t bear to go through the testing required to determine the cause of my headaches, but my father called upon his stoic New England reserves to bring me to the  same hospital that Matthew had been to so many times before. I do recall that the old man had a devil of a time that day. He was unaccustomed to showing grief-or any sign of emotion indicating weakness. He also had great difficulty showing physical affection. (That all changed when he hit 70 btw) 

I don’t remember much of it but I remember the technician explaining everything to me in a clear calm voice. They injected a liter of something into my arm that would give them a better x-ray picture. I thought my arm was going to freeze and break at the shoulder. I was slowly moved by some conveyer belt like thingy and there was an awful lot of light and an awful lot of noise. I was truly frightened. The results yielded nothing out of the ordinary. My headaches had to do with turning 13 and extremely competitive croquet games with my foster sister. I suspect my parents were quite irritated with me for putting them through that hell but I don’t recall being treated differently.

My recent CT scan was a piece of cake. The only discomfort was starving myself for an entire day. The tech was a sassy black girl who had a sense of humor and was young enough to be my daughter. She must’ve thought I knew all about CT scans because all she told me was “ Now Don’t move” after I stuck my head into the washing machine. It wasn’t as loud as I recalled but it wasn’t all that quiet either. I shut my eyes the whole time. Orlando’s eyes flew open in surprise when I emerged from the room that housed the machine. “That was fast!”
I enthusiastically agreed.
“They didn’t make you wear a hospital gown?”
“Nope..They just scanned my brain”

After the Vietnamese mini late afternoon break-fast, we headed back to this car. Orlando and I were quiet. The next day he would have a job interview that hopefully would land him a job here in the Bay Area. This would mean we would live together. Huge changes were on the horizon for the both of us and I was of course imagining how or IF the results of the CT scan would affect our futures. A ridiculous vision of Greta Garbo coughing weakly on a bed came to my mind while Orlando sobbed hysterically at her bedside. Greta Garbo??

“Hey.” He said softly as he grabbed me gently by the elbow. “I feel like I rush you too much. I don’t want you to feel rushed or hurried.” He kissed me on the temple. “I love you.”

“ I love you too” I said almost before he finished saying it. I never ever wanted him to question it.

“ So the traffic will be pretty awful.”( I now lived in Oakland ) He asked, “ You wanna go have a drink until it dies down?”

“mm No..not really” My belly was full of food and we were meeting ‘Drew the next night for a Happy Hour extravaganza anyway. I didn’t think our livers could handle two evenings in a row of cocktailing. “Let’s just go home.”  I was grateful to have him to curl up with on the couch that night. The traffic wasn’t all that bad either...oh and the latest CT findings were as unremarkable as they had been 34 years ago. No croquet and adolescence to blame but simply being middle aged and neurotic...and not finding enough time to do all this living and loving.

An Actor prepares for Cohabitation

The great transition has occurred. I am officially no longer a San Franciscan and now an inhabitant of the much maligned city of Oakland Ca. I did not leave my heart in San Francisco. I left willingly. The need to create a new image was stronger than maintaining the local San Francisco Celebutante identity that I often desperately clung to. The moldy in law, West of Twin Peaks San Francisco, has been traded in for a very warm, very dry studio apartment with hardwood floors located in the pretty , sunshine filled Lake Merritt district of Oakland.

The day of the move was more of an emotional toll then a physical one. The movers couldn’t have been more charming and efficient. The length of the experience was relatively brief and Orlando was secretly relieved that I had hired men to move my couch and over 35 boxes up three flights of stairs. To me there really wasn’t an option, but he suffers under the delusion that well…he can do it all. He is also “frugal” and paying movers really wouldn’t cross his mind to begin with.  I knew I would need everything to go smoothly that day because …I would be a neurotic sloppy mess.  I awoke having an anxiety attack of monumental proportions –or I was hungover. It didn’t seem as clear to me as it did to Orlando. He opted for hung over as he catalogued the vodka and wine I had consumed at an impromptu Farewell Teresita party the night before. My skull was throbbing and I kept gagging but was unable to vomit. Orlando looked at me torn between wanting to comfort me and also trying the tough love routine. The move was going to happen whether I was ready or not. He’d been clear. My brains felt as if they were going to implode right then and there.  My blood pressure was sky high but at that point I was completely unaware of it.

I stood around looking distressed while the Lando Bear would try to help the movers with whatever he could.  I’d try to distract myself by stuffing more of my past in the garbage and listlessly scrubbing the interior of the fridge.  The glamorous San Francisco Actor was gradually fading away as each box went up into the moving truck. No more trotting off to a café and getting a latte while a kindly elder Gay, who had survived the AIDS crisis, would toddle up to me and tell me what a wonderful actor I am, and how much he had enjoyed my work through the years. There would be a considerable decline in capricious, last-minute Happy hours at the Midnight Sun with Drewsie. It was official. I was maudlin. I gagged a bit –like a cat with a hairball which made Orlando glance balefully at me. I tried to get my shit together before he became completely disgusted with me. I tried my best...but no matter how I looked at it, saying I lived in Oakland didn’t seem to have the same cache that saying I lived in San Francisco had. Point of fact-Now when I DO tell people I live in Oakland, their brows furrow and they immediately ask about the safety of my neighborhood.  When I was shopping in Macy’s in Redding Ca on a recent visit to the Lando bear, the sales associate just looked at me with pity when I told her where I lived.

Arrival to “The Mayfair”, (yes my building has a NAME and it’s called, “The Mayfair”. To make this even better , I’ll tell you the street I live on is just off of “Grand” Ave. Aint that Grand?)  was indeed welcoming. The weekend property manager, Mindy, was just unlocking the office door as we arrived before the movers. She resembles a red-haired, adorable Cabbage Patch kid. She smiled her dimpled grin and said, “Welcome Home!” in a lovely whiskey soaked alto. She noticed that I was a bit on the edge and rubbed my arm letting me know that it would all be over soon.  It was Mindy who kind of sold me on living at The Mayfair in the first place. She is a ballsy earthy, young woman and her humor is dryly pragmatic.

I found The Mayfair a few weeks prior to this move in, by sheer happenstance. I called and spoke to the weekday property manager, Lila - all because my Face book friend, Robert, had suggested I give her a call to see if anything was available.  Now a current SF resident, Robert had once loved living in the building back in the 90s and had very fond memories of the building and the neighborhood. Lila answered the phone in her mellifluous voice and told me – as a matter of fact –yes there was an apartment available! The apartment was not going to be ready to be viewed until Sunday but Orlando and I had showed up on Saturday because of my addled brain. I had gotten confused. Luckily-this turned out to be a happy mistake.

Mindy greeted us warmly that day and let us know the apartment wouldn’t be ready for viewing until Sunday_ BUT she said the current resident was pretty easy going and wouldn’t mind having us take a look. This turned out to be absolutely true. The young man gave off a “Clerks” vibe but was equipped with a far more sophisticated vocabulary and personality. The bathroom needed a deep clean – hey he seemed straight and single so what did I expect? I noticed the apartment was very bright and warm and had a gargantuan closet that almost qualified as a small room.

Residents were wandering in and out of the building and it seemed everyone had a dog. Orlando and I glanced wide eyed at each other because we had both been discussing adopting a Labradoodle once we lived together. A pet friendly building is a rarity in this day and age. We thought the Studio a tad small but the goal was to find a place for me in the first place so there really wasn’t a problem. Yet O and I planned to live together soon. We asked about the availability of One Bedrooms in the building. How often did they free up? Mindy said about every six months-sometimes less. She then generously offered to show us HER apartment. The place was great and roomy. Dining room/Living Room/Bedroom and Kitchen /Bath – It seemed IDEAL!!!! Mindy concluded the tour by showing us the view from the top of the building. Breathtaking O and I did a little mental conferring. We liked the building. The next day we were there to get our name on the list even before Mindy had finished walking her dog. When Mindy finished meeting with us there were at least 5 other couples waiting to take a look at the place.

Now here I was-moving in. I now lived in a building that housed over 80 other people and was over 80 years old….What’s more – I was a resident of a city I swore I’d never reside in! Oakland! 

Allow me to reintroduce myself -A little P.A. 101

Let’s review – shall we?  P.A. Cooley 101
It’s been a while I know I know so allow me to REINTRODUCE MYSELF…
Hello, my name is P.A. Cooley. I am 47 years old. I stand at 5’7 and three quarters of an inch. (I often lie and say I am 5’8”.)   I weigh 210 pounds. I am not lying about that. I am a chunky guy without question.  I don’t have a problem with my size. I am a self-proclaimed Pin Up Cub, but I highly doubt anyone has a picture of me taped on the inside door of their locker. I have successfully deluded myself into thinking other men and maybe some women like looking at partially clad photographs of me and my body. I actually think I am attractive, BUT I might just have a Narcissistic personality disorder. I am figuring it out currently.

 Not only have I become an unorthodox cyber centerfold model but I am also trying to redefine myself as a writer after identifying myself as an actor for the last 37 years of my life. I’ve been thinking “humorist” may be my correct title. Writer seems so lofty. The only thing I have published is this blog. I have a long way to go and I appreciate you taking the time to read this. ( I especially appreciate it if you already know me and don’t require this tutorial.)

I haven’t completely abstained from being on stage. Occasionally  I still enjoy acting and performing,  but I have let go of the “dream” that keeps actor’s going. I am talking about Oscar worthy, Tony award winning success. I am also speaking of the dream when an actor no longer has to live with seven other people and eat cornflakes for breakfast. Currently  I live alone in a moldy in-law with an embittered angry ghost who sometimes makes his presence known. (Oh yes- I “sense” dead people.)   When he was alive he was my landlord. My current landlord is the quiet, melancholy executor of his estate. The executor isn’t bitter or angry, but he does seem unhappy. I am not sure why. I don’t think he’s too thrilled to be the executor of my landlord’s estate.
I am dating someone -although “dating” seems to not have the gravity of the relationship I have developed. I am engaged to be engaged... His name is Orlando and he is very nice to me. It is my sincere hope to grow old with him. I call him the Lando Bear. We met on a website where Gay men who identify themselves with all things Ursine meet.  Currently we live 3 hours by car apart from each other. I don’t own a car so it takes me significantly longer to visit him by train and bus. I am pretty much over the commute, but willing to endure it to spend time with him. He’s cute.  We have seen each other almost every weekend for two years.  He makes up for it by visiting me down here more than I go up to see him.
I live in the exciting and expensive city of San Francisco and he lives in a town in the High Desert of North State California.  It’s called “the High Desert” even though it has beautiful pines and snow capped mountains everywhere, but much of the year it’s as hot as the Sahara. Well…it feels that way to me.  Nine months out of the year when I walk around outdoors up there I feel like a 3 ton Dragon is sitting on my chest spraying fire all around me.

Orlando and I are in the process of trying to find a way to live together so I can get out of the haunted moldy in law and he can move away from the dragon. After much discussion we decided together he would move down to expensive and exciting San Francisco with me.  He is a sensible sort and knew he couldn’t do it without finding a job first.  That was almost a year ago.  Instead of dreaming of making it big in show biz, I NOW dream about finding a nice affordable 2 bedroom bungalow in Berkeley  with enough room for a friendly Golden  Labradoodle  named Sarah, and the Lando Bear and myself. Sarah doesn’t really exist yet, but if you could read my mind you could see she’s a great dog! Lately I have been dreaming of a fat very old Silver Grey Tiger tabby named Hairrison too.  My dreams of fame and fortune have been traded in for something more attainable…and quite possibly better!

I work five days a week with the elderly and find it very rewarding. These men and women are extremely frail and sick. Ten years ago they would call where I worked a Nursing Home. Times have changed and the tainted industry needed a new twist so now they are all called Skilled Nursing Facilities now. Regardless of the moniker, there’s a lot of hospice work associated with where I work so it’s kind of “God’s waiting room” no matter what you call it.  I also market the facility which also allows for a great deal of creativity and varied routines. Like most jobs it has its up days and down days, but even the down days reveal something to me about life and love and the purpose of humanity, so I often feel more enlightened on the down days than I did on the up days. Every day I deal with mortality and aging and more importantly family dynamics.  I see pain and fear in people’s eyes but I also see hope and -on a great day- joy. I live for those days.

  My compulsion to ease people of their pain has for better or worse spilled over to my co-workers too. I worry about my boss and my morbidly obese co-worker who are both so good to me, but can’t seem to be good to them-selves. I guess that is my lot in life. My Dad used to tell me when I was young that he thought I was going to be a psychiatrist. I always knew when he was sad and would crawl up on his lap and hold his face in my hands and ask, “What’s the matter Daddy?”  (Don’t worry…I stopped doing that when I turned 17).  I feel I actually have the ability to make people feel better about them-selves. I can cheer them on and give them the incentive they need to make their own dreams come true.  My methods may not appear gentle or loving to most, but I honestly don’t think you can move forward in your life until you can look pain directly in the eye and give it hell. Most troubled people would rather not look at pain in their live and I can’t really blame them. Yet dealing with reality will help you in the long run because well…it’s reality. Reality is the hand you were dealt.  Avoiding it could seriously keep you from realizing your dreams or potential.  I am not a licensed therapist. I am empathetic and intelligent.  I am trying to figure out my place in the world just like you are.

Lately I have been doing something fun on Facebook which has grown to something interesting.   On my status I asked people if I could help them by dispensing advice. I called it Ask-A-Cub. (Those of you who told me 47 is too old to be identified as a Cub –get with the program. I addressed this in my first blog for cryin out loud! ) I also tried to make it funny which many of my Facebook cronies had fun with- being quite amusing in their own right. Then something truly gratifying happened. I got some serious questions sent privately to me in my Facebook Inbox.  “Why can’t I find a date in San Francisco?”, “Am I crazy just because I believe in God?”  and “ How will I know if I will be a good Father?”  At first I was overwhelmed.  I got questions out of my realm of experience, but I knew I could take a page out of Dear Abby’s column and refer them to people more qualified than I to answer their query. I love connecting and helping. It’s almost as good as a sold out house standing ovation…almost.

I can’t help everyone and I can’t even get them to go in the right direction for help. Sometimes it makes no sense to try and get someone to see the truth. Sometimes the chemicals in your brain really fuck with your reality and no amount of medicine or talk therapy can alleviate your pain because you weren’t wired to accept things they way they are. Those people are diagnosable.  I can’t help those people. I hate that. I hate that a lot.
Ask A Cub is here for you. How can I help?

An actor accepts an apology

The other day began like most days at my job. As some of you know, I work in a lovely Non Profit Skilled Nursing Facility in Berkeley Ca as an Admissions Director. When people are thinking of placing their parents, Grandparents, or friends in our facility, I am the first one that they will meet. I guide them through the facility showcasing what makes us different from others. I have been doing this patter for almost four years. I enjoy my job very much. I am one of the odd ones that enjoys socializing about difficult subjects that most don’t want to deal with. The subject that I can talk ad infinitum about is the end of life.

On this particular day I had gotten excited about a new idea. A resident at our facility who was a seamstress for a living was beginning to lose her passion for crocheting. She slept more often and rarely felt like interacting with anyone. I was watching Project Runway at home one night and felt that this might give her the pep she needed. I remembered she had watched an old industrial documentary on the history of fashion, so I thought she would think that Project Runway would be a hoot. I went to her room that following morning to discuss it with her. She showed interest at the idea, so I smugly trotted down to the Activities department to inform them to find a season of PR on Net Flix for our resident. I was met by Erika from Activities, who informed me that I had customers. She wrinkled her nose and changed “customers” to “clients” and seemed happy with that label instead.

There were three of them. A woman in her late forties and her brother and sister who were in their 30s. They all wore the familiar pinched expressions of the truly stressed out and frightened. The older of the three, Sarah, extended her hand, cool and professional, and introduced herself and her siblings. She was clearly in charge and her siblings seemed perfectly fine with her in that role. I had trouble shaking her hand because I was juggling a cup of Green Tea and my morning snack of a hardboiled egg. I repeated their names and promptly forgot the siblings. Sarah was the one that seemed to require all the attention so I focused on her. We gathered in my office to discuss the situation that brought them to our facility. Their mother was dying of leukemia and they were looking for us as a hospice house. Since our facility did not offer rehab we were taking more and more hospice cases. One of the hospice organizations that we have a relationship with had recommended us. I was filling out an Inquiry form for our records and asked Sarah for her phone number. She paused. “ May we just see a room?” I took a little mental breath. This was not a good sign. She didn’t trust me. I tried to shake off the irritation but it remained. “ It’s just a formality - for this form...I won’t be contacting you unless you decide to proceed with admitting your mother.” She looked unmoved and repeated that they would like to see a room. I looked down at the paper and looked back at her with quite possibly the most insincere smile one could do. “Of course.” I said   with the vaguest hint of dismissiveness. Where was this coming from? This was not my usual course of action. I usually recognized the grieving and the pain and tried to ameliorate it. Was it the two cups of coffee I had that morning? It wasn’t so long ago that a similar situation had occurred and I all but hugged the daughter within five minutes of knowing her!
Things went from bad to worse. Sarah realized she had caught me off guard and went in for the kill. I started to boast about our amazing activities program ( which it really is) and realized what a stupid gaff that was. The woman was going to be in her bed dying! She wouldn’t have interest in indoor “lawn” bowling or a sing-a-long. What was I thinking?? Sarah was clear it was a hospice case, but I continually began to explain how an elder could actually live and grow and change at our facility. I caught myself again and simply took them to the room. Sarah became a battering ram of questions and the unthinkable happened.

She made me nervous.

My voice haltingly explained the amenities to the room. She asked about Staff to Resident ratio and since it continually evolves due to the population of the facility, I explained we staff as needed. She wanted numbers. I didn’t do numbers. She asked about the cost of the room and good lord..I forgot the cost of the room! A price I had been quoting for nearly a year, everyday, 6 times a day, flew out of my head. I was appalled at my stupidity. The whole thing felt remarkably like being on stage and feeling completely unprepared. I used to do this thing where I was delivering lines to another actor on stage and then I would “say” the next line in my head and not “hear” what the other actor was saying. Quite often I would simply, “go up”. This is the term used when an actor forgets his or her lines. It took a while before I learned that one had to listen to the actor on stage and “be in the moment” instead of thinking ahead of what I had to do. Sure enough...that’s exactly what was happening here.

I went back to the office bewildered at how such a simple tour had gone downhill. I had been in this situation dozens of times and never felt so rattled as this. I could barely hand her the brochures without my hand shaking. She scrutinized the price I had forgotten. “That’s not what is on your website.” she blazed at me. Now wait just a goddam minute. I changed that price myself. I knew I had done it. “Really?? Would you mind just waiting a minute? May I check that while you are here?”  I sat at my desk and brought up the website. It matched what was written on the price list. She paused. I felt slightly empowered, but more importantly I figured out what was going on. I watched her face begin to droop with fatigue. She was fighting for her mother. She wanted the absolute best situation for her so she could feel good about bringing her here. She wanted to do right by her. I began to feel sorry for whomever had to deal with me as I tried to find a  nice place for my mother to die. It was brief but Sarah and I connected for a second. She told me very softly, “ It’s hard ....ya know?” The grief was a fresh sharp bleeding scrape and quite a ways from being ready to heal. I was in the moment. I reached up and squeezed her hand quickly, not too familiar and said, “ I know”  She smiled sadly, “ You have a beautiful facility.” I thanked her and she gathered her mute mournful siblings and went in search of the perfect place for her mother to die. I doubted that she would find it.