Mormon or More Men...no judgement.

When you're the gay at a Mormon wedding, you're bound to feel a little awkward. There is, of course, the inevitable Prop 8 joke. On top of that, you realize you can't help but dress like an ad for the local chapter of PFLAG even if you put on tennis shoes. The skinny jeans will always win. But I had been friends, nay, BROTHERS with the groom for years, and never once did our difference in beliefs get in the way of love.

Boy oh boy, was this weekend full of love. While it was, of course, full of debauchery and shenanigans that I'm afraid to put into writing for fear I'll never forget they happened, there were also the times full of sobriety, in which we experienced something that transcended simple marriage.

I'm not afraid to admit I held the ignorant belief that most deeply religious people had the need for marrying anyone they could stand for more than three weeks before they turned thirty. Leaving college without a ring is like leaving the house without your pants on (which may have happened on the trip...I can't remember). But when I met the bride, and when I saw them look at each other, it was very clear that this love had nothing to do with convenience of matching religions. These were soul mates.

And I say if you are able to love another person so deeply, so truly, and so honestly...much belief beyond that doesn't matter. We all believe in love.

We all also believe that if you make through an entire weekend with my bros, there HAS to be a God.

In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit,

TJB: Making It

sym-PATHETIC

Things are starting to settle down here in the Windy City. I've had my job for a month. I've learned everything I can about my neighbors via paper thin walls and shrill girl voices (theirs, not mine). The Starbucks guy knows my name.

Ok, to be fair, we have the same name, so it was easy for him to remember and sometimes I still have to remind him, but HEY I'm a regular at least.

Overall, my novelty is wearing off. My friends have even started to choose staying in over humoring my liver on the weekends.

And I thought, maybe that's what I'm missing...a reason to stay in. Someone who thinks I look just as good in sweatpants as I do in a tie. Someone to lay on the couch with while scrolling through Netflix to tell me it's OK I didn't go to the gym today because I was up early for work and deserve to rest. Someone I don't have to make plans with because we ARE our plans.

Just kidding, I don't want to be lame. No offense, but I don't even own sweatpants.

I didn't move halfway across the country to settle down. I moved halfway across the country to shake things up. So the next time you try and tell me that work was hard and you're tired and you're poor, I want you to look deep into my eyes and know that I'm not listening.

Then, I'm going to slap you across the face and tell you to put on your goddammed coat because we are going out while we still get carded.

It's for your own good.

You'd do the same for me,

TJB: Making It