L-O-V-Me

You'll be pleased to know I'm eating carbs again. I had a realization this weekend while eating pie a boy baked for me in the nation's capitol and binging on House of Cards.

Somebody had asked me the week before if I could ever have imagined myself where I am in life. I thought, "Yeah. I could have. But why would I have wanted to?" It was a short conversation.

I remembered an assignment from English my senior year of high school in which we had to write a letter to ourselves in 2025. I confidently predicted a post-award show TONYs or Oscars, still in a tuxedo, reading it on the sofa of my Manhattan loft or swanky L.A. hotel room.

But I always thought it would be funny if there had been stipulations to the letter. Rules of mediocrity. For instance: you never got married, your cat just passed away, you have $25,000 left in student loans, and you're leasing a Toyota.

Now write a letter to THAT, snotty 18 year old.

While I thought of this over my second heap of pie during episode 5, I realized we spend our entire lives with the hope of reaching our personal dreams. Then, out of nowhere, we are sideswiped by some terrible thing that compromises our trajectory and forces us to gamble everything we've worked for thus far in the hopes that we could still achieve our goals while pulling the weight of another person who is running in a completely different direction.

Now imagine writing a letter to yourself in 2025, but today, you've been sideswiped by this "love". There can no longer be a straight path to Happily Ever After. Well, not since we gave women the right to vote and started letting gays get married.

Luckily, I've always been a tragic romantic. If I have to make it on my own, I guess I'd rather not make it. I blame my parents for never getting divorced.

I included in my letter that my husband would be reading over my shoulder, and already proud of my undoubted win from the evening, he would kiss me on the forehead for having been so kind to include him in my plans since 2007.

I mean, I had to ensure I was still getting some at 35.

And whether that forehead kiss comes from a boy who bakes apple pies or some future man who is hopefully not leasing a Toyota, I know that as long as I'm dreaming my own dreams, I'll be braced for collision.

Hot? Unintentional, but yes.

He's going to be incredibly lucky,

TJB: Making It

Somewhere between your ovaries and my boredom.

Any job will be soul crushing if you're the one swinging the hammer. The I'm-an-actor joke has, and probably always will be, "So where do you wait tables?" Fortunately, it's a job that allows actors to use their skills daily...

because we hate your guts and have to pretend we don't, which is harder than pretending breaking out into song is a natural occurrence.

Yeah? You need lots of lemons for that water? Oh, I won't forget. I'll be thinking about your lemons until I get that free bread you're surprised wasn't waiting on the table when you arrived (though you're the only one out of 100 tonight who asked) before I take back your salad because the six drops of dressing weren't on the side. I'd hate for you to not be in control of your own calorie intake and lettuce saturation. Everything was wonderful? Oh, thank you. I'll use the 15% you left me on my next student loan payment. I hope that $11.73 didn't max out your Amex Black Card. I'm sure that's why you didn't bump it up to 12. The rounded total will look better on your bank statement anyway. And thanks for filling out both receipts for me. I just needed one, and it's only 2013, so I'm sure you accidentally filled out "Customer Copy" but then thought that "Merchant Copy" looked pretty official. Having both will help solidify that 15% tip while I watch you sit at the table for the next hour sipping that lemon water.

However, outside of the theater, dining is where people come to enjoy themselves. Since I like to entertain people, and since my inbox is void of any opportunity to do so, I might as well pour some wine while I wait.

Every now and then, you meet somebody amazing. And by "amazing", I mean somebody who was on Sex and the City. Yes, as if my blog had made a reservation, Anthony Marentino (a snarky gay icon) sat at my table. Not once, not twice, but thrice in one week.

Though every rainbow colored fiber in my body was fangirling, I managed to remain attentive but aloof. We chatted, we joked, we even touched, but not once did I squeal. Sadly, he is married (to a well known Broadway actor that you may not know unless you're super gay like me.) By the third dinner, I was even meeting the family. Well, his sister, but if Mom's not dead I'm sure we'll meet soon. I mean, we're practically fine-dining dating.

When he left, he held my hand and thanked me for everything, assuring me we would be together again soon.

The lady who had been sitting at the table next to him flagged me over and whispered,

Lady: Was he-
Me: *with a knowing smirk* Yes. He was. That was him. He's a regular, he's here all the time. Great guy.
Lady: *with a confused grimace* ...was he having the fish of the day?
Me: Oh...yes...the grilled black sea bass...
Lady: I'll have that.

She tipped 15%

Legends in our own minds,

TJB: Making It

Of Dads and Sons

TV-5 Best of the Class 07. Dad is crying because he's so proud.

I was raised by a psychologist, so I blame pretty much everything on that. But I also credit almost everything I am and have achieved to that same man.

My dad is probably the best dad a boy could ask for, especially a boy like me. He took me to dance class every week, then drove me to swimming lessons, then to piano, then to baseball, basketball, soccer, track, play rehearsal, and on and on and on. My dad never missed a game or recital, and though he worked through quite a few family dinners, he always came home with a smile.

And he always says, "I love you."

The J of TJB is for him. James. I started using my middle initial in 4th grade when I decided I was going to be famous. I thought I should include a piece of my dad as a way to thank him for giving me so much. Since I'll never be able to thank him enough, the J will stay forever.

When you're gay, everybody wants to know your coming out story. Was it hard? How did your parents take it? How did your dad take it? Did you have an absent father? Oh, your father is a psychologist, so he must have been fine with it, right?

I think it's hard to raise a son you feel so close to for 17 years and then find out there was a piece he was ashamed to share with you. Sure, I could be a pretty flamboyant little shit, and I don't think anybody was surprised, but I still don't think my dad expected it. Why would you ever expect your kids to keep a secret from you? I remember feeling kind of stupid when it was all over. I almost wanted to go back to my first dance class, give him a high kick and say, "DAD, I'm gay, now get in the car, I have a game to win."

Years later, my dad has had dinner with countless boyfriends, gives great relationship advice, and even humors a more liberal discussions of politics (though we both still would've liked to see McCain with a worthy running mate). In the 24 years I've known him, he's been my best friend. And I'm surprised because I once woke him up to smack him in the face with a wooden spoon. Oh, to be 3 again.

But Dad also keeps me humble. My dad gave me one piece of advice that I repeat daily:

"We are legends in our own minds."

I remember that even though I am to receive an abundance of fame and glory, at the end of the day we are living for ourselves and the world will go on with or without us. So just live.

I think my parents should have had more children. This world would be lucky to have a few more little Jims running around.

I'm about to head to the roof for a beer. I'll be holding it up towards lake Michigan to cheers you, Jimbo.

I love you Dad,

TJB: Making It

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