Bluegrass Leather Pride
Calendars are a very tidy way of marking time, all nicely divided into equal seconds and minutes and hours, with an extra day thrown in once every four years to make sure it all REALLY comes out even.
People, however, are rarely tidy in their habits, not as a whole, or often even individually, so we don’t remember those equal measures of time quite so out so equally and tidily.
What we use to count out time, to measure it out in front of us or remind us of when it was meted out in the past are the incidents, the celebrations, the gains and losses, or the routines leading up to them. Sometimes it’s big and uncommon things, or experiences we either share, or can relate to.
“Did it happen before or after we moved out of the apartment, or before Joe and Sheila divorced?” “Well, I know that I was living with Chris then, so it had to be before 9/11…”
Then there are the yearly markers. Our birthdays, our anniversaries, whatever holidays we celebrate. Here in Kentucky, we mark things with Derby. We need to get the living room painted before Derby, or we always go out the weekend before and get our bedding plants then.
If you’re kinky, you mark it more often, I think, with events, or at least you do if you belong to this strange little community we have of people who live on the other side of the country, but with whom we share more of ourselves than our blood family. We have this incestuous little network of community, and we argue and fight and bitch and whine like a large and admittedly unruly family, who circle the wagons like a motherfucker when we are pulled outside out own petty self.
We have this extended family, who know these odd and very personal things about, but whom we may see two or three times a year without even having to plan it, because we know we’ll see each other somewhere, whom we think of as good friends, and the fact that we’re going to hang out in Cleveland next week even though she lives in Nebraska and I live in Kentucky, and yes, yes, I did just see her three or four months ago in Atlanta…
These can be hard to explain to co-workers who are puzzled as to why you go to so many admittedly unexpected places for no particular reason you seem able to articulate. It doesn’t seem so odd to me, to us, this traveling to spend time with our family, to meet in agreed-upon places all around the country and gain entry by some sort of electronic handshake, and yet…
I may not remember which contest it was where Liza, who is one of those people who is hard to explain to co-workers, and I sat side by side and chatted in breaks, nor which International Leather Sir / boy and Commuity Bootblack it was where Tom Stice told the sheep story as we walked to Mr. S Leathers, or even which Great Lakes was the one where we had the nude lube wrestling with Mark Frazier.
I remember the people, though, and the conversation or the story, and it’s both good and bad to live a live where you stay in enough hotels in enough cities often enough that you know what restaurant you’re going to in Dallas or Lansing or Atlanta. It’s funny to know it was SOMEWHERE that Ms Tammy and I saw the wild turkey out the window and was that the same time we were in the elevator in our high whore leather with a wedding party or was that another trip?
Yeah, hard to explain to co-workers.
Anyway, for me and mine, the touchstones of our year are less likely to be the more traditional holiday than they are the big two, Bluegrass and Great Lakes. I intentionally planned that Bluegrass would be basically opposite Great Lakes, with Bluegrass in March, and Great Lakes having shifted a bit over the years, from the end of August to October and back to September for 2017.
If you’re paying attention, you’ll notice that according to that tidy method of planning, the calendar, that means that Bluegrass is about ten days away.
I imagine it’s a little like waiting for a baby to be born. It’s something to which you have committed, which you fully expect to survive and recover from, which you know you’ll be glad about once it’s done, but you’re also a little baffled by exactly WHAT you were thinking when you embarked on this voyage.
I expect one would feel, as I do now on the eve of Bluegrass, alternately zen, knowing that others have taken this path before me, many of them, and they have survived, and slightly terror-stricken about those enormous what-ifs out there lurking, just waiting to reign down unexpected and terrible vengeance upon those foolish enough to make plans.
So, I’m a little frazzled, but pleased with the upcoming year. I’ve put the things I can into place, I’ve planned the things I can plan. I have done this enough to know that I will make whatever I have to work, and we will have new Bluegrass Leather Titleholders who will, in 14 days, be happily curled up in bed, admiring their pretty new patches and trying out their pretty new titles, the way a new bride might spend time signing her new name without a pause of her pen.
You should come to Bluegrass. You can find more here: Bluegrass Leather Pride
As an aside, I’m going to try to write here a bit more, so you might hear from me more than once in a blue moon.
No, that’s not a new event. Yet.