The Zoo Series: Lions

Hi, my name is Guy Stefani, and I hope you like reading because I like writing. I once again have a laptop of my own, so I will not be forced to try and write these on an Amazon Kindle. My plan is to have them posted on a fairly regular schedule, and I would love it if you followed along.

When I last posted, I was just beginning the Zoo Series; and the point of that was to show that all men can be categorized into one of four titles. Men are either: peacocks, lions, gorillas or vultures. Originally I called the last title “bird of prey”, but I figured vulture summed it up nicely. The last post I wrote was the in depth explanation of what exactly a peacock is like, and how they behave. It was written very shortly after having broken up with my last boyfriend, who was a total peacock, and it is riddled with personal history. The next “animale” I am going to tackle is the lion. Honestly, I have very little romantic history with lions; they never gave me much attention in the past. They are the most heroic, athletic and wonderful of all men roaming around this zoo I call Chicago. They are proud and sexy and born leaders with big chests and smart brains. They can be firemen or bankers or the crossfit coach you always see on the Redline that you just know would be able to make you claw up the bedsheets while he sends your body into fits of euphoric rage. Yup, you heard me. Lions are the Captain Americas’ of the animale kingdom. They are courteous and adventurous and caring. They are the grown up boy scouts who are personable and damn sexy. Lions are fit, but not gym crazy, they want a body that will serve them well on their next adventure. They go to the gym to become more agile and more powerful, not to strut around like a puffed up gorilla. Which, coincidentally, will be the next animale I will discuss; so, stay tuned my fellow reading enthusiasts.

As I said, my romantic history with lions is not that in depth. I always admired them from afar, but never had the nerve to speak to one or thought I deserved one. I do however always make friends with the straight lions; the hetero-leos love me. While I was living in Grand Rapids, I shared a house with several other guys. It was probably the greatest thing that ever happened to me. Having gone through middle school and most of high school with no real guy friends, suddenly being immersed into a house full of them was wonderful. They took care of me, and gave zero fucks about that fact that I was gay and that I was not a basketball loving Xbox junkie like they were. We all balanced each other out. They taught me what it meant to have guy friends and what it meant to be a gay that a hetero could rely on and value. I could do a whole post on how much I miss them and how much they meant to me, but, lets save that for a day when I know there is a full Kleenex box in the apartment. The point being, I was living with several lions that showed me just how wonderful a lion could be. Lions are the ones that diffuse the tense situation and somehow make sure that all parties involved end up content. Lions are the ones that take charge with quiet power and assurance, and then lead the group to higher ground. Lions are the ones that you come home to after a funeral and let you cry on their grey hoodie while they hold you and say nothing. Lions do not need to be that vocal, because when they do open their mouths, people fucking pay attention. I lived with the greatest lion of all, and I also think that explains why I don’t normally go after a lion. One of the hetero-leo’s I lived with spoiled me so much; no other lion in the entire animale kingdom could measure up to him in my eyes. Lions are the men we dream of, the men dreams are made of; they are supportive and wonderful and solid. They are captivating and glorious and draw you in with their quiet strength. I want my next man to be a lion. A real Captain America of a man, someone who I know I can stand along side of through thick and thin.

And now, my favorite part, the visual representation of the lion man. Obviously, the first choice would be Chris Evans. Not only in his role as Steve Rogers, but also, from what I read, in real life too. The last time he was on the cover of GQ, the cover story inside was just delightful and a true testament of how wonderful he is off camera. The three Chris’ that make up the “Chris Trinity” in Hollywood ( Chris Evans, Chris Hemsworth and Chris Pine) are all worthy of the crown of lion man. Maybe it has to do with the name. Siri, remind me to only date men with the name Chris. Another prime example would be Ryan Gosling. That man exudes quiet power; I don’t think I have ever seen him raise his voice or get ruffled during an interview or talk show visit. There is a model by the name of Parker Hurley, who is another perfect example of what a lion is. I follow him on InstaGram, and not only does he embody the physical aspect of a lion, but he also has the mindset of one too. I suggest following him if you do not already do so. Lions are the class president from high school that was handsome and personable, but still grounded and treated everyone with respect. A lion is the guy from your sophomore year film class that was a complete soccer stud and object of everyone’s affection, but still held the door open for you despite your poor social standing. A lion is that well dressed, strong looking father you see guiding his daughter down the street; and teaching her how to survive a crowded sidewalk. Lions are the ones that fold you into a hug and make you realize the world is not completely terrible. Lions are the sexy guy in a suit that gives his seat to the Golden Girl on the bus. Lions are the men who make friendly banter with the frazzled Starbucks barista. Lions are the men we are drawn to because they radiate confidence and security. Lions are the men that make the world a better place. There is a reason their families are called a pride, because a family lead by a lion is something to be proud of.

Stay tuned for more; next week I’ll give you a guided tour of the obnoxious, boisterous buffoon of the animale kingdom, the gorilla. Happy reading to you all.

In The Kitchen

Tonight I made pizza. I cried the whole time I was doing it.

The last time I made pizza, I was still living in Grand Rapids. I was still living with the pup. I was still living with my boys. Before starting to write tonight I checked to see if I had mentioned it at all on here, and I did. It was November 16th 2009. I stopped at a Meijer on the way home from night class to pick up ingredients. I was taking night classes then because I had a morning job and an afternoon job, so I went to class in the evening. Clearly my time was occupied, but I missed my boys and I wanted to do something nice for them. When I got home that night two of them were on the couch playing video games, one was upstairs in his room studying medical books, and I'm pretty sure the last one was chasing girls. I began to cook and chop and assemble, the pup sat eagerly in the kitchen watching me; silently willing me to drop something to the floor so she could lap it up. It didn't take long for the two playing video games to make their way into the kitchen to see what I was making. And it didn't take long for them to claim a seat in the kitchen nook, silently willing me to drop a plate of pizza in front of them. Eventually the one that was upstairs studying came down too, entering the kitchen in a hoodie and moccasins, exclaiming that the whole house smelled of onions and wanting to know why. By the time the pizzas were out of the oven all four of us were sitting in the kitchen nook talking and telling each other what was going on in our lives( I made sure there were left overs for the one chasing girls). It felt so good. It was a perfect moment, in my life. I loved those boys, I loved that house, I loved that dog, I loved the life I had then. I will forever, until the day God puts me down, refer to them as my boys. Because that's how I saw them, I claimed them, whether they wanted it or not, and I did everything I could to keep it all together. After it fell apart, I vowed to myself to never lay claim on a guy again. And I haven't.

That was the first time I left Grand Rapids, after the second time I left Grand Rapids I vowed to never make plans for the future, and I still haven't. Since coming back to Illinois, post fleeing in the middle of the night, I haven't made any plans on what to do with my life in the future. After having everything I had made, after the life that I had built and suffered for, taken and broken so quickly I don't have the energy to try and assemble something again. What happens now, is I do whatever is in front of me. I do and/or perform so I can collect a paycheck. But something inside of me wanted to make a pizza. So I planned on making a pizza for my parents. Then my day got shot to shit when I was called my job #2 and asked why I was 80 minutes late for my shift. So my dinner plans got ruined. My baby steps got gunned down right in front of me. For the record, it was a scheduling error on job #2's fault, not mine. But the point is, I didn't get to make the pizza dinner I had planned. I didn't get to feel like an actual human, who does actual human things, and who makes actual human plans. Instead I went to work. When I got home, I still wanted to make it though. So, at ten thirty six at night, with my dad sitting across the counter watching me, I began to make a pizza in the kitchen. About five minutes in, while beginning to dice the olives, I began to cry. I began to cry, but I still made the pizza. I stood there chopping, while tears rolled down my cheeks. I cried for having to leave my life in Grand Rapids, I hadn't done that yet. I cried for the fact that I won't see the pup ever again. That gorgeous, smart and wonderful mutt who meant so much to us all. I cried because I won't see my boys ever again. And I cried because I miss them everyday; not all day, but at least once a day I have the pang of knowing everything has passed. I cried because of how silly it is that one person, one tiny, minute person, can ruin my whole world. One person wanted me dead, wanted me gone, and now everything seems topsy turvy because of it. My approach was not to dwell on it, to count my blessings and be glad I was alive; that July afternoon could have gone drastically different, I know that. But I didn't let myself acknowledge the fact that I was so pissed. I was holding it together, right up until I was making a pizza in the kitchen of my parents condo. Somewhere between the red gravy and the fresh oregano I broke open. My dad was actually really good about. When I first started we began to get up from the stool to come and comfort me, but I signaled for him to sit back down. I didn't need to be consoled, everyone had been doing that since I moved back, what I needed was to just fucking cry. So he sat and listened while I told him about the last time I had made pizza, how it was a perfect symbol of the life I once had. He let me tell him how everything was so screwed up, while I spread the dough in the pan. In between sobs I explained how it didn't seem right that one person could topple the entire structure I had made. And then, after I had put them both in the oven, he began to clean up the kitchen and I went to my bathroom and Stridexed my face. A nasty side effect of emotions is break outs, and I hate those. While I was patting down my cheeks, I thought about how wonderful it would be if I could just sizzle my anger away. It would be brilliant if I could just dump it into a bowl and put it on the bottom rack of the oven and burn it into a charred oblivion. But, that's not how it works.

The pizza was perfect. The time I shared it with my boys, and again tonight. The first night was almost two years ago exactly, and yet perfect pizza was still perfect pizza. I will never have my Grand Rapids life again, that perfection is lost forever; but I am beginning to believe that some new form of perfection can be found. If I made it once, I can make it again.

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"Still, there is this sense of missed opportunity. Maybe there is nothing, ever, that can equal the recollection of having been young together. Maybe its as simple as that. Richard was the person Clarissa loved at her most optimistic moment." -M. Cunningham in The Hours. (My most favorite author, and my most favorite book.)