Under The French Sun?

On a daily basis, I reminisce about the most magical year of my life.  From mid-1999 to mid-2000, I lived in France with a study abroad program.  I had begged my mom since seventh grade to let me go on a study abroad program, and my persistence paid off.  I graduated a year early, and hopped on a giant airplane across the Atlantic.  At this point in my life, I had never been overseas.  During that year, I lived like a French person.  I went from speaking no French, to becoming completely fluent.  The desire to see the world and experience everything in the eyes of the locals.

My love for France has never diminished.  Although I have been to several other countries since my magical year, France will always remain my second home.  I speak the language, and have wonderful friends there.  I know I could easily move my life over there, and never look back.  Well, I’d have to look back a little by way of coming back to the U.S. to visit my family and friends over here.

What I’m looking for is something similar to an experience from that movie, Under The Tuscan Sun.  If you haven’t seen the movie, Diane Lane’s character goes through a divorce, her lesbian friends send her on a tour of Italy, she gets off the bus and buys a villa, fixes it up, has sex with an incredibly handsome Italian man, goes through a breakup and some turmoil, and then lives happily ever after.  I want that, but I want it to happen in France, without a divorce, though, because I’m not married.  Ideally, I’d love to find a nice home in   the South of France, just outside of Marseille, Cannes, Nice, or Monaco.  Something a bit secluded, so I could really embrace French village life, but just a stone’s throw from a bigger city.

Love seems to happen a lot easier for me in France, too.  That’s something that’s missing from my life at the moment, and I think it’s fueling this desire for change.  I keep going after straight guys here, and that isn’t working out too well for me.

Is this something that only happens in the movies, or to millionaires?  With immigration laws, it can’t be that easy, can it?  Who knows?  A guy can still dream, can’t he?


Most Important Meal of the Day

Breakfast is often heralded as the most important meal of the day.  In the Columbia City neighborhood of Seattle sits Geraldine’s Counter.  When I moved here, I did a Google search for the ‘best breakfast joints in Seattle’, and this was the first one to come up.  It’s a trendy little place with vibrant colors, delicious food, and wonderful staff.  If you don’t get there right when they open (8am), you may have to wait a while for an open booth or a spot at the counter.

Helpings are generous and the food is great.  I usually go for the Counter Special, which is a huge helping of two eggs cooked however you like, hash browns, and toast.  Their pancakes and French toast are also phenomenal.  Oh, and for something really hearty, don’t miss their biscuits and gravy.

If you find yourself in Seattle for any length of time, make your way to Geraldine’s.  You won’t regret it.


I’m very fortunate to live in such an amazing place.  I’ve been in Seattle for almost two years, and I can’t seem to get enough of it.  Whether I’m exploring some place new, or hitting up an old favorite, all my troubles and cares fade away.

When I’m staycationing here in the area, I usually have my dog, Chloe, with me.  She’d much rather be running around an 0ff-leash area, but I drag her along with me on my adventures.  It’s like trying to travel with a moody teenager.  I’ll have a post later on about the Disneyland of dog parks.

I especially love staycationing, because I get to go home to my own bed at night.  When traveling elsewhere, I tend to go for the higher-end hotels that make me feel at home.

Back to Seattle…There’s always something to do.  I never grow tired of walking through Pike Place Market, but it can get a bit hectic in the summer when the cruise ships dock.  It seems like everywhere you turn, there’s a beautiful park to explore; some big and some small.  Discovery Park is a great place to get lost.  Sunday’s, if you get there early, you can take a ride on a sail boat on Lake Union with the Center For Wooden Boats.  Sunny days are incredibly busy, and there’s only limited space.

Take a camera out and explore where you live.  Put yourselves in the shoes of tourists.  Go out and see something you may not have thought to go see.  The world is ours to explore.

Searching For My Travel Buddy

Ok, I’m always on the lookout.  I spend my days usually making guys uncomfortable by staring them down; undressing them with my eyes.  I just can’t help myself.  I have even found myself whistling and shouting things like, “Hey stud,” from my car window as I drive down the street.  It’s getting out of hand, and I need to stop.

What I really need is a steady boyfriend.  I don’t want to move in with someone right away, of course.  However, it would be nice to find someone to cook meals with, go on walks, have adult sexual encounters, smooch, and talk to.  Just the other day, I finally decided to reach out to someone whom I thought was flirting with me.  He was a handsome Starbucks barista.  He had a warm smile, and seemed genuinely interested in how my day was going. I had obviously just rolled out of bed.  My hair was a mess (not sex hair), glasses instead of contacts, and slippers rather than actual adult shoes.  I was basically a hot mess.  I was certain that the barista was flirting with me, just from the small talk we were having.

Like a good little stalker, I planted myself at that Starbucks every single day.  “This will get his attention,” I thought to myself.  Sadly, he wasn’t there.  For a brief moment, I thought he might be one of those sparkly vampires from Twilight, and he had to take some days off to go hunt for animals so he wouldn’t face the risk of biting me.  Finally, a week after our fateful encounter, he was back.  We chatted even more.  He smiled at me in a way that made me think I was pregnant with his child.  Then, I remembered I’m a guy, so I can’t get pregnant.

I decided to be somewhat bold, so I scribbled a cute little note on a piece of paper and handed it to his boss.  I asked her to discreetly give it to him after I left for the day.  As I peeled out of the parking lot, I saw her walk over to him with the note.

Two days have passed since I passed the note along, like a 14 year old school girl.  No reply.  Is it possible that my gay-dar is broken?  I have such a hard time telling with some guys, even though I’ve been a homosexual since 1982 (the year I was born).  Did I miss something in the growing process that kept me from honing this important internal gay-detection system?  Of course, there could be other reasons.  Perhaps he’s already in a relationship, although most of the guys I encounter have a boyfriend and a few pieces on the side.  Maybe he’s not in a good place for a relationship.

I’m not upset by it, but I do wonder sometimes if I can fix my gay-dar.  It has let me down a few times too many.  I’ll just keep doing what I do best: staring the hotties down, and using the skills I learned from reading The Secret to see if I can will the Universe to make something happen.