So That Was Alright Then

Another of my geek friends now knows me for what I am (see last post) and he's still treating me the same. He even said, I don't care if its with a man, woman or beast--why are you still single?

Well I certainly am feeling the singleness these days, femme tell ya. And I realize that I've been doing something...semisneaky. The flirting I do online with the menfolk...I'm trying to seduce somebody. Essentially. One of these fantastically brilliant and comicbook loving men. The handsome ones. I want to discover, with my flirting, that they feel like I do. And that at some comic convention soon, on one of these rendezvous, our eyes will meet across a spinner rack of Fantastic Four and we'll fall in love.

That's just not been the reality though. All my geek brethren love fish. And the three that I know to be gay are not my type. Even tho one of them shaves his head.

Enter stage left; Christmas 2009 and the death of one of my closer geek buddies.

Add to it the limbo of that 2nd job still not giving me the job yet plus the sun going down at 4:25p in the frickin m, and you have one sad little panda who feels very alone these days.

Another Step Closer...

...to full disclosure.

I strongly hinted earlier today to another of my most favored and cherished comicbook internet geek buddies what might be going on behind my cowl.

On Facebook, he overloaded my senses today with--in addition to his amazing wit, gorgeous wife and two crazy-cute kids--a posting of videos with him singing at karaoke, and he's as good as ANY professional. So, as is my wont, I plied him with the usual praise because, dammit, he deserved it and life is short and people ort ta git their flowers while they're still alive! And I pointed out that on Facebook his wife ticked the "Like This" box on his songs. Which to me was awesome. A wife "liking" her husband. So I went on to comment about that too. Then I got the idea of how to turn his singing into a nice Christmas present for the wife, and shared that with him as well. (That's more of my projecting, I imagine. Sort of the "what I would do if I were stright, could sing, and had a wife who 'liked' me, and who gave me two beautiful children" fantasy.)

Well, he appreciated my ideas and he said, "Poetic as ever. How are you still single?" Which oddly enough, is not asked of me often, thankfully.

So, because my heart was already open and because this guy seems to value me too, I answered him back thusly; "Think about it, my friend." And left it at that.

Now, in the past, when I would tweet about something gay in the news, he would tweet back "Aha! I knew it!!!!!" jokingly. And of course, during the course of jests, I'm not going to open up that can a' worms. But today was different. He wasn't joking. And this was a private exchange. So ... I picked my moment. If he asks anything further, I'll tell him everything. I might even give him the link to this blog and he can read it all for himself.

And my fears are the same as they have been in the past, but not nearly as horrifying. I love this guy and it would really bring me down low if he rejected me for being gay. It would put a lie to everything I thought about his personality, and it would be Big Pain if I lost him and his affection and sense of humor.

But he's not given me too much reason to believe he'll do that. He's not romanticized my character like some have and postulated about my exploits as Black Dynamite with the ladies. He puts a lot of his own personality and thoughts out onto the internet and nothing in any of that has been homophobic. So I guess I trust him. And too ... well, I guess I've gotten to a point where if this is all going to come tumbling down--I tell the wrong person and it explodes, well ... so what. I got it honest. I've never tried to harm anyone or break up anyone's marriage with my flirtatious ways. I adore the straight male. I champion the cause of the strong, faithful, loving and honest family men. I am his strongest advocate. It's everything I would want--HAVE wanted--for myself. All my life. And if I could find a switch inside and recalibrate my sex, I would in a heartbeat. In less than a heartbeat. I'd do it in a heartbreak.

But I'm what I turned out to be, and all I want is to be loved. I've got the rest of my life to figure out how to make that happen for me.

This is just another step closer to it.

So we'll see what happens.

Wish me the best.

(and ... exhale)

On the fly...

Well here I am in rainy, downtown Williamsburg, Brooklyn, looking for Hunky Comics Geek. I'ma give myself some credit because I did come out of the house when most of me was ready to stay inside. All day. I went to the venue and had a walk around. The need for bathroom was a marvellous motivator. And well, I didn't see him. And my coward's heart rejoiced. So then I found no internet/phoneservice in the venue and left in search of the same plus lunch. I find I like Williamsburg. Yummy lunch.

And I'll go back to the venue and see what more I can find. Or who.

Which Way Is Up?

So I've been closer to the idea of 'coming out' to ALL my internet geek friends, and not just the one I liked and trusted the most, leaving it to his discretion to tell others.

Then yesterday I learned that New York State overturned a proposal for gay marriage. Then today I learn the mom from Family Ties had been gay for the last 7 years. She was married three times and has five children. Quote; Baxter has also come clean to her five kids, according to People. Her 25-year-old son Peter was all smiles. He told the magazine that he "just couldn't stop smiling, because she finally figured it out."

And it's all such a mishmash. Back when I didn't dare admit that what I felt was homosexual in nature, I HATED all the gay this and gay that talk in the media. Why did we have to know all this? Why couldn't people keep it all private? It was all too scary and too close to me.

And now I almost feel the same way, even though I know what I am. Because it's still such confusing news. Clearly I think in terms of black & white. I wanted to believe that I could have these urges & attractions and still live a hetero lifestyle. Meredith Baxter did. But all this "She finally figured it out" stuff seems like I'd be doing something stupid if I tried to get with a woman. That I can't have it both ways--either it's gay or straight with no 'in-between.' EVEN THOUGH I KNOW FOR A FACT THAT PEOPLE DO LIVE BISEXUALLY. Then my state decides it shouldn't be legal for gays to be married. So it's clear that my fears of coming out are legitimate. My own state, and dozens of others, are not willing to accept gay as a legitimate, valid mode of humanity.

So here I sit. Planning to go to find the "man of my dreams" this weekend while many social signals are telling me that it's wrong to do so, and OTHER signals are telling me how awesome it would be to get a girl, meet the expectations put on me, and make a few children that will delight me forever.

Sometime life can be so ridiculous.

The Week To Come

So a few days ago, or maybe a few weeks ago (hello speeding train that is my life), I was made aware of ANOTHER small indie comics convention to take place next weekend. In the outer boroughs. That seems to be the kind of venue that Hunky Comics Geek might show up at, since that's what he did at the last two that I attended.

So guess what I'm doing next weekend? And guess why?

Again, I'm going to find out what's what. If he's arrow-straight I'll have very nothing to lose, except the potential to see him barechested. And even so, I still could if we became friends. Straight guys--well okay, GUYS--find some of the strangest reasons to strip their shirts off when they have something they're proud to show off. And if anyone has a reason to show it off, Hunky Comics Geek doth possess it.

What I am aware of is that I'm setting myself up for that familiar ol' heartache of unrequited lust. I'm not sure how else to interpret those long, on-the-edge-of-approach looks from him, but given humans, there could be dozens of alternative reasons.

I could look exactly like an old Army buddy of his.

He might have seen me at a previous convention when I was working the booth for My Hero, and given his build, he also is aiming towards being A Hero.

He could be a Blackophile, one of the rare breed of white folks who attribute the Black Man all these powers of unspoken cool and prowess, sight unseen. I do know a few guys who are this way and since I enjoy fulfilling a few myths AND I'm an Anglophile, we get along fine, no matter the fact that out of Black types, I'm WAY more Carlton than Fresh Prince.

But whatever the reason for the previous eyelocks, I have to know. His handsomeness & potential haunts me.

And in addition, let me put this out here too; if he's straight, then I'm putting myself in the same position position I've been in for ... well ... since I broke puberty at the hands of a pedophile at the tender age of 6. Pretty gross, right? So the fact remains that if he IS gay, and DOES want me--there's no guarantee that I'll capitulate. I've considered over and over again, and the evidence is in, that I'm just not ever going to be sexually active with a consenting adult, male or female. Too repressed/haunted/scarred to be with a dude and not turned on enough to be with a lady.

I have waves of time when I'm okay with that. It's my comfort zone and intellectualism is my defense mechanism, with a liberal dose of compartmentalization. I have my comics for rollicking fun, the internet for my online conversations, I live in NYC for my culutural infusion of cool, and the audioworks that I love. My career is about to get ALL the way on track, I'm about to get a job that keeps me in NYC and frees me up to pursue the PhD, and I didn't die of a massive coronary at 36 like my friend did the week before Thanksgiving.

I said I wasn't happy before, but right now, with the future looking a little brighter...well I'm not UNhappy right now. So if Hunky Comic Geek wants me ... in THAT way ... there's no guarantee of a happy ending. Pun intended. Or if he DOESN'T want me. It's all just another chapter in This Redeemable Life.

With many more to come!

NO pun intended.

Weekend Process

So I went to a small comic convention, prompted by one of the New York City comic geeks who didn't even show up in the longrun. I went all alone and counted myself as brave, until I got in there and found a perch from where I didn't move the whole time I was there. Hey, I was alone and everybody there were strangers. I GOT there, what else d'you WANT.

Eheheh. Defensive much?

But here's why I'm blogging.

The last time I went to one of these small conventions was down on Lexington Ave in Manhattan, in the Armory. In June. I went to meet specific comicbook internetters who run a podcast that I heart muchly. It was a nice meetup and it went well. I didn't make an utter, UTTER ass of myself nor did I chase off these highly admired and mancrushed-upon men of fandom and action! But an odd thing happened when we were in the pizza shop.

A dude who I didn't know caught my eye. A Dude. So you know the drill. Muscley, balding, alone, the whole nine. And the odd thing is, I caught his eye too. I mean CAUGHT! Like soon as eyes locked, it looked as though he was about to say "Hi!" Such was the smile and nod he gave me. Well, of course I smiled back. Oh, in smiling, I've learned that I am King. I give good smile! But I was in the company of the internet podcast mancrushes so I had my perfect excuse to do nothing. And I watched this hunky comic guy go sit by himself and eat a few slices o' pizza. Which, as I did so, we did that eye-thing again. I swear it was like he knew me from somewhere and was on the cusp of saying so, except he never did. Just like I never did ask him if he did.

Yeah, well, guess who I saw from my perch this weekend. Hunky Comic Geek. And guess what happened. That eye-thing. Every time he walked past. Along with the smiling, mine and his. Right up to the verge of speech and then not. And guess what DIDN'T happen? Not a single word.

And yes, I kept hoping he'd maybe sit down near me because this time I was alone too! Or that he'd come close enough for me to ask him, "Do I know you?" because I felt like I could pull it off this time. Because I really felt like this was the strength with which this eye-thing was happening. I mean, picture it, he's walking past, I recognize it's him from the Lexington Avenue convention, and just as I'm doing so, thinking "Wow is he good looking," he looks up and looks me dead in my eyes and smiles as if to say, "Oh hey! I recognize you from that other convention, right?" But he then averts his eyes and keeps moving and it's done. Then picture this happening four more times. And increasingly my smile is saying, "Dude. Let's talk--you want to talk to me right? Dude, you're like this amazing looking guy and I want to talk!"

I had even come to a point where I thought, "Look, who cares if he's ... if he wants me. At the very least he wants to talk to me. Maybe he does know me from somewhere and I can at least find out from where, and if he's straight as an arrow or married with three kids, at least I can make a new gorgeous friend who is easy on the eyes!"

And so as this thought sounds better and better to me, moving me from will to power, a NYC geek enters the convention who I DO know, recognizes me, and comes sits next to me. Yeah. You know what that meant. No more of this dalliance. Flirtation. Pursuit. Because what? I'm going to out myself now?

But I do have some consolation for you, the poor unfulfilled reader. Another fellow geek went to the last day of the convention yesterday and took pictures of the con floor. And of course I scanned his online pics to see if I could find Hunky Comic Geek.

And I did! WOOT!

So I played with my Paint program enough to now show him to you.


Doesn't he make your knees weak? Come on, hetero men, admit it. He's so damn handsome.

So all I've got to go on is that he likes small press indie comics. At one point I thought he might be a comic creator because he hovered over in the same area, but he didn't have a badge. In fact, the wristband identifies him as a paying customer. And ...

pluh. Why am I going on and on? Just to process this I guess. Because AGAIN, the moment is passed now. Add it to the mountainous pile of "I Wish I Had..."

But I swear. If I ever run into him again--which is possible honestly, then I will slay this dragon. And ESPECIALLY if I see him ever outside of a comicbook convention setting in this city of millions and millions, well...then it's God. And if he's available and interested in me?? Well then it's God saying that Gay is Okay! It'd be God saying, "Look, I sent him to you. Now stop doubting my love and concern for you and stop being afraid that I won't accept you as you are. Have more faith in Me than that. I will never leave you and I will never forsake you. I love you. Unconditionally. Now go get this gorgeous bastard--I made him just for you!"

Because if God would make me a homosexual partner (for life, may I add because... well just LOOK at him!) then He'd call him a 'gorgeous bastard.'

And that's what's going on.

Message In A Bottle

So I've done well for a little while, yeh? Shared my sanitized thoughts on Facebook. Been whimsical, played well with others, been a little naughty, had some fun, yeh? Met some new people, met some old people, met some people I like, and a few I don't think I'll like in the long run. Viva la zeitgeist!

This morning I'm ever so slightly off kilter, tho. I miss the initmacy and unlimited word count of Blogger. And tomorrow, after a two month successful dodge of training, I have to perform another 8-hour crisis management class. The thought of it today when getting out of my car and coming into the building, made me want to scream and curse someone out. I felt/feel cornered and threatened and angry as all hell. I never asked to be put up in front of a classroom of strangers and entertain them via a curriculum with physical touching. And tomorrow I've got a training partner who I do believe will be her first time. So I don't have just the class to manage but a new trainer as well. And it makes me furious enough to quit. If this had been the job, I would not have taken it.

But let's face it, this aversion to discomfort is just the tip of the iceberg. I'm sick to death of discomfort. It's ALL discomfortable. ALL OF IT. Yesterday I had the evening off (a tradition I believe I'll insist upon. No more Monday nights at the office). And I played ChampionsOnline for a good 8 hrs as a result. Yeah, from about 4pm to midnight. Why? Well, because it's awesome to get out of my skin and inhabit the fit and colorful little hero who can literally leap tall buildings in a single bound, heal with one surge of his bioenergy, and explode villains away with another. That's why. And too, because it kind of feels sucky to be me.

So I complain about working as much as I do, and I toil toward the goal of going monojob, but then I realize that when I do have that opportunity to have free time, its all spent trying to be anything else but myself.

And I've been on the road of self-discovery. I'm as introspective as a clam. Solopsistic to an absolute fault. Obsessive. And the answers I find lead me to one major idea. I'm not a happy man.

I can be happy. I can laugh and find real joy in things. People's lives are wondrous. People's ideas are special and unique and beautiful. The works of man are breathtaking. Life is precious. People are precious. And I know that I am too.

But what it feels like? It feels like crap.

Would it still feel like crap if I were in a loving relationship? Would it feel like crap if I had a 6pac? Would it feel like crap if I could live off one job? If I were a Doctor of Psychology? If I had my own apartment? If my car was paid off? If I had a cat again? If I were younger? Taller? Had superpowers?

You know what? I don't know. Sometimes I think this is just what life is. A series of disheartening challenges with brief flashes of light and hope and happiness. No? Is it better for you?

Are you happy? Mostly?

I really want to know.

Can you tell me?

A Fad?

Well, I haven't seen the handsome and virile Kilt Guy since I posted. I have traded looks again with another strapping dude at the 125th St. station while waiting to cross trains, one that had real potential if I knew how to do more than smile.

But I don't think I do. I mean, ol' dude caught my eye as he came off the D train, and I smiled. he headed toward the steps and looked back at me, and I smiled. He headed up the steps and looked back one more time, and me, who kept looking ... smiled. Then he was gone. His expression said, "Really? YOU?" Or maybe that was just what was going on in my own head about myself.

What I've discovered is that my male-enhanced libido helps me flirt, but the awkward socialness that I expirienced as a hetereo is following me into my homoness. I can't open my mouth and say 'Hello.' I can't initiate the conversation that will lead me to, "I'm interested in you, let's go out." When I was hetero, I was petrified of not being enough or having enough. Now "as the village's only gay" I'm terrified of what I do have.

And I'm still brainwashed down to my core. It still doesn't look right for two men walking up the avenue holding hands. Two men pushing a baby carriage. Two men sharing a tender kiss. No. For me it's the rough grunting sweaty porn sex. The stuff that doesn't look anything like love, but more like hunger. The male power.

And in this, I find my disorder. My own trauma. I come back to the abuse. The introduction to sex through perversion and crime. The shame and self-loathing.

And so I think I'm going to leave it there. I think this experiment of The Redeemable Life is a failure, like so many experiements must inevitably become in order for one to succeed.

Facebook is a nice, sanitary place where I don't have to drag through filth the people that I've come to love but chase away. This unsolvable thing about sex ... I'm done. Nothing works. Time to find my joys in other things--the things I've always done. Comic books. Audio dramas. Helping others who possess more potential for success than I ever had. Well, maybe I once had.

It's been nice and it has gotten me through the last six years of depression, eviction, terror. It showed me the hearts of good people. It's been a special place and I miss it every day.

I miss it and I miss you every day.

In Other News

I haven't had a crying jag in WEEKS! I used to about every week or so, on the way to work when I have to go down to Edison. Just a miasma of sadness sitting in my chest until it runs over. Of course I'd help it along with "Home" from The Wiz or "Be A Lion" from the same.

Yesterday on the street a fella was walking towards me, fitting my ideal description. Bald, built, and ringless. I made eyecontact and I allowed myself to smile--I allow my face to show what I'm feeling. And may I say I do this a lot anymore. I'm already looking, so if they see me looking, why not send them a smile? I'm not trying to hurt them and my intentions are pure. I like what I see, that's all. So I smile and then I re-occupy myself with whatever I was doing before I looked. Well, this guy yesterday returned eyecontact and the smile. And then zoom, we went past each other and it was over.

So now that I'm all gay and whatnot, how does it go to the next step? What does one man say to another man without the slightest idea (okay, there is the SLIGHTEST idea) that the other is available and interested?

Last night I wrote an email to a gay feller who I though was hot. I found him on a site that advertises such things. He lives in New York City. And I asked him the same question. We'll see if he cares one way or the other. He probably gets dozens of e-mails, and surely most of them hot guys do. But Since he put his stuff on the web for attention and solicitation, I figured I'd give it a shot. Maybe an intelligent conversation can be found out there? Maybe I can find a Gay Ned who looks like Jason Statham, lol!

So yeah, I'm not whining about it anymore. I'm doing something about it. I'm going to see what's up.

Okay. So Now That I'm Gay ...

Here's a list of women that I'd go straight for.

Felicia Day


Sade

Corinne Bailey Rae



Freema Agyeman

So. There's This Guy.

He's about a head taller than me and he has a runner's frame. His head is completely shaved and he sports a sandy brown goatee. My new glasses very much resemble the ones he usually wears. He surely must be in his thirties. And I see no wedding or commitment rings.

He works in a designing firm on the same floor as our counseling offices, and I catch him at times near the 5:00 whistle if I come in early enough for my night gig. We meet at the bathroom--I'm arriving, he's leaving.

Now, you know chemistry when you see it. You make eye contact. You smile, they smile. You get a little flutter. You feel a little nervous. You want, more than air at that moment, to say something--ANYTHING--smart and funny and winning and deep and binding and everlastingly impressive.

Lemme back up some. A few weeks ago, while on the street approach to the building, I saw him heading my way, walking with someone in big conversation. That made the twice or third time, but that time, he was broadly striding in a kilt. Complete with black Doc Martin boots and that dangly, beaded, leathery adornment that goes in the front of kilts. (Kind of like a pipeless bagpipe? I dunno.)

So that was my in. I knew that the next time I'd see him, I would bring up that kilt. (No pun intended). I always need a good reason to launch into conversation. (Remember me, the guy who took meds for nearly a year because of social anxiety? I only quit because my doctor was holding them hostage. Finally the withdrawal symptoms have faded away. Now I feel unmedicated and still have managed to keep my dayjob and call new people back who want sessions in the evening. Yes, I was openly weeping on a weekly basis, but I was sad.)

But I digress! That kilt was IT! So, yesterday was the 'next time' I was waiting for. In fact, yesterday was layered in all sortsa circumstance.

I just got in and hadda go, ifyaknowwhatImean. But the bathroom key was not in our office. So I figured one of our therapists was inside using the facilities. So I stood outside of the bathroom, which is out in the hall, closer to the designer firm than to our counseling center--and I waited. It's taking a little longer than I wish, but so far I'm good.

And who should step out of the designing firm? Kilt-Guy! (Not wearing a kilt, by the way). HE has his own key. So I smile, say hello, and look beyond him into the bathroom so I can confirm that I'm waiting for someone from OUR office to let me in. Except 1) Kilt-Guy engages me, almost as if, while wearing a big smile, he's not going to let me in and 2) I see no one beyond him in the bathroom. I stumble over my words--"someone from my offices ... is it okay if I just ... the key ... I think someone's in there and I need to ..." AWKWARRRRRRRRD!

Kilt Guy lets me in though, he recognizes that I'm here a lot and has used a key to these facilities before, and maybe, just maybe, he's been feeling the same thing I've been feeling anyway. So I'm in the bathroom as he "heads" for the urinal, and now I see ... there's NO ONE IN THE BATHROOM. So possibly I've just bum-rushed my way into the bathroom with a false, and quite horribly cheap excuse to get in with him. After I've been stalking outside both the bathroom AND his office.

NOT a good look, people.

But to my GREAT relief, I found the key inside a commode stall, which I waved around like a battlefield flag as if to say "See? NOT a perve! NOT a perve!" because dang it, it WAS missing and I DID have to go! Well, icebreaker ACHIEVED. Here we were.

So I bring up the kilt. Again, no pun intended. And he shares freely. He likes it. He lives in Jersey City, in an ethnic community. He likes shocking the neighbors with his fashion choices. A chick on Fifth Avenue impulsively lifted up the back. And a few sundry other pleasantries.

But what I'm checking for is "Does this guy dig me? Is this more of the same, like what I got from the Haagen-Daas Dude? Are we flirting here? Does he know that I damn sure am?"

What a perfect tapered jaw I was looking at. What sky blue eyes, wide smile, anatomy-model bald head he has. My heart is just all a-pitter pitter pitter with the odd patter thrown in. Broad shoulders--not as chunky and bold as I usually like but there's some upper chest development and evidence that he's tight under those clothes. Flat stomach. Just ... he's just so ...

And out to the elevators he goes. One more smile, nod, and farewell as he stands and I go into the counseling offices with freshly washed hands.

And regardless of whether he's gay or not, this is how I know that I am.

This doesn't HAPPEN between two straight guys. I mean, I still believe there are constant degrees of ambivalence and fluidity. I believe straight guys are fascinated and still attracted to other mens' physiques. I believe that straight men still crush on the Hugh Jackmans and Jason Stathams of the world.

But do they go as far as I do?

I want this guy to want me. I want to practice a kiss where my heart actually bangs. I want to give in to the gravity of his masculinity, his looks, his charm, his style, his presence, his person. I wanna touch!

Look, I told my Former Father Figure a few weeks ago about why I thought I was gay and why I realized that my past relationships with women never worked. I used to think I was unable to "love." I used to think I never really could, because of my history with Mom, with no parental example, with the lack of practice by the time I was in my late twenties/mid-thirties--whateverhaveyou. Never mind that I thought muscular guys were hot. Nevermind that I bought Muscle & Fitness mags the way middle-aged men bought Playboy. Those facts were all compartmentalized away. I was a Christian and I was supposed to marry a girl. End of story.

So I believed that my affection for women, my admiration and appreciation for them--all that would surely turn into sexual energy given enough time. But it didn't. Even when I left the strictness of church and allowed myself to kiss my girlfriend--even when I was alone with her in her apartment, or in my own, and we were laying spooned together on the couch ...

... I never felt anything close to what I felt in the workplace bathroom yesterday.

I'm sure if he would have moved in on me and crushed me up against the commode stall I'd have fainted from the stark thrill of the moment.

I'm gay.

I'm gay.

And if Kilt-Guy asks me out on a date ...

I'm gunna go.

And that's what's going on.

Reminisce

Looking for emails to give permissions after I lock this blog down (just in case the Facebook causes some type of mad breach into my bloglife), and I found this post.

It's been slow going but I think I may have made a little more progress since then. Not much, I know. But a little.

More On This

Okay, for instance, right now I quite feel like a big rolling pile of steaming SHITE. At my workplace a client has screamed his misery to all the workplace and my interventions only made it worse. From that point I was to go into a meeting about him and recommend his removal from this program location where my office is. Which is how I got involved in the first place. Because my office is here and I have a meeting to go to at 1:30 and so my boss felt I should stay on deck, replace him, and advocate for the client's removal. Meanwhile this poor miserable bastard is screaming his throat raw and crying his eyes out, smashing his lunch to pulp and begging for everyone to Just LEAVE HIM THE UFCK ALONE.

And inside, I just could NOT agree with him more. In my heart of hearts I knew that if we all just let the man be, get off his back, allow him his period of readjustment to his broken schedule, he'd be FINE. Like he ALWAYS is. But no. Program Director and Administrators just can't tolerate it anymore. "Something has to be DONE." "We aren't serving his needs here anymore." "He's setting off all the others." Well, OKAY, maybe SO. But CHANGE is what triggers him and here you are suggesting that CHANGING HIS ENTIRE DAY, (ie travel time, site location, personnel, peers) is what he needs?!? And my boss wanted me to be a part of this?

So like the twelfth angry man on this jury, I just went along with the consensus. I faked words of support for the plan. Yes, I pointed out the risks of changing things on the client, but ultimately I caved to the pressure of essentially getting rid of the man. Like a good little clone, I did my job.

UFCK ME.

And so you see, this is the kind of outpour I need and putting that on Facebook just wouldn't do. I don't need people in my profession reading this. But that's just my job.

How and where can I post that my crush on Felicia Day could be the thing to save my hetereosexuality? My geek brethren read my expression of affection for her, and my gosh I do think she's amazing. But if I went on gushing about her on Facebook, but didn't complete my thought--which is--she may not trip my trigger, but with her I would learn. I would take the time. I would make love to her just because SHE wanted me to.

And then of course, I have to face facts, which I do here and cannot do on Facebook--how long could that last? Me making love solely for the other person? Not for myself? And is that fair to the other person?

Yeah. Not saying this on Facebook. Or Twitter. You guys who are here already--this is where you get The Rest Of The Story. Could you please keep this blog in your confidence? Please create no link bridges through your sites to this place here. Hate me if you must. Call me a hypocrite and a liar. But please don't kill me. Let me have my place where I vent, process, struggle. I need this place. I want you here. I need you here. Facebook is not where my heart is. Here is.

Now, to summarize;

I live on the lintel of The Closet. I'm comfy right here. I will express my crushes, my lusts, my whathaveyous, but I will not act on them. I am an Inbetweener. I would not wish this on a dog, but I'm here. On the day I decide that I'm out of the closet and in a relationship with a man--that will be the day I integrate all these areas of my life and let the chips fall. But I cannot--will not do that now. Because I have no one else BUT this right now. All I have are my geeks. They are my community. My support system. They are more vocal and more present than here. And it may so happen that I sacrifice this homosexual lifestyle to fit into the mould they have created for me. Just to keep their love. Yes, I would do that. I've BEEN doing that.

Because I need love. I'm human. I need love. In any form I can get it. I need it. And I'm not the least bit ashamed to say THAT, even if I'm ashamed to say all these other things.

Shit. I'm fighting for my fucking life here. Shit.

I'm Not Ready

So I found My Ned and My Scott and where they've gone and learned how I can go too. Facebook. Childhood Buds, I know you guys are going to kill me for not being motivated to join for you, but you are guys who I can call on the frikkin phone for Pete's sake. Ned and Scott are these millions-of-miles-away guys who, without knowing me prior to all this blogation, poured love and support all up in the mix. Love and support are addictive, I must say. Y'all got children and wife, so hopefully you know what love & support feels like (oh, and you got me), but for me--so, yeah.

So I joined Facebook. I used my mutant name instead of my gub'ment, and see, I told you I knew people. I told you I was popular in other places. I already knew that.

But they don't know all what goes on up in here. And as the friend requests came crashing into my email account by the dozens (damn Facebook sign-up process raping my e-mail addresses and setting me the eff up for TOTAL EXPOSURE) panic attacks ensued. Can they find this blog through my Facebook? People I friended know about this place--will they tell? Do they have links at their places which could lead the intrepid here?

And what's here that I want to keep so private? Well DUH?!! It's just so ufcking nice to know who you are isn't it? Just so very ufcking cozy to put up pictures of your wives, girlfriends, husbands, children--just spread your arms wide open and invite the world into your life with no shame, no guilt, no fear. Isn't life just so rosy and happy and shiny for you?

Now my ass gets pressured, cajoled, wheedled out in the harsh sunlight and ufck me if that sh!t doesn't BURN. People finding pictures of me and posting them on my site without so much as a by-your-leave. I turn around and there I am. Wink, smile, wave of fingers, first and last name put the ufck out on blast.

Why? Why the hell is it so important for people to get all into my stuff? People who are ALREADY my friends?

People, I have two clients who internet stalk. I can't have them finding that I'm a geek, I'm gay, I'm this, I'm that.

So NONE OF MY REAL NAMES ON MY DAMN FACEBOOK, okay? Don't MAKE me have to close that bitch down so soon.

ARGH!! Why am I so angry?!

And when I consider that okay, let's let everybody know everything. Let's drop all the walls. My emotions go UFCK YOU! Not everyone has the right to know! Not everyone has earned my trust! Not everyone has displayed the ability to accept and not judge! UFCK YOU if you think I'm going to set myself up for ufcking failure. Put myself in a position to me rejected by people I once held in my heart.

The more I type, the more I want to check out of Facebook. I love Scott and Ned, but I'm SO so much less secure than those guys. I have SO much less to show and SO much less to be proud of.

I should have followed my instincts. This shit is a trainwreck getting ready to happen.

Ufck me.

REDACTION!!

In my previous post, I didn't mean it!! I didn't mean ANY of it! Oh please don't leave me! Please don't!!

Heh. Only half of that is true. In my last post I did mean it.

Tomorrow I'm going to put the rubber to the road on this one. I was spurred to write that post because of the recent falling out with Jester. Well Jester's friend and mine, My Cop Hero, wants to play peacemaker. The Cop's known Jester twice as long as I have, so he is Jester's greatest advocate. And I respect that. The Cop is also very fond of me. So he wants us all to be friends.

But I've decided, as have all of you at one time or another, that toxic friends are toxic. And that at this time of life, I need friends who can love me. Just like I am going to love them.

So tonight The Cop called and wanted to help me make up with Jester (because yes, I put it out there in our group messages that I was tired of it, and that I was taking a break. (Go Alan!) So I told The Cop that if he wanted o take on the role of peacemaker, then he was going to have to know why I'm tired of sparring with Jester and why I need more from friends (which will include The Cop, he will soon learn).

The Cop at first thought I was just going to lay Jester out, but I told him it had nothing to do with Jester. And ultimately, it honestly does not. It has to do with me living in constant fear of losing everyone and everything for "coming out of the closet." Irrational as that may be to you, dear reader, it is a very real fear to me. But thanks to the mostly silent Coaster Punchman these days, I started the list of worst-case scenarios and was able to put them into the light instead of the forever unknown nightmare dark. I started to be able to seriously consider it, both the benefits and consequences. Both the friends that would stay and the friends that would leave. It started becoming real.

So then I started telling people.

I told My Super Hero. (He stayed)

I told Childhood Bud II. (She stayed--and denied it for me)

I told my Geek Central buddy, and removed the vow of secrecy I swore him under. If anyone asks him, he can tell them. (Cowardy of me, but the advance here is that I don't want to deny it anymore. They suspect it, now let them know it for sure, even if I'm not the one to tell them. And if it REALLY matters to them, they can ask me directly.)

And tomorrow, I'm telling The Cop. And he can go tell Jester, and our other D&D geek buddies and I don't care anymore. I don't care no mo. I half want them to dump me. I like having my Saturdays free, and not having to go through the sparring and sarcasm deflection, and self-defense, and ridicule of my qualities and my profession, which I'm better at than anything else I do on planet Earth, with the Audio productions coming up a close second.

But the true part of my REDACTION is that my heart really doesn't want them to reject me. My heart is really sore from rejection. I miss the people I used to be friendly with and share words, thoughts, wishes, and encouragement with. They made me feel so good and so loved and now they are so gone. And this stings like a real bitch.

And maybe that's why I'm telling people about this sexuality now. Maybe I'm looking for the kind of love that won't fade away on me. Maybe the kind of love I'm attracted to is the only love I'm made for. The only love that will really make me happy. The kind of love that isn't faked. To be loved for me.

And if I'm going to get that love, then all the games have to stop. I have to be real if I want real love.

So let's just see what's what come Saturday morning, after the sh*t has hit the fan and the room is splattered.

Euw.

I need a better analogy.

The Friends I Want

So yeah, I tweeted again about some jive mess Jester put me through last night. Snarking at me, ridiculing my sensitivity, bullying the group to play without me while I struggled to get my system up to snuff. Just a bastard. A big bully.

So I realized what I want from my friends. I want friends who will listen. Friends who will lend an ear when I need one. Friends who can empathize and who care. Friends who respect my choices. Who are honest with their feelings, be they positive or negative, but in all manner of communication, affectionate and respectful.

If you're looking to be a friend of mine and cannot meet these requirements then you need not apply. Because I'm shouldering a F*CK TON of weight on the daily. I'm struggling with middle-age, my weight, my failing eyesight, my career which consists of two jobs, plans for pursuing a PhD, loneliness & sexuality, religion & God. Among some of the more minor details.

And let me tell you, it's not all about me me me. Because I offer the same things AS a friend. This is who I have become. I get real joy out of matters of the heart. It might be vicarious living since I'm not able to enjoy it for myself. But there it is. And there I am. And YOU get the benefit. I'm patient, I listen, I care. I can be used for this. I'm made for this. It's one of the clearest things I understand about myself and I experience it every time I'm walking up Central Park South toward the train station or my parked car, leaving a good therapy session. I'm GOOD at this, because I love it.

And that's not to say I'm a big blubbery mess or 100% goosh. I can be sarcastic, cutting, and I'm a hell of a lot of fun at parties (or so I've discovered over the last few years).

So yeah. People who will let a great guy like me slip through their fingers? You never did deserve me anyway. SEEya! (See? Cutting. I Kan Doo Eet!)

It's middle age, I tell ya. I'm on the other side of my life now. I need to be setting up for retirement and leaving this world. I need to make sure I'm secure, both materially and emotionally. If no woman's going to marry a less than manly man such as myself, and if I can't get the world or religion to treat me right if I link my life with a dude that I might dig, then I gotta make sure that I at least cushion the blow of aging & dying with friends I can trust.

And that's what's going on.

And I Thought I Was STRAIGHT?!

Look at me in my turtleneck. No WONDER I never got laid!! God what a joke. Clearly I am now and have always been insane. And obviously gay.

Anyway, I got this picture from my Aunt, who I told y'all about in June. As she had described, she put together a tribute DVD to her brother Marduke and now I have a copy of one, so I captured a lot of screenshots and posted them as Flick'r pics. I tell a story in those pics, and some other, more upbeat self-discoveries at Flick'r so you might want to go give those a scan. In summary, it turns out that I'm a lot more proud of my family than I thought I'd be.

I went to see my aunt last night to make good on the promise I made her before I went off to the comics convention and Ned. Eliel, perk up--SHE LIVES (and has lived since the 70's) TWO BLOCKS FROM CARLTON AVENUE. She owns a brownstone that is EXACTLY like your old one in architecture. And I do mean exact, as in the steps are on the same side of the house, etc.

Eliel, when I went to visit you those times, my aunt was withoin walking distance all along. And not only that, but in the 70's she was able to purchase a brownstone, and she's been raising two boys in it for 30 years. Now, as you know Eliel, the neighborhood has become one of those trendy gentrified Brooklyn nabes. And my aunt is sitting pretty. I had no idea. Not many other, if any, can say they are as successfully adult as this aunt of mine. And I'm SO glad to be able to have another connection to that neighborhood because I was starting to REALLY dig it before you moved out of there, Eliel. Still mad at you for that!

Anyway, visiting my aunt turned out to be the best case scenario. She welcomed me as though I'd never left. Just like her mother did when I lived in Harlem the first time (happy to say, I found the original post where I mention her mother, and her brother Marduke). And she's doing better than me, but I'm doing okay as well, which means I can visit her again and there will be no agendas between us. I won't be trying to sponge off her, she won't be trying to sponge off me.

The only wrinkle right now is that I haven't disclosed my last ten years to her. Last she knew, and I reconfirmed that her memories are true, that I went out to Missouri to become a preacher. So she wants to know what church I "go" to. I tell her the last church I attended, but not the fact that I haven't gone back in years and that I'm trying to first come to terms with being "Big Gay Al" before I find a new church to start visiting/attending.

But this woman has seen me growing up. She knows I have no girlfriend now, in my forties. She HAS to know that I'm not straight. And I want to have that talk with her. I want the love of family in my life again, as I am now.

And it seems like I'm going to have it.

If my aunt accepts me ... well ... a gift of God, is what that is. And even if I'm NOT straight, God might still be working in my life.

Which is really REALLY okay with me.

Where Are My Comic Books...?

Yeah, so yesterday my boss calls me about two hours after he'd been standing in my office and he says with a very very stern voice, "You want to tell me why you weren't at XXXX XXXXXX's psychiatry appointment?" There was a tinge of outrage with a hint of hysteria seasoning to taste, as well.

My response, "No no No no no!" because in the microuniverse's lifespan between his question and my answer, I realized that I had totally forgotten the appointment. Instead, I had Tweeted all day, fought sleep, didn't fight sleep, learned how to sleep (or at least snore) on my feet, went out to get lunch, and ate it all without a second's worth of realization that I had an appointment to go to.

I've since made amends (see my Twitter stream for details) and the Boss and me are buds again, but all today one alternative answer to his question has been buzzing around in my mind. "Because," I could have said, "I'm a gut-expanding middle-aged closeted homosexual who is working two jobs in order to live the life of one person, I'm off my meds, and I'm just really, really tired."

So a few minutes ago, coming in from said second job, I opened up my e-mail to discover that the second guy in our Friday-night D&D group has had a baby with his woman (in this case, wife). This is the guy who had gotten married a year or so ago. A guy who was hapy to get married and was looking forward to planning his future with the one he loves. Honestly. So yeah, in the time between, they made and gave birth to a baby.

And so I just thought I'd come and blog about it because I think one should somehow pay tribute to the death of ones dreams and hopes. It's respectful.

So RIP Alan's Heterosexuality. If you hadn't been so sickly in the first place, one of those dozens of babies made and born by your friends in your lifetime would have been yours.

Postscript; This post's title comes from the fact that after I lay my hands on them, I'll be alright.

Adventures In Gayville. Prologue.

The thing that is really going to cheese me off is the fact that this will wind up being not very unremarkable at all. That I'm not any more special than anyone else.

And yet.

This is me.

And not someone else. And it's kind of astonishing that I would be here. In this place.

So anyway, full of self-loathing and abandon, I was standing in the Haagen-Daas boutique store where the prices for their ice cream is even more expensive than their store pints. I had just ordered my Dulce de Dulce w/ Bananas and Caramel Dulce, and had given the shopkeep a piece of my mind in doing so. More than ANY meal from McDonalds it was going to cost me! He took it in good stride. He knew I was there to pay regardless of my outrage.

"Where are you from?" he asked.

"5 miles from here--up Broadway." I answered, prouder than I'd been all week.

So while I stood there waiting for the poisonous concoction to brew, in walked a pair of fellers in mid conversation. "...wait until you taste it. It's crack, I tell you." Or something to that effect.

I did what one does when alone while waiting for your stuff when other people are yapping. I said and did nothing. The two chatted a little more and I did what one does when the conversation of strangers continues, and continues. I stole a look.

Well, the one chatting and chatting was pretty much what he sounded like. A crisp, late twenties white dude, very earthy and yet ivy league. Like maybe from a working class family who made good in the business world. He wore a dress shirt and slacks, and was very animnated. I could easily see him in a "How I Met Your Mother" set bar with his buddies, throwing darts after work, crying foul with a tenor's trumpet. And while I was taking his full stock from my half a second's worth of glance, I dimly register that he's talking to me as well.

"Sir. Sir, have you ever had a Bailey's shake?" with the sudden familiarity of a frat brother.

Well. What could I do but get a better look at him?

The boy was handsome. Fratman all the way. Flat belly, open collar, hints of chest hair poking out of darker tones like maybe there's some Italian in him or one of the more swarthy Irish. Clean shaven, straight perfect teeth in a big open smile.

Who were these guys? Lovers? The older one also trim. A little taller than the both of us. Visiting NYC, according to the content of the previous conversation before I got included. Salt and pepper hair. Darker still, like maybe Greek or East Asian. Dressed more casually than John Bailey's-Shake.

I smiled. The boy was smooth. He was a talker. He was not afraid of the black guy standing in the ice cream store with the Reed Richards sideburns. "No," I said. "Never did. But I'm going for that golden cup of sunshine, myself," and I pointed to the poster on the wall that had brought me in here. They had to admit that mine looked real good too. But Johnny insisted, the Bailey's was amazing. "Not sweet like regular Bailey's."

"Oh," I said, "Then it's not for me. Sweet is what I'm in here for." And yes, I was. Flirting, that is. Ol' Johnny wanted to play? 'Ight. Let's play.

"It's about a million calories," said Johnny to his companion and me, "But so worth it."

"And about a dime per calorie," said clever, flirtatious little me.

They laughed. Oh, yes, I can make them laugh. I'm a funny guy. "He's payin' for it!" said Johnny. "So that's on him...!"

Then the awkward silence descended as it does, while shakes and sundaes are being made. Then mine came out. I handed my ransom over for it. Then I took more opportunity to show it off. "See," I said to them, "This is what ya need."

"It does look good," said Johnny. And then he said the following, as easy as a breeze. "If you want to stick around you could get a taste of our Bailey's."

And there I was. Trumped. Oh, Johnny B gooooooood. He was very aware of his ability to seal the deal, was our little flat-bellied, handsome-ass Johnny with the big smile and the dark eyebrows.

And I thought, me? This guy wants me to stick around? Me? What about his buddy here, who's buying his Bailey's? What about my fat belly? What about the fact that I'm not ready to be gay yet?

Johnny saw my hesitation. My expression. And he said, with nary a moment passing after his offer--in fact he made it the closing of the same sentence, "But if you're on your way to something, that's cool."

And I nodded, not shy or repulsed or even afraid, but very aware and even flattered, and not ready. "Yeah, I'm on my way to something. But you guys enjoy your shakes."

And out I went thinking, "You betta work, Johnny, with your handsome self."

And as flattered as I felt, or as delusionally giddy (for Johnny may have just been a really open and frathouse kind of guy, as genuine and friendly as My Super Hero is, with a sexy-ass wife waiting in their 775K condo around the corner) I also felt again, for the first time, "I'm not ready."

My fat belly. My self-consciousness. My fear.

I'm not ready.

But damn, is it always going to be that easy?

Because if so--then wow.

I better buy some condoms.

GREs

The Graduate Record Examination. I've tackled this biatch a few times in my past, attempting to go back to school and begin a doctorate program. This time, I bought The Princeton Review "Cracking the GRE..." series for the general and the psychology subject tests.

Because MFTD, to whom I've accumulated a debt in excess of 6K over the years (you see, he is VERY good with his money) offered me a 6K scholarship. He said "I'll forget the debt if you go back to school for your doctorate."

And I said "Okay."

The subject came up because I was telling him that I was thinking about it AGAIN. Initially, I had called him to fill the space in my day with human contact of the non-therapeutic kind. The loneliness was getting to me. And so I told him I was considering the doctorate because the two jobs in this field are getting to be a bit much. I've now actively begun NOT scheduling clients one out of the 5 weekdays, for instance.

And then he dropped that offer on me. He's a good guy, MFTD.

A few weeks ago, I'd mailed a check to one of other two friends who I owed money to, and it has been cashed. So now I only owe one more person a personal debt. And then I've licked it! No more financial cloud for me. Five years in the making. (This does not include car & student loan, but they are regularly made payments.)

And then on to the PhD.

Yeah. Not bad, eh?

Dontchange

So, can I pick 'em or what? My Super Hero remains my friend. He said ZERO things have changed.

You know, it seems pretty clear that I'm on my way out of the closet. I seem to be taking it a step at a time, choosing with who and how to reveal. CoasterPunchman walked me through an exercize by e-mail a few months ago that had me face my exact fears about identifying myself as "A Gay American." I've tackled two of those fears on that list now, meanwhile testing waters here at my blog, taking my time, having my panic attacks, crying a little every day, mourning my heterosexuality in my own way, trying to adopt a new dream for my life, trying to still feel human and love-able and ... redeemable.

Well, a few minutes ago, I looked for a music video because I wanted to punctuate one of my messageboard posts with the theme of a song and after I found what I thought was perfect, I realized it had another meaning for another aspect of my life.

So, here you go--I knew I had to post it here--let the tears flow freely. God knows mine did.

Okay. Okay.

So yeah, my heart's in my throat. How does that happen? I LITERALLY feel my heart beating right at the level of my sternum, right below my Adam's Apple. Because I just sent The Letter to My Super Hero giving up The Last Reveal about me. You know, the whole sex thing? The whole "me" and "not being as straight as I wished I were" thing?

Yeah. And if my impressions of My Super Hero is accurate, this won't go as horribly, horribly horribly maddeningly horrific as it could be. He won't feel deceived and lied-to about me. He won't think all this has just been one big same-sex crush and an elaborate scheme to create a big jerk-off fantasy (which it never ever has. My Super Hero embodies the ideal for me--the me I want to be, removed from all corruption and molestations and illicit seedy porno sex). He's the innocence of reading comics at nine, dreaming about justice and fairness and how to be a hero and a man. He's married and all that, but that's not who he is for me. For me, he's the recapture of a childhood I'll never be able to have had. He's my escape when the world is too brutal again.

So why did I do this? Why did I tell him? Why didn't I just keep it out of all conversation, as I have been doing? Well, because we're friends, he and I. I mean we really get on really well. And sometime I have just not been there for him because of my struggles and my ups and my downs, and sometimes I feel like I've let him down so much and I just wanted him to know why. I thought that because of all he means to me and because of all he's done for my mind and my spirit, I felt he deserved to be let in. That he deserved to be trusted, I guess. Yeah, that's it. He deserves to be trusted with this.

Still, I'm just so scared that despite everything I've tried to be, and everything I've wished for and all the purest motives this bent frame could conceive of, that I'll be misunderstood and rejected. That my heart will be broken and that I'll no longer be AFOMA. And while he'll have the right to turn away from the secret-keeping little perv that I am, since it is HIS life and he gets to decide who HE wants in it, it would just crush me. It would be just so awful.

And I would survive. And I would find new supports, or call you guys up and cry on your shoulder until we both drowned, but .... I would recover.

Right?

Right?

Oh God. Please. Have mercy on me. I just hate all this. Why did this have to be me? Why couldn't I just be like anyone else?

July 11th!

Because, really, is it any different than the 5th?

So this has been a pretty hetero week for me. The female ta-ta, as a duo, are still some of the world's best looking sound. When pushed up, propped up, straining to float free, or in full jiggle--them thangs is fun to look at!!!

Then I introspect that if I were hetereo, the girls are all I'd look at when Johnny Jogger comes pounding by with no shirt on. So in this leg of the journey, I'm starting to realize that instead of clinging to my female attraction to define myself as hetereo, the truth is that the existence of my male attraction is as much if not moreso a defining trait too. Possibly it's a defining trait that cancels out the other? Maybe the breast attraction is just the residual of having been a baby and primitively desiring breasts because that's where survival was supposed to have come from. No breast-attraction, no life.

And I'm coming to realize stuff about my comicbook-loving geek nation now that I'm examining the depths and heights of my own homo-ness. Just because so many of my cyberfriends are married w/children, it doesn't mean they don't get the same kind of thrill that I do looking at a dude's physique.

After all, what FIRST attracted them to comicbooks? Definitely not the STORIES because that's not the first thing a young boy sees when he hovers toward the comicbook display. He sees colorful, spandex-clad muscles. In equally colorful speedos.






It's true.

And mostly on the comicbook page does a pair of bright red speedos look normalized and functional. A kid can look at Superman and not have any witnesses thinking "Why is that kid looking at male erotica?!?" But what if that's what it's been all along?

Well, to that I can add this; at Geek Central, my cyber buddies are the biggest same-sex flirters you'd ever want to meet! 90% of them are married and 85% of that bunch have kids. But they think nothing of telling a fellow dude poster that they're sexy, got a "purty mouth," etc.

Which brings me back to my idea of fluid sexuality. Which isn't just MY idea. You guys have agreed with me on this. And we know A LOT of homosexual folks have sexed and had children with hetereo-sex partners, before and after taking a homosexual identity. So my cyberbuddies who flirt with each other online (and over the podcasts) are most likely not 100% hetereo. And really, is ANYONE? But they might in fact be a lot less hetereo than the average dude, due to their (our) love for colorful, muscley, underwear-on-the-outside wearing heroes. And they still managed to snag a girl and make whoopie enough to produce babies.

I can't be mad at that. I only wish I could be one of them. With all my heart.

In other news, my Friday night D&D group has not been meeting for over a month now because the DM and his girlfriend (fellow player) has had a baby. She was looking pretty uncomfortable and all swole up for the last month before she popped and they live together so he's also doing the new dad thing instead of running off to us to run our game. So I'm a little bitter about that. All these otherwise hetereo geeks having dates and shtupping women and making babies, leaving me alone.

In similar news, the longterm geek squad (which includes Jester) wants to get together today, and I actually don't feel like it. I'm actually over my crush on Jester. In a major way. It seems he can't do any right anymore. All the strengths and compassion I thought he had seem well-hidden under his emotional aggression and resistance. All I imagine it will be when we get together is me fending off his negativity as we all conversate, joke, dine, watch movies, roleplay, or what have you.

And the biggest thing--I can't share my struggles with them. For being my friends for such a long time, they are the group I feel most the most uncomfortable "coming out" to. Which, again, my "coming out" isn't a major event any more to me. Giving this information out to my friends won't change what I do on a daily basis. I'm still petrified of The Deed and all it's permutations. I still want to be as hetereo as my other speedo-friendly, married, fathering geek buddies.

But what I want TODAY is to have fun with my friends, and I don't feel like that can happen anymore. So I don't really want to go meet up with them. I'd rather go to the gym, get my walk/jog on to Janet in Central Park, nap if I wanna, and produce more audio goodness!

We'll see how it goes.

Happy July!

July 5th!

Impossibly, I put a big chunk of work into the audio, took a nap, and then jumped on the D train and went to Coney Island for an afternoon romp! What I discover I like about Summer--all the sunlight with which to DO stuff!

Take a stroll with me!

Thinking Of Y'all All Day Yesterday

as I took these photos and movies.

Included in the sets are the following, but here I will comment especially;
I wonder if this guy is as mean as Jester? He was fairly smiley. And he was out here and sociable. Another plus.
Cool muscley legs, right? C'mon, tell me I'm not the only one thinks that muscle definition is cool...

This guy wasn't very defined, by he had beefy muscle and he seemed like a nice, open feller from his body language. Nice guys go a long way toward my crush factor.
Anyway, enjoy this and the others.

So I Almost Lasted A Week, Right...?

...Not blogging about my gayness?

But I do want to thank you guys for the concern about the possibility that Jester could do me some kind of serious harm. My first reaction was that Jester would never ... but then I realized, I thought I would never say something like "I'm gay" and mean it, either. And I've had enough team-ups with Worst Case Scenario Man to know not to discount any possibility. And I've have seen some personality alterings in ol' Jester that makes it seem possible that he could snap. A crime of passion. Very entertaining, but I wouldn't get to enjoy it. So eff that. Plus, Jester doesn't deserve to know this part about me. He's antagonistic about all aspects of my emotional life, so quite figuratively screw him.

What I'm concerned about is getting this weight off and making myself attractive again. To me. And someone who would like the Jason Statham type. Because I want to give as much as I ask for.

And yeah, I do think I'm going to ask for something in the next few years. I'm lonely and I feel crazy being alone. I still love the look of ladies' ta-tas,

but I've not been turned on enough to ever go after them in any heterosexual way. I've never been driven by "red-blooded" chest-beating, loins-throbbing, knuckle-dragging urges to get in that. And that's just one of a few nails in the coffin of my hopes to be hetero.

But right now I have my keyboard in my lap and my fat stomach is a hard pillow in the way of my wrists. It's big and fat and not washboardy or even flat, it makes bending down to put my socks on a chore, and it makes all my pants tight enough to cause pressure wounds under my navel from the pants' button.

I'm not going to attract the kind of guys I like if I don't look like them, methinks. Because we men are a superficial, shallow, and visual bunch. And even if I attract them, I'm way too vain for them to see me nekkid.

Ugh. Again I'm getting the willies. I hate this stuff. I hate sex. I hate the whole friggin idea of having a part of me that I can't control or get rid of without psychiatric intervention.

It is not fair.

Okay, moving on.

Yeah, so overeating.

I'm doing it because it's something I can have NOW, without initial guilt, and the gratification is immediate and fulfilling. Literally. But also, I find I've been doing it because I've had this extra money I've been saving up. So when the urge hits to swaller a cheeseburger from a diner instead of McDonald's, chomp chomp chomp. Or when I want a decadent dessert. Or when I want candy ice cream candy fruit smoothies candy potato chips candy. Or a steak. Or shrimp.

So since I have to pay my taxes anyway because of all the untaxed income from the therapist's gig, I might as well pay back my friend loans too. It will empty my savings, but they'll build up again just like they did the first time. And meanwhile, I won't be so free to pig out. I've got shelves and shelves of Nutrisystems, so I won't starve even if my savings DIDN'T replenish.

But I want my 34-inch waist back. It would go SO good with my broad shoulders and my stout chest. I mean, hey. I'm a good-looking guy, dammit! I want to be the best I can be! Even if it's not for a woman anymore (which y'all don't really care anyway. I've done my research. I know these things.)

Okay, so the coming-out process. I still don't want to do it. I don't want to be defined. I don't want to be labeled. I've never wanted that. EVER. And I still don't want my friends to re-categorize me. I don't want my co-workers ... ah. Fuggit. I can't control what people think. For better or ill. I can't although I desperately want to and have a personality tailor-made to. It's for nought.

You're going to like me because you just do, or you won't because you just don't. I can only control myself, and as my waistline proves, I can't even do that without some real effort.

So yeah.

So anyway.

How are y'all? Y'all some QUIET Bloggers out there, I swear!

I'll try to post pics or vids from the fireworks tonight. They're blasting off over the Hudson this year (where the plane went down) and I'm hoping they won't seem too miniature from the George Washington Bridge, because that's where I'm going to be.

Happy Fourth of July!

Independence day.

Mmph.

And What's More ...

... I'm now blogging from work in Jersey. I was supposed to come and find paperwork waiting for me to update in my e-mail Inbox but it's not here. And after the time and brainspace I spent to get down here, I don't even really care about the job or the missing paperwork at this moment.

Rather, I've been thinking about my yesterday--my day off and the time I spent with my Westchester friends. The night ended on a sour note due largely to the reaction I usually have to the behavior of the Grim Jester. He's an Alpha Male and a bully. I've said all that already. I've tried to adjust to that. But last night, in an innoculous and stupid boardgame, Jester got aggressive and just so ... creepy ... about winning. It seemed, all over again, that Jester just views me as an insignificant cog in the machine created to trump up his own importance and domination. And that nothing is more important than his ascendence, his dominance, his opinion, his way. All the way up to the part where he began to lose the game, we were having a great time. We were all enjoying the sport of dice rolling, strategizing, pretending to be world dominators. We were seeing the many layers of the game design and having fun projecting our thoughts onto the gameplay. "I own all of Africa now! Motherland, I've come home!" we could joke.

But then Jester stood to lose to his longtime friend and suddenly none of us (me and the other player) mattered any more. It was between him and his rival only. We became only a means to his end, and when we dared to play our own turns as we saw fit, he grew sarcastic, angry, threatened to leave early--just very very childish in a very bullying and intolerant way. Such an ugly, ugly way to be.

And why does it keep taking me by surprise, every time he does it?

Well because I want more from him. I want him to be what I want. Which, for the length of my drive to work today, I realized what that is.

I want him to be the guy that I come out of the closet with.

Jester makes me think of the reasons why I think I am finally, unavoidably, irreverisbly gay. He's the guy that, when I like him--I REALLY like him. He's the guy who makes me think of him both in fond emotional ways and in gritty physical ways. And he's the guy that I want the most from in all my social circles. I want his attention, I want his protection, I want his approval, I want his acceptance, I want his affection, I want his trust, I want his strength, and I want his dependence.

I've harbored this knowledge for some time now, and I'm talking years. I've lit up like a Christmas tree when in drips and drabs he's given me bits of all those things I want in the preceding paragraph. And now I'm putting it in writing.

I want the guy. Just like any leading lady wants the leading man. Yeah, I'm gay. And I'm not just gay--I'm the bottom gay. The wife. The one who gets slapped, who does the crying, who pouts, who has mood swings. The feminine one. The emotional one.

I just am.

And I'm trying to learn to accept this because it hasn't changed in 30 years. I've always been this way. I've never been the jock--I've been the guy to hang out with the cheerleaders. And even though I've been trying to reframe and review what's been my motivators, my drives, my epistemological origins to being what I have been--I just still am this.

This is what I am.

And I need to stop hating it and hating myself for it.

And no, I do not ever have to do anything about it. And I'm not inclined to. I neither have to act on it or scrub it out of my soul. I don't have to seduce Jester (and face it, he'd be an extremely troublesome boyfriend. Just ask his dearly departed girlfriend who he could never do right by until her death last year. Or just ask his friends, among whom you can count on one hand. I'm not trying to be mean, I'm just weighing the evidence. I'm trying to keep myself in check and keep myself from believing a lie about the man, or believeing a lie about my future with the man. For all I know, and there is real evidence to support that the man could be in his own self-loathing closet of homosexuality--God knows he protests against homosexuals enough, and often. But as a person, either straight or gay, he's a miserable human being most of the time. So who cares that he looks like Jason Statham?).

No, all I have to do is just BE. Just be myself--and be honest with it. And while doing so, leave it up to God to judge me. I just have to stop fearing Him and what He might think about me. In fact, start trusting that He knew all this about me for the past 44 years of my life, and STILL loves me. Because really ... everything I could have tried to do about it, I've done. You couldn't ask more of a man than what I've done to be straight, love straight, act straight, stay straight and scare straight. I've faced the condemnation of Hellfire & Brimstone itself. And still, this is what I am at the end.

I'm gay.

And that's all I want to say about that, really, for the rest of my life.

Let's see how that works out.

Not Fade Away

I know that title of this post is either a book or a song (maybe a title of an album? I'll Google it later). But I use it anyway because I want to wrestle with some fear and some concern.

It the shelf life of a blog two years? Or is that the expiration date on a blog relationship?

What I don't want to do is shut a door that doesn't ask to be shut. And I don't want to assume meanings that do not exist when things are silent.

But I do want to let people go if they don't want to be kept. (No I don't. I want to fight for them. I want to sit in the middle of the sidewalk and have a tantrum and not care who thinks it's strange. I want to give in to my abandonment issues and rage against the fear.)

But hugely, I don't want to burn out a relationship with my whining. I want to hold on and wait it out and see where it gets me. See if there's anything left to salvage on its own merits.

What I think I WILL do is count the merits of life. Yours and mine. And satisfy myself in that for now. And believe that nothing has changed. And that you guys are just real busy.

Scott is on vacation right now, enjoying his son. He's busy, productive and alive.

Grizz is growing her relationship with her fiance. She's navigating an unemployed life and preparing to work with the dreams she has, working on making them come true.

Ned is vital, alive, and stepping into his own life again after a months-long scare and hiatus from the social world. He's slaying dragons and bedding maidens and doing what comes naturally to a knight of the realm.

Shades is getting married in a few weeks to the man she found again--the man who found her again.

Tom is battling the tides of prejudice, managing the grief of loss, and stoking the fires of hope and happiness.

Everything and everybody is good and every other thing is illuminated.

The Summer awaits and the sorrows of last week are in the past, irreversible.

People we miss will be missed.

People we love will be lov'd.

And that's what's going on.

So, Yeah ... Oh, And One More Thing

I finally got that haircut.

So yeah, down to the convention I went with a fellow geek riding shotgun. It was the time I was looking for--fun, frolick, abdication of responsibilities, giving myself over to the pursuit of comicbooks with no apologies.

And there was a distinct lack of a certain something--fear. Yes I reunited with people I already knew, but I was able also to meet and bridge gaps with new people (See above pic!) Although I'm the All-New, All-Expanded Alan, I didn't think I was totally out of the running to be met, to be liked, or to be friended. And I've been med-less for more than a month now. So whatever that social anxiety thing was--I'm over it. Clearly something in me realized that there's just not enough life left to waste not doing and not saying what I need to do and say.

So, yeah.

Oh, and one more thing.

There's Ned.

I'm hoping this is a full length film, not limited by Flickr or any other agent, just so that you can get a flavor of the kind of time I spent with Ned. And there was a chance--a real good, GREAT chance that we were going to have The Lunch Of The Warrior Poet, and I was going to crystallize some words forever in his heart and in mine. Now, "The Lunch" we DID have;

... but "Of The Warrior Poet," not so much because as fate would have it, my fellow geeks found us as we were on the way to lunch. So CLOSE. And while I love my geek nation, Ned and me were about to transcend but my geeks forced me to stay earthbound. Ironic, seeing as how we're geeks and all.

In much more plain terms, Ned, I wanted to tell you at lunch how much you've meant to me these past years, and how much it meant to me to have you overcome whatever gremlins messed with you and me and just ... always everything else that gremlins tend to mess with ... and drive over an hour to hang out with me. I couldn't plan what to do to make it worth the trip, except just be myself, and I don't think I did that nearly enough. The Lunch would have been my moment, but my geeks descended on us. And as I accepted the lot cast for me, fighting the impulse to reject them and make them leave me alone with my Ned, I looked for a positive side to it. Which may have been adding another layer of safety for you, and provided another view of me through them ... but gosh. When am I ever going to have this chance again, you know? You are NED. After so long!

And really, what do I want? I guess I wanted more of the dialogue, only face to face. I wanted to watch the genius working behind the eyes. I wanted to be real. I wanted to peel. I wouldn't have minded crying a little bit. Or a lot. If I wanted anything else, I'm not aware enough of it.

I can tell y'all what I didn't want! Really really did NOT want a kiss. I wanted to talk about my sexuality but I did not want to ruin Ned's trip or violate his trust. I did NOT want Ned to regret the trip down to Charlotte. I didn't want him to regret the years and all the words we've traded. I didn't want to ruin a friendship. And I did not not not want him to leave.

But what did I get? I got a guy who DID make an hour-plus trip to meet me. I got a big hug. I got a sacrifice of his comfort possibly, and definitely a sacrifice of his time. I got the attention of someone dear.

And when Ned drove his mobile up College Ave away from lil' ol' me, I heard the typed words of a commenter a few years ago in my head. "It's okay to feel sad when you're leaving your friends. It's normal." (paraphrased. Eliel was that you? Did you say it aloud at some other time?) So I told myself "It's okay." And when I didn't race to rejoin my geek nation that afternoon, I told myself that was okay too. And when I stayed alone for a little while more and didn't go find them later that night for dinner, I let myself know that was okay too. Because I knew I resented them ever so slightly for crashing my opportunity to take my soul out for a spin with Ned. And I knew also that I wasn't in a rush to plunge back into fantasy and geekdom when I'd had such a brush with reality.

And I realized just now that besides the lunch, I had a chance to do all this realness with Ned at any other time, and didn't.

Hmm. Guess I still had a comfort zone of my own to chuck, and fears in another more subtle, but still limiting form, to overcome.

Yeah, maybe at a lunch alone I wouldn't have said much more than what I did say during the other times. I mean instead of a panel of talking heads, I could've taken Ned to a pair of cushioned seats and we could have soul-strolled.

And maybe that's okay. Maybe that's how it should have gone anyway. Maybe that made it better for Ned.

Anyway, I hope so. Actually, I hope I'm thinking it to death in typical me fashion and that everything was just fine.



Any anyway, thanks Ned. I love you, my friend.

So In The Middle Right Now

SO in the middle. Let's start with a downer. When I lived in Harlem, before my eviction, I lived on the street one block south of my closest (great)aunt. My mother's aunt. She treated me with love and affection. She had three children, and a bunch of grandchildren. Her grandchlidren are my age. Well, she passed away a few years ago and her son, who had once given me a 20 dollar bill on my birthday (with which I went flying off to see Star Wars in the movie theater to discover I couldn't get in by myself) had come to visit me in my Harlem apartment. He was the only real father-type figure in my family. The other men were older--they were my great grandmom's brothers. So this guy, let's call him Marduke, held a special fascination for me.

Marduke was the father of my closest cousins, so when I hung out with Marduke's son I'd watch Marduke too. What kind of father was he? What kind of husband? What kind of black man? What kind of adult? What kind of homeowner? What kind of American citizen? Clearly, whatever answers I found, I didn't pay attention to. I idealized him because he was in all those roles, and I thought position equated to capacity. Not so. When I was reaching my twenties, I discovered he divorced his wife, had several affairs, and moved down south to leave his children--my cousins. I activated my blind eye and went slogging through my own FUBAR'd life.

So the few years ago when Marduke visited me, he seemed like he had his head on straight. Enough, at least, to tell me a few things about himself. Like his drug peddling and subsequent habit, and his regrets, and his recovery and on and on. Still, I couldn't figure him out. I wanted him to be who I thought he was and it seemed that he now was, or was again. He had never lost his height or his manly stature. He had all his bright teeth and wolfish grin. He had my mother's eyes. But I didn't know what he wanted. He took me out to eat and he expressed interest in my life. He promised to keep in touch. I never saw him again.

On Monday, his sister called me. She had found my number in the back of her mother's address book, tucked away. Her mom had kept all the numbers I had over the years. The one I had in Missouri, the one I had in Trenton, and the one I've had ever since I moved into NYC and got my first cellphone. Marduke's sister is an intelligent, vibrant, verbal, outspoken woman who I've always been fascinated with as well as with her brother. This was another adult black person with children (my other two cousins, brothers, to whom I'm NOT that close with) and a home and a profession. She's someone who lived in NYC all her life and survived (with and then without a husband). I just never grew closer to these people because I grew up a few suburban culture borders away, across a river, and up a state. It was only 25 measly miles, but evidently it was like another continent. I'd take the bus into NYC to go find back issues of comicbooks at conventions, but not to find my relatives.

Well Marduke's sister was calling me to tell me that Marduke had died. I forget how long ago, but she described his funeral and how his kids, my cousins, had scattered his ashes on his mother's grave, and that she was upset that they did it all so privately without telling anyone else. But since this was Marduke's sister, she was going to have her own celebration of his life and draw the family back together before we were all lost. Yeah. Told you she was outspoken. And she's having it this weekend.

THIS weekend. My VACATION weekend.

Well, I'm not going to Marduke's memorial at his sister's house. I need and I want my Geektastic vacation and I'm taking it.

But here's the kicker. She described the details of Marduke's death as she learned them. Marduke was in a boat off the South Carolina shore with a friend. The boat capsized. His friend drowned. He tried to swim to the shore and almost made it but got tangled in the seaweed and lost his life too.

Now ain't that some shit. She told me this about fifteen minutes before my first client on Monday evening. Which, as the Great Scriptwriter In The Sky would have it, our session was on my client's fear of water and refusing to fulfill the sailing lessons from the weekend. I swear to God. There I sat listening to an alive person talking about capsizing a boat on purpose as part of a paid lesson while thinking of my dead cousin who's accidental capsizing cost him his life. Can't make this stuff up, people.

So Marduke's sister tells me he was in his early 70's. As she must be. Or in her late 60's. Either way, I can't get my head around any of this. How does my cousin die tangled in seaweed? How is it that he was IN HIS SEVENTIES?!? Was he seventy when he visited me? How is HIS generation in their SEVENTIES for crying out loud?

And I just can't. I intend on having myself a good time starting today at 4:00pm and not stopping until I report to work 8:00AM next Wednesday morning. Marduke's already dead. Been dead longer than I knew about it. And his children, the cousins I was closest to, didn't think or bother or want to share that information at the time.

And now that Marduke's sister called me, I'm going to go visit her next week and see this celebration of Marduke's life, and of our family, in a more private setting. And maybe what's left of our relationships will mend. And maybe the rest of my adulthood will have some connectivity to it, without the qualifier of religious reconversion to first achieve--in the absence of romance and in the distance between you and I, my internet intimates. Isn't that what family is, for better or worse? It's about being comnnected? Not feeling adrift and helpless and inhuman? I dunno. I guess I'll find out. Or not.

And that's the downer.

The upper is that remember the Day Job Girl? What did I call her? I forget. But she was the girl who used to drift by my office and say hello to me, and say other things like she heard there was this "nice guy who worked here" and blah blah blah, talking about me? And how I believed she did this because she liked me? And so I was to bring her flowers and ask her out, on Scott's recommend? And how I may have done, but now I can't remember? Well, I do remember leaving a few messages for her but she didn't respond, and so like I do, I dropped it.

Yesterday, I found her working in our corporate office! And she had these large braces on her teeth! It was as though I had caught her in mid-transformation! And when she saw me, it was very much like it was when she'd come by my office! She has this way of looking at me as if it's "Wow. He's so handsome!" I mean, she looks at me like she's 14 and I'm Elvis. I swear.

And it occured to me yesterday that all along, I could have just asked her out. No games, no notes, no phone messages left. Just, while she hovered in my doorway, trying to make small talk, sending me more signals than the NJ Transit MetroNorth line, that I could've said "Hey, you want to get some lunch?"

So yesterday I said, "Hey, you want to go get some lunch?" And she said, "That would be great!" And we went and got some lunch. Then after work I stopped by again and gave her a ride back to her place. Where I promptly lost my virginity and every ambivalence I ever had about my sexuality.

Now you know that last paragraph is not true at all. It would only be true if I were a normal person. I probably wouldn't even be a blogger if I could do the events in that last paragraph. I'd just be out living my life and not typing about how many different ways I cannot and have not lived it. And if my stops and starts frustrate you and make you turn away from these pages as it appears to have done the others, I do apologize. If it's any consolation, I wish I could do the same. But it's kind of my life, y'know? I don't get to unBookmark it and escape the frustration. I don't get to tidy it up with the "Age of Aquarius" playing in the background.

But the real kicker is that the Day Job Girl came back on my radar after I decided that girls weren't going to be for me. That because The Past Girl blew me off, that I was just inherently unsexy to women and possibly destined to have a relationship with a dude. And that if I'm to stay honest, the most electrifying sexuality I experience at first glance comes in this package;

And I've learned that there are non-penetrative ways for menfolk to do The Deed that won't drive me screaming from a given bedroom, and that if I'm going to Hell for being homosexual, then I'm going because no matter what I want to do or how I want to appear straight or live straight--no matter how much I want to avoid condemnation, judgment and scrutiny...no matter what I WANT WITH ALL MY HEART, my sexuality is its own entity. Whether this sexuality was forced on me or whether it got jumpstarted by an inappropriate and criminal adult, it just IS. It just is.

And when I face God, with all the layers of human culture and interpretation stripped away, I'm only going to open my heart and say "You know what this is and you know how hard I tried to do what I thought was Your will."

I mean what else can a person do?

Either way, The Day Job Girl can adore me. She can look at me the way I look at Jason Statham. It isn't going to change everything I'm struggling with. I might get to sex her, but it isn't going to make the 30+ years of my constant craving disappear in one puff of heterosexual coitus. Somehow I thought and hoped ... prayed ... that it would. But that just doesn't make sense to believe it will. And I guess my fallback plan was to live with the dichotomy. To have a woman know me and accept me and still be my wife. But how can I do that? Seeing Day Girl Job again, and seeing who she might be--what hopes she might have for her own life--her braces to make her more attractive, her new position to giver her a better life--am I what she deserves? Is that fair?

No, I don't think it is. Life's not fair, but I don't think I want to contribute to its unfairness.

And even as I say this, still I'd love to be able believe for the normal life. Still I'd love to fake my way through it. Still I'd love to pull it off.

I am SO in the middle right now.

But you know what?

I'm really not.