When I Need A Pick Me Up, by my friend Ryan King

Thursday, July 30, 2009

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.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

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.


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?

Tuesday, July 14, 2009


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.

Monday, July 13, 2009

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.



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?

Saturday, July 11, 2009

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!

Monday, July 6, 2009

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!

Sunday, July 5, 2009

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;Muscle-Headed Guy
I wonder if this guy is as mean as Jester? He was fairly smiley. And he was out here and sociable. Another plus.Hodgepodge
Cool muscley legs, right? C'mon, tell me I'm not the only one thinks that muscle definition is cool...
Beefy Shirtless Guy
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.

Saturday, July 4, 2009

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.