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?