Thursday's Kiss

There wasn't one.
Haha.

Riverside Stroll

Didn't mean to discover a free concert on one of the Riverside Park piers, but did.
Didn't mean to happen upon a couple of boys kissing on the park bench, but I did.
Didn't mean to get wistful about spending the rest of my life alone.
Didn't mean to be gay.
Didn't mean much of anything.
But here we are.

Another Job Well Done

Therapy is awesome. It's an amazing, life-affirming process.

I was going to go to a pretty well-known center here in NYC to get some therapy for myself...until I realized it was a little TOO well-known. One of my clients goes there. I don't know how regularly, but the way my life goes, it'll be on the day I go.

The People Whisperer

I can't watch a convincing portrayal of an Asperger's Syndrome person without identifying with them. I've done this before, blogged about myself in terms of my possible diagnosis. Well, here we go again. I don't think I've detailed how much I think I'm like Abed on NBC's Community, but of course, I am. Now there's a new autistic character on Syfy's ALPHAS who I'm much less alike than I am like Abed...and mind you, I'm not as monotone as Abed is. Not as grandly "different" (and entertaining) but ... I sit outside of people's experiences and look in and THAT'S the common thread that I feel with all the autistic characters, severe or otherwise, that I see on TV & movie screens.

I choose to believe that this lends me some skill in a bunch of areas. I think, for instance, that I'm a good writer because I pay attention to my observations. I also think I'm a good therapist because I can read a lot of the cues in voice, body language, and language-choice use. Those are good skills to have, right?

Of course, the drawbacks are phenomenal. Obviously. The drawback = a disorder. That's why it's got a label, or is given "syndrome" as a last name. Having this thing that makes me different has limited my life in major ways.

So let me share with you what this syndrome looks like from inside of my head looking out; "If I don't feel safe, I don't do it."

Sounds simple, right? Doesn't even sound like a disorder. Ah, well no ... the basic principle is not the disordered part. The basic principle is survival instinct. It has helped bring us through the millenia as a viable species.

No, the level I take this instinct to is what makes it a disorder. When I can't figure out a thing in order to make my world a safe place, I avoid that thing. And so, I think my adaptation has caused be to be able to figure out people in a way to foster safety for myself. People aren't so scary if I can quantify them and explain their behaviors to myself. When you're bullied in elementary school on up, you find that a real necessary skill for survival.

But what I haven't been able to figure out is this whole sexual terrain. I haven't been able to regulate the information of sex. I haven't had morality explained to me well enough to accept it.

Now, I did TRY to get it figured out when I went to extreme religion at 16. I took all the information in, hook, line and sinker. I made it my instructions for life operation. And it woorked for a good while. Kept me nice and cozy and gave me a safe place to live-- until my sexual urges stopped fitting into that framework.

Now 30 years later, I haven't found a suitable replacement for the lost information. I'm gay. So how does THAT work? Butt sex? Really?? Where there's FECES??? How can THAT be right???

But I can't even pretend that's the biggest hang-up I've got. (It's possibly #3 on the Top Ten though). My biggest hang-up is to figure out how to be safe in the entire Emotionally Vulnerable spectrum of life. How do you let guards down and trust people and believe they will be for you, and not use your vunerability to crush your life away? How do you get to that level? How do *I*??

Just saying "hello" to the sexually attractive creature right next to me at the gym feels like a leap off the Niagra Falls. How then do I go any further than that? How do I live homosexually? How do I align my life with all the sexual freedom-fighters putting themselves of the front lines?? How do I assume those risks??

In the absence of understanding how, I have actively NOT. By "actively" I mean that my brain has found me ways of compensation on a superpowered level. I can find scapegoats, blockers, reasons and excuses enough to pardon Hitler from Hell, much less keep me out of this battle.

And it all boils down to this; "If I don't feel safe, I don't do it."

Sex is my Last Frontier. I've never done it beause it has never seemed safe. I blog and I blog and I prod into my friends' lives and I tease and I wheedle and I cojole and I flirt and I do everything I can to get this information from people both real and imagined ... and I've barely scratched the surface.

Sex is not quantifiable. Sex is unknowable and unknowing. Sex is irrational and primitive. Sex is a farce. It's a panacea. It's a lifeline. It's humanity's binding force. It's a paradox. It's a lifebringer. It's our species' only manner of survival. It's our species' greatest curse.

I don't know it. I don't know anything about it.

I don't want it.

I won't do it.

I want to do it.

Eating Alone

I used to love it. Get my book and read and eat, and zone out and be left alone. But when I wanted to go out with company, I couldn't find any. So I went alone. It felt MUCH different. It felt lonely and like I had somehow failed in a job I had.

When did I stop being okay with being by myself?

Did You Know I'm A Vegan Now?

Not really. I don't actually align myself with the philosophy, nor have I resigned myself to a life without meat, but today certainly marks a week without it. Veggies, seasoned and flavored, thick and juicy, make for wonderful substitutes. If I can sink my teeth into them and chew it like meat, and if it fills my stomach like meat, then I'm satisfied. Each meal.

I'm doing it for weight loss. The worst reason EVER right? But I want abs, and my new identity as a runner hasn't taken me there all the way yet, so I trying something new. If I see my abs like I want, then I could get used to it.

I want abs.

On Saturday He Gets Drunk

Or at least, as drunk as I allow. A quarter of a pint of Jack Daniels mixed in with Coke. Makes me lightheaded. Fun to feel.

It Did Happen

I left the house well before 4:30 today.

I just had to get my workout on. I had to put it on myself, peel and squeeze these last ten lbs out.

Slowly but surely.

Too Darn Hot!

Actually, just hot enough to keep me in the house until 4:30pm.

People Enough

Tell me how this is possible...how does a person encourage someone else to power through their pain and the bone-deep throb of rejection when they themselves have spent all of their life avoiding the exact same thing? How does a person tell a homosexual man that "it gets better" when he himself is a homosexual man who is too terrified to find out the truth of that statement for himself?

I said this July might be the month that I came out of the closet but I'm sure I lied. I've told people close to me, and even told one guy who now will not be my friend because of some petty disagreement we had -- so I've taken some risks with some questionable characters. I just don't seem to be willing to do it with ALL OF THEM.

But I feel such conviction for my clients. I believe such good things for them. I believe they have strength I haven't seen yet. I believe that no matter how hard it will grow for them, they will persevere because that's what we do. I believe that they have me and will have others step into their lives to help them carry their load when it grows heavy enough to crush them. I believe all that is true, except ... In my own case.

I'm wrong of course. If what I believe is true then it's true for ALL of us. If what I think is possible, it's possible because we MAKE it so. We do it for each other because WE want to. Where I must fail is because I don't believe that there will be people enough for me.

Will there be people enough for me?

Today's Therapy Session Created Tomorrow's Post

Wibbily wobbily, timey-wimey.
#timetravelinghindsightforeknowledge

Heat Wave

Finally arrived. "NYC Bakes, The World Takes."

Downsides; Forced to go out in that heat to meet a client who never showed.

Upsides; Bought some noise-cancelling earphones and so will therefore be fantastically sheltered from now on from the noisy antics on the subways.

Days Off RULE

The sun was a litttttle bit too warm today so I waited until 6-ish to go get my workout on and then do this; http://www.mapmyrun.com/routes/view/42035716/



I guess it's true that sometimes a midlife crisis can result is some pretty good changes. Good thing I don't have a wife or any kids to walk out on.

A Nap Does Wonders

Started out the day with a home visit turned into a scenic outing, which was nice, but it saw me walking too much under the warm-to-hot sunshine. 3 hours later, I found myself drained like kelp. I curled up on the subway back home and slept.

People, don't set a goal to sleep on the subway. The subway is not your friend. And no, I'm not talking about the possibility of a friendly neighborhood rat nuzzling your chin (the subject of a YouTube film that I refuse to watch, let alone post here). Nor am I refering to the chance that someone will roll you and take your shit while you sleep. Too many pissed-off New Yorkers on any given train to allow that to happen, I'm sure. I honestly trust my fellow NY'ers. We've jumped on subway tracks to help people, dammit. We're good people.

BUT!! I can count on only one hand the amount of times I've rode a train WITHOUT someone coming through the car blaring at the top of their lungs that they're "Sorry to bother you ladies and gentlemen and I do apologize for the inconvenience but..." to which they go on to tell of their misfortune. Or they proceed to play music I wouldn't buy myself for a $0.99 download, then charge us all for the performance. Or they'll dance and flip and clap and bang the car ceiling, turning the subway into the circus. Or they'll want to sell me stolen Welch's Fruit Snacks (where the hell else did they get them from?). Every time I try to catch a wink on the train, I leave angrier than I was when I got on. It's a problem.

However, yesterday the trip home was one of those exceptions. Saturday afternoon around 1 seems to be a buffered zone. Perhaps the homeless, hungry, street-dancing people of New York are on their lunchbreaks. But the nap was such that I was able to get home, cook me some lunchtime food, lie down for another respite then feel revived enough to GO BACK OUT ON THE TOWN BEFORE THE SUN WENT DOWN!

It was no big deal, really. I went to the high-profile candy store at 60th and 3rd Avenue for a sweet fix and ate substandard ice cream. I should've had ColdStone.

But leaving there, I took the Lexington Avenue line downtown in a protracted "I want to be out on the town" mood, and was overtly flirted with by a dude with a nice tan and golden body hair. I couldn't help stare at the hue of his legs. He looked like a benign tiger with no stripes. He was a little fidgety to begin with, which is how I noticed him (I can catch sight of a fly moving across a subway platform, trust me. I'm kind of hypervigilant that way. It's not always fun). Then our eyes met. He fussed with his arms, (the same light-bronze color as his legs, covered in soft golden down) and then took some either real or imagined long hair off his skin that a woman must have left. Being as I had someone next to me applying her makeup, this made me laugh. We exchanged a "I know right? These WOMEN" look. Then he kept trying to lock my eyes again.

At that point, I was out of the race. He really wanted something from me and I knew I wouldn't be delivering, so I kept turning my eyes away. That was quite the experience. Been a long time since I was the object of someone's lust like that. (Unles Faux Leonardo yesterday at the gym was giving it a try). But I knew that until I come out of the closet and reconcile the complete me with the world, I'm not going to be confident enough, or man enough, to treat an interested dude right.

So I let him go.

This time.

5 Miles

Friday was a phenomenal day. The house visit took place in a part of NYC that I think had it's design heyday in the 60's. You go into the lobbies of the buildings and you're walking into the set of "MADMen," "Catch Me If You Can," or this season's new "PanAm." I like it.

After I was dohe with that, I had the rest of the whole day free. So, naturally, I went to the gym and got my pump on. I'm now able and happy to run 5 miles instead of 3. (3 miles of straight running was quite the accomplishment when I did it, let me tell you.) It just takes me 40-50 minutes and sometimes I don't want to be on the treadmill for that long. I'd rather run out on the west Riverbank of Manhattan or in Central Park if I'm going for distance.

But the gym. How I do love that place. I've heard it called "Gay Church" from a gay man. Which, hey, I ain't mad at it. But I do wish the congregation where a bunch less shy than they are.

It's pretty clear that a lot of the straight men in gyms atre terrified of being though of as gay and are pretty insecure about their masculinity. Isn't that why we're all trying to max out our masculine appearance? But being that the case, it sure makes it hard to figure out which straight-appearing guys ARE gay! (As if I'd do anything if I knew!)

Regardless, I went back to a gym location that I hadn't seen in months, back when I was about 20 lbs heavier. I recognized some of that gym's regulars, including this one dude who seemed to favor hairgel a little too much. But he also appeared to make gains in his workout routine and I must say he had a DYNAMITE chest this time around. He's kind of Leonardo DiCaprio-ish without the big round head and female mouth. I liked his swagger. Again, it's no big thing because I won't/don't do anything with guys I'm attracted to at gyms. I just look.

Thing is, I noticed Faux Leonardo was looking too. Mind you, not just at me, but looking around--the way I do. When I notice that, I always imagine that Looker is just like me. Attracted to men but unable to make a connection. The presence of hairgel seemed to support that theory.

But what a sexy, tight, stout, hairy chest he had. Makes me want to go back again and again.

Until, of course, I see the next amazing guy at the next gym location.

Trust me, every gym has one.

While The Cat's Away

Did I mention that my roommate's out of town? Or I should say my "landlord." Because he's both. He's also a world-traveling band conductor and a mathematic savant who started a curriculum in quantum physics until he followed his passion for music performance. He practices day and night when he's home and we live in a small 3 room /1 bath/1 kitchen (no dining room, no livingroom) apartment, but what you're not going to believe is that I love it.

When he's playing, it's like the soundtrack of my life playing in the background. It's like I'm the principle player in an arthouse film.

But don't get me wrong, I don't miss him. He's not in any physical shape that I lust after. We aren't friends because we don't have that much in common. And even with the things we DO have in common, he's a bit socially awkward and doesn't really know how to share conversation space. Most times that we talked, he just kind of owned the convo and announced everything without listening. (I've witnessed that when he's on the phone at times.) But hey, I have to give him money every month to stay here, so there's no need to complicate that relationship as far as I'm concerned. The power differential prevents friendship. Much like the therapist/client relationship.

But being here alone this week has reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally made me remember how much I need to be my own man again. Living not in a room, but in my own place. My own space.

Do it.

Dooooooooo it.

Tripping The Rift

Buckle up, TARDIS crew! We need to revisit the days we missed!

VWOOOORP!! VWOOORRRP!! VVVVWWWOOOORRRRPPP!!!!

Hello Wednesday! Yeah, this was a day when I only had one house visit and then the rest of my day was free. No wonder I didn't blog! I spent the day nothing a lot of happy nothing!

I did spend some quality time being jealous of rich white people, if that helps. See, I did my house visit in a nice part of the city, where if you live there, you ain't doin it on the cheap. And I'm always wondering what people do to make this crazy money to live where they live in this city. How does one afford to pay $4000/month rent? Or, more absurdly, afford to buy a condo with a mortgage of possibly $2-3000/month and THEN pay monthly carrying charges/maintenance fee of $900-$2000 forever??

And more importantly, would I do it if I could afford it?

I can begrudge the rich white people, but why bother? Why spend the energy? To begin with, all white people aren't rich. And secondly, all rich people aren't white. And thirdly, I know what I have to do to bring more money into my life, and I'm not doing it at the moment so I have no right to be mad at anyone. I need to be mad at the dude in the mirror who won't get his shit together.

And I won't do that EITHER. Haha.

I Did Good Today

I love being a therapist. I love going in with people to find the logjams that has them stuck. I remember when I attended my first few sessions as a client and how I watched the guy in the chair wanting at any second to just go hug him and hold onto him for dear life.

I'm saying I always understand why people come to see me. I always know that feeling. I'm always giving it my all to answer their needs. I always respect them and love their process.

Today was one of those days that makes me remember why I do this.

People ROCK.

Procrastination Redefined

Today I spent a majority of my 'free time' doing work I could have and should have done in the last two weeks. In addition to the office sessions I do as a therapist, I also visit those with Traumatic Brain Injuries at their homes. In order to get paid, I have to enter the session's note through the computer to an online scheduling system. It's a nifty little tool. Right after each session, I have the ability to right the note as I'm transporting away. This is a reason why I bought an iPad. Talk about a lightweight, ridiculously 21st Century tool! The kids in the 1940's would go into catatonic shock if they ever saw this thing. Either that or become Issac Asimov.

But in that last two weeks, I didn't want to do anything but read comics as I left the sessions. I was tired. So, I paid for it yesterday.

I often define procrastination as the thing perfectionists do because we don't want to get it wrong when we try it. So we don't try. Then when the deadline "sneaks" up on us, we are forced to "just do it." That extra burst of "Oh shit, I gotta get this done" juice seems to either open up our intellect to perform outstandingly, or else it gives us the perfect excuse to accept a performance rating that comes in less than perfect. We can say "well, I let it go to the last second, so no wonder I got a lower score. Oh well." And somehow that makes us feel better about not being perfect. What ISN'T acceptable is if we take our time, use all the resources offered us to complete a project, and THEN get a low score/review.

Games people (LIKE ME) play.

How complex.

Unexpected Consequence

My 4th of July Central Park run netted me with a sunburn on the back of my neck. I had no idea what it was until I but two and two together. Pricky, itched, tender to the touch, and the only part exposed under the sun for an hour on a hot day.

BOOOO!

I thought the melanin in my cocoa brown skin was supposed to take care of that ish? I guess I'm whiter than I thought! Certainly I'm not as black as some have wished me to be, so I should have known!

So there goes the idea of me running shirtless! Plus, not *quite* there yet. Now I have two good excuses to wait until Autumn. It'll still be warm enough, and by then I should be all ripply.

Never too late!! Never too old!!

From Gallifrey

which could qualify me as a Time Lord! (TOLDJA I was a geek!)

Because I missed blogging over the weekend, but I intend to have an entry for every day in July as I planned, therefore, I'm going back in time and planting these posts on the appropriate date.

Yes, I will let my work ethic take a hit in the pursuit of being a completist.

46 and still growing!!

#cheater

#heybutatleastIadmittedit

Who's The Man

In case you haven't heard, my state recently made it legal for gay people to marry within it's borders. I've been so busy just trying to identify myself as one of them that I hadn't thought about what it meant to me personally. But now, I've been getting a real idea. And as a man, I don't know what to do with all these thoughts.

First off, I'm a singleton in this Big Apple. This means that I live off one income. My income is from the mental health field, which also means that it is LOW. It could be higher if I worked more cases per day, translating roughly, in both my jobs, to about $30 an hour. If I worked 40 of those kind of hours per week, I'd be set. But there's no way to work 40 full hours of one-on-one focused, emotion-driven, full-brain work per week. Any given 40 hr work week is interspersed with daydreaming, web surfing, smoke breaks, eating at the desk, chatter with a cubicle neighbor, reading a newspaper, bathroom oasises, water cooler gossip, phone calls to friends, smartphone games, ad infinitus. I daresay no one works more than 4 solid, 100%-ly dedicated hours per day. And that's about what I can do at max. That's $600 a week before taxes. So I survive, but I'm not rich. I live in a room in a dude's apartment. My name is not on the lease. I had a car but after one too many towaways, I realized I couldn't afford it in NYC. I never picked it up from the tow pound. It's been 7 months now. Add to this that my jobs are contract. I have no healthcare.

And many a day I wondered how would I continue living here successfully? At THIS level? How can I be 46 when everything about my life says I'm only half that age? I put those thoughts on the backburner because they were uncomfortable and undermined my sense of safety. I didn't want to confront something that seemed hopeless.

Until they said a week or so ago that I could marry a dude.

So here now is the problem. If I can get married to a guy, and get health benefits through his insurance, and have tax breaks due to my legal status, and that whole nine--then does that make me the woman of the relationship?

Women have been storming the gates forever against that very idea. Depending on a man for their safety and livelihood?? RIDICULOUS!!! And yet, here I am practically in that boat. I want a relationship with someone that turns me on, makes me want to mount them and have them call out my name. I want to do every saucy thing to my guy that women all over the world wants to do to, say, Sean Connery or ... Barack Obama. But I also don't want to have to become his live-in servile sex slave. I want equal footing. I want to be a man.

It feels insane to even think this way, but the discrepancy between male & female roles are so ingrained that I actually feel threatened by the suggestion that I would not get to enjoy my male position in a relationship if I came into a marriage as I am right now.

Ah. I think I'm just thrown off by the gender thing. If I were to marry a six-figure earning woman, what would be the difference? Ah ha...but I think I know. If the woman were the breadwinner, I'd still be the one with the penis.

Wait, WHAT???

No, yeah, seriously. Having a penis is AWESOME. It really is. But then again, I'm gay so I guess I WOULD think that. But it's been my experience that the use of said instrument turns my whole body into a machine. Something of industry. Of strength and ability and function and drive and accomplishment and power. Orgasm is an eruption of life-affirming masculinity. At least it is TO ME. Which is why I love men so much. I LOVE that ideal of the John Henrys of the world vs. The Locomotives. The Tarzans against the lions. This is why I love muscle and hard, masculine, MEN men. It's an endorphin high for me. It's a sexual fantasy. It's an inspiration. It's a motivating force. It's a mission statement. I both love men and I want to be a man. Nothing more. Nothing detracting from women, nor meant to devalue women in any way. I'm only expressing what floats MY boat.

And so having said all that -- where would I fit into a marriage with a man?

I want him to be a Man. But I want to be a Man too.

Maybe gay marriage DOES threaten heterosexual marriage because ... Well maybe because it forces everyone to re-examine the roles of each partner based on gender.

But hell, maybe that should've happened a long time ago anyway.

Meanwhile, all this talk is specious because I don't even have a boyfriend, let alone a fiancée.

I'm just blogging it out.

Blame NaBloPoMo. :-D

Busy Day

which started WAY too early. So blogging content is low because most of my day has been taken up with confidential information that I can't share.

I can tell you this, though; if 35 years ago someone would've told me I'd be a therapist to New York City's most interesting people, I'da called them a science fiction writer.

But don't be confused-- EVERYONE in New York City is the most interesting. Everyone has a story and everyone's story is amazing.

Amazing.

Wow. Is It EVERYONE At Pixar??

I saw this video at Facebook, posted on a fella's wall who I recently friended after meeting him at a comics convention. He is friends with other friends who I also know from comics and the internet. And yes, his is cute in a red teddy bear sort of way.

According to his FB profile, he seems to be enjoying a relationship with a girl who I also find is really cute. So he might be straight. In one pic, she is nuzzling against his cheek and he just looks so contented and ... grateful. It's a beautiful picture.

Today for some reason, he was moved to share this with all his FB friends;


Well, of course this brought me to tears. It's such a struggle. I've come out to possibly a dozen people in the online comics community (of which I've been describing) and none of them have let me being a gay dude spread. Or if they have, no one's made any big deals about it. And I picked some pretty hub people to tell it to, I must say. If they were to talk, many MANY people would know overnight. But nothing blew up. No trauma occurred. My life isn't changed.

I suppose they're all waiting for ME to tell my own business. Which is respectful and decent of them. Which I should have known because they're my friends for a reason. And maybe this is the month that I get this done. Maybe THAT'S what my big move is going to be in July.

Everything these Pixar people are saying, up until they start telling us how It Gets Better, has been my life for the last 40 years. And yes, I'm starting the countdown at 6 when I became aware of how hot this guy was as I watched a snake slithering across his torso.

As a kid, I didn't think I was supposed to be aware of sex, yet I was. I didn't think I was supposed to do anything about it, yet I did. I ran to church to hide myself away from the images I wanted to see, but then I sought them out anyway. And now that I know what I am, I'm still too terrified to do anything about it.

Well, I have been too terrified. Now I'm just terrified minus the "too."

When I hit 50 yrs old, I will have a life I will be proud of. What these Pixar people are saying, I will initimately know.

And I'm aware that I don't have to wait until I'm 50.

Maybe this month I'll get a jump on it.

Fish Out Of Water

At my new haunt NaBloPoMo there is a theme about swimming which comes along with a contest. Soon as I was made aware of this, I knew this was the place for me. Even though this is sponsored by BlogHer, a women's movement in writing, I was informed by the recommender of the exercise and the moderator that I could be a dude and still participate. I figure I bring a little from Column A & a little Column B.

I've been posting of late about a fella I have named "New Hunk". He is clearly my new mancrush. I have had several as my personal blog will attest. So my entry into this swim-themed contest is not so much about myself as it is about him.

When I first "met" New Hunk, he had innocuously posted things about his interests in comicbooks, as had I and many others in the virtual interspace where we geeks from around the globe gather, check in, discuss, fuss, and blunderbuss. We have the option, as do many forums, to attach little cyber-tchotchke's under each of our posts. Little clickies to send you, the reader, to our own personal corners of cyberworld. "New Hunk" had put a link to a series of YouTube videos he's done with himself playing guitar and singing his self-written songs. I found him to be a little morose with them. He has a way of staring at the camera like he's challenging it. His songs are dark but introspective. Full of art and expression from someone who seems less than chipper.

And too, I thought he was handsome. Like, a basic 1950's Father Knows Best handsome.

Well, shift a few months forward and New Hunk takes an interest in our weight loss thread at the aforementioned forum. His entire approach seemed a little too meticulous. A little too anal, if I may dare. But soon afterwards he dropped some details as to why he was going about this so painstakingly.

He told us that he'd been off work for maybe a year from stress and depression. He was looking for something, ANYTHING that would help him get out of the quicksand he was in. So he was taking his nutrition seriously and hoping it would help.

I began to understand his Type-A approach to weight-loss. It was a way he could wrest some control out of a world in which he had lost so much of it otherwise. Even though he had a wife, and guitar talent, and the skills to write songs, he was trapped by depression. A feeling I am patently acquainted with.

So in I leapt with the praise and encouragement. By trade, I am a therapist so I know how this works. But by way of just being me, I thrive off of the well-being of people. I want us to be better. To do better. To fulfill the potential inside of us and to enjoy it. It means a lot to me. For whatever reason.

Round about that time, New Hunk started hitting the gym and deciding that swimming was going to be helpful for him. So while he was learning better techniques in the pool and in the weight room, and while he was overcoming earlier traumas of being bullied from the ignorant and young gradeschool grindhouses ... he was getting more and more good looking. Then one day out of the blue,
he decides to post a shirtless pic of himself flexing his biceps.

That was the day I renamed my blog.

New Hunk and I, we have this internet friendship going now where he gets encouragement and flirting from me, and I get to see him flex his muscles every now and again. I like to think he's trying to provide a little giveback, him being a straight married guy and all.

But at the same time, he writes in notes and posts of how swimming is like a relaxation technique for him now. He says it's like transcendental meditation for him. He says it feels like he's flying. And I utterly believe him.

On the one hand, this makes my heart lift to know that he found a way to help himself in the middle of his debilitating depression when usually the very tool you need to help you -the brain- is the thing that is in itself depressed. I see him in my mind's eye cutting through the water and becoming serene and at peace with himself.

And that takes me to the other hand. In my mind's eye I also see his now-powerful shoulders causing his arms to windmill and propel him forward. They are like a set of oars carved from Michelangelo's David. I envision what the surface tension of the water looks like as it breaks between his shoulder blades and flows across his rippling back. I can picture how his narrow hips and washboard belly knifes through the foam that he creates with his power and his purpose. I know his thick legs and long feet are dutifully thrusting, kicking, flapping. I know that with every reach, every thrust, every stroke his muscles are cast into gleaming contour just above the water's surface.

I can see him and I want him. He is a water god but I ...

... I'm a fish out of water.

I Officially Kicked The 4th's ASS Today!

I mean I had a GREAT day!

As I mentioned, I now consider myself a capital R "Runner." Today I set out to test my upper limits. I've done a round trip run on the Riverside last week;


Well when I looked at the above map I thought "Wow. I could probably do Central Park." (I remember when I thought I had been sayin' something when I made it once around the Jackie O Reservoir a few years ago.) So this early morning, armed with a few scoops of protein and a cinn raisin bagel with light cream cheese, I set out to do that very thing.
Here's the results;



The first run was about 50 minutes judging by how many songs I had left over from my "RUN MIX 60" playlist. The run today was half a song more than an hour (So about 62 minutes). I was told from a cyclist that the path is about 6 miles, so I pretty much maintained an average of 6 mph (I kan do maffs!) which is pretty good for me. For a whole HOUR without stopping? Of course, and please believe, I was much slower going up them hellacious hills which were long and steep up at the northern end.

Then I went to Greenwich Village and had ribs and a mojito.

Yes, all this was done alone, but I was in a great, life-affirming, Did Better Today Than Ever mood and I wasn't going to let anything spoil it. I didn't even need to watch the spectacle of NYC's fireworks. I wanted to come home and relax, play me some ChampionsOnline. I smiled at the hot men I saw on the way back though, I will tell you that. I'm "priming the pump" for my big move into Manworld by July 31st. Perhaps it will be sooner, who knows?

Let's see what happens tomorrow!

All The Sweet Green Icing

I just got sent on a Donna Summer jag and I regret nothing.
This was from a mere 5 years ago.



It's insane to think that because I love/d disco and Donna Summer that I should have known I was gay, but there it is. Or, for that matter, that because I love Wendy Williams of radio and now TV fame, that I should have known.


Stereotypes are rubbish. They are ways invented to marginalize, categorize, and dehumanize human beings. Yes, there are *some* basis for stereotypes wherein *some* groups of people have common traits. But in the world of the gay male, you are really acting a fool if you think you can always spot one because of their interests or way they speak.

This is what I tell myself every day. I choose to believe it's true until the day I die. I do this for two reasons. (Probably more, but I'll list just two).

1) I refuse to be stereotyped. EFF you, that's why.

2) I want to believe I have a shot with the gay dude who is muscular and butch. The guy that nods slightly in the gym and grunts a 'Hey what's up.'

This keeps me both frustrated and in the game. I know there are gay men out there that would not set off your "gaydar" and I want one. I don't know if I have the same to offer him, but he might not even care, which would make him a better man than me.

But this is why I'm running now and losing weight more steadily than I ever have in my life. I need to have my game tight. I know what I want--so I have to *bring* it. We men are driven by the eyegate. I'm sorry, but we are. So if I want the eyecandy I seek, I have to be eyecandy as well. If I ever find a hunky dude that doesn't care what *I* look like, Teh Blogworld will be the first to know.

Today was a good day. I got five miles in on the treadmill like it was a walk. LOTS of energy! (It was prolly last night's deep dish pizza crust had my system still all carbed-out) I was looking at my gym co-work-outers with an eye towards July 31st, and how I'm going to do something by then. I felt possibilities. I felt the momentum that has visited me so many times building up again. It was the momentum that sent me out on my first two man-dates ever. And now with my stomach disappearing and my man-boobs drying up, I feel even MORE confident!

Again, I ask you, though, am I wrong to be so shallow? AM I shallow? Or do I just know what turns me on and what doesn't?

I'll add this in closing. I am Captain Risk Aversion. It takes A. LOT. to get me to do something risky.

For instance (and this is important, please pay close attention); I have never had sex... and I am 46 years old.

I don't think my friends and acquaintences would believe that of me. If they did know, I don't think it would be so much of a shock for them because I am strange in my own way, but not THAT strange. It would be just as easy to believe that I'm a guy who could have had some sex within the last 30 years as not.

But I never have because if it doesn't feel right--or safe--I won't do it. If it requires a sustained commitment on my part and I don't feel it then I will not try it. I don't want to try and fail, so I don't try.

So this month, if I *DO* try ... I'm gonna need some help. If the dude looks like Jason Statham ... well lemme tell ya, that will be some pretty powerful effing help right there. But if he looks like Andy Richter (sorry buddy) then not so much.

I would however not kick Kai Owen outta bed. something about those eyes, and of course, that accent. Oh yes, I likes the Kai Owen.


See you tomorrow.

The Art of Being Alone

So I started NaBloWriMo ... or some similar anagram ... and naturally, I used yesterday's post.

Self-serving miserable claptrap, right!? "Suicide note" who am I kidding?? I have too many goals and dreams and joys to kill myself now. I look both ways before I cross the street, waiting for the light to turn from the safety of the sidewalk. I take 0 to No risks for fear of messing up what life I do have.

This is both my safety net and my bigger hindrance.

So allow me to reintroduce myself, NaBloWriMo Readers, I'm Me and I'm complicated.

So, yeah, I'm a gay dude attracted to straight men. This does not automatically equate to my eternal failing aloneness, but it does make me a crappy, self-hating kind of homo. I have been teaching myself for the last few years not to dislike the more effeminate homosexual man, but rather appreciate them for their brave stance of out-loud pride. However, I am in no way, shape, or form attracted them. Unfortunately I find them less sexy than women. And while I do find women sexy, I don't find women sexy enough to sleep with any of them, despite opportunities to do so. So it's my misfortune that while there are plenty of wonderful, caring, loving gay men out there - one of which I dated twice - I didn't have enough attraction to give us both what we wanted from each other.

Thus the name of this post. Here I sit across from UNO'S on Columbus & 81st St at 11:30pm in NYC, watching several couples find their ways around and into one another while I sit alone typing a blog because I play it safe. I acknowledge my faults and my shortcomings, but it often feels better doing nothing about them than doing something scary.

However, I'm starting NaBloPlehPlo because by July 31st, I intend to have made a change. In something. Somehow.

So welcome to my process. I hope if you stay along for the ride, you will find something encouraging and uplifting by the end of the month. I will take suggestions, encouragement, anecdotes, and forgiveness for my hateful ways. Please. And thank you.

Still Mad

Last night's post didn't do the job for me.

I discover this as I'm on my way to work, taking trains, seeing all the pretty men. And by pretty I mean handsome, of course. So many my type. Especially the straight ones with their women.

Even if I were an out and free homosexual, I couldn't HAVE the straight ones. And even if the straight ones would for absolutely no reason whatsoever give or show me what I want to see, I couldn't have as many as I want anyway. This constant craving kd lang sings of so proficiently, I'm hereby officially requesting in writing that it be played at my funeral. It is the literal story of my life.

I'd like to believe this is my own fault. That I shouldn't have watched my mother's porn back during the summers in elementary school. That I brought all this sex awareness and premature attraction of any sex on myself. That somehow I deserve this torture because I'm a sinner. That I deserve Hell and why am I wasting any more time on Earth trying to do any good when that's where I'll end up for eternity anyway. And that since I'm going there eventually why wait? And I think too that these blogs of mine would make for a pretty grand and extensive suicide note.

But I don't think I'll do that. I think instead I'll stretch out a little farther and join this blog to an Internet community, if I'm allowed, and try to broaden my access to some peer help. Because I damn sure could use some help.

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum

Haha!! That IS funny because that's actually the name of the movie that I'm stealing for this post!

But I meant the title in regards to the online comicbook forum that I go to to share my geekdom, where also there is a weightloss thread where we are sharing our gains, losses, successes, joys, defeats, whatevs. So remember the post where the guy I was telling you about put up a pic of himself shirtless which served to remind me how homosexual I am? Well he struck again. Another picture and he's put on some real muscle. Now he's not just cute. He's hot.

Well, I've made some changes too.

1) I did call back my ex- and we had a nice long talk. If you want to know how that went, listen to this song;

Just take out the grocery store, her car & the beer and substitute "her architect" for "her enlisted military guy" and add a 5 year old daughter. She might want me, but I doubt it. She's a good girl and wouldn't do that to her husband. She might be lonely, but she won't be when he's back home from deployment. For myself, I know I don't want her because if I did, she'd never have become my ex-. After our talk, I reconciled myself with that fact and I'm okay with that now. Closure is a fantastic thing.

2) I've made some new progress in my fitness goals. I'm a bonafide RUNNER now, and I can go 5 miles without stopping. As a result of getting this far, I'm down to 175 lbs. This was my goal back when I was 216 lbs. So I feel real good about that. I have about 1/5th of the moobs that I used to and my stomach is no longer an outty. I can lean back in anything I wear now, and you can't see it anymore. So THAT'S cool. So when I saw the New Hunk a bit ago on the message board, I didn't get the sinking feeling of despair. It occured to me that yes, someone else can look hot, but I can now look hot too! It ISN'T hopeless for me. There IS a sixpack under all this. My chest CAN look tight and sexy. My shoulders CAN have heads and sculpts. It just took me to lose my last 10 lbs. So now my new goal is 165.

3) When I first saw The New Hunk with his shirt off, I flirted a little with him, which means I complimented him. Being a socially awkward geek, he privately messaged me instantly to say I was either gay or reallllllllly secure in my hetereosexualness. I private messaged him back to tell him I was neither.

No, I didn't take the "same old hiding denial" route. I told him the truth. I told him that I've never been with a guy but I sure do think guys are hot, and if I was going to be anything, it is that I'll be gay.

See, what I knew as I was answering him back is that he's married and he lives in Canada. So no matter what I tell him, he wasn't going to cross any lines with me. I could tell him whatever I felt like and nothing would happen. So I told him the truth. This may sound like the thing I always have done, this "truth" thing, but there was a difference this time.

This time I had no hope held out that he would somehow be gay as well and reach out to me in my loneliness. This time I felt resigned and I had decided. I'm gay-oriented but I'll most likely never do anything about it, so who cares if I tell a hot stranger that I met on a messageboard? Who cares if he tells anybody else? Who cares if anyone else finds out?

What are they going to do for me? Anything? Are they going to take it away? Are they going to make it okay? Are they going to find me a hot man?

No. They won't do jackshit for me, so who cares what they know?

And why should I be the one to tell them anyway?

It's my personal business.

They don't want to know because nobody else is asking.

They want me defined as a neat little image in their heads. They want me funny, not tragic. They want me to be a womanizer, a 1970's pimp, a Jungle Brother. Not a lonely and angry homo.

So fuck them.

Anyway. I thought I came here to say that I was better with seeing a hot dude that I can't have, and I do still think I am better in that regard. But I'm not at my best. Even at 41 pounds lighter than I was two years ago.

No. Rather, I'm in this alone. Again.

And I'm dealing.

And I will win.

One day.

Still Mad

So, yeah. I saw Bridesmaids today. I shouldn't watch chick flicks. Even when they are much less chicky. Because inevitably, in whatever measure, they major on relationships--and I don't.

Yesterday, my Con Buddy took me for a daytrip to Baltimore to see a culture museum and get away from the ratrace. I mainly went to be with someone and share the day. It was a nice time that was spent with laughter and conversation and too much food that I have to spend all week working off. A nice time, right? Yes. A nice time.

I should try to grow this relationship. He really does like me for a friend. He likes things about me that he doesn't find in other people. And I have a lot of availability, so that should work out in his favor too.

And I was able to distance my crush on him all day yesterday. I was able to notice that he bites his fingernails way too much and that his arms are thin. I was able to talk myself out of wanting more from him that I won't ever get. And that's good, right? It's not like I haven't had practice at this. In fact my life is pretty littered with the wreckage of doomed crushes that have never been fulfilled.

We'll see what's what when I get a set of abs I can bare in public. We'll see if Teh Cute Masculine Gays will want me then. We'll see if I get a chance then. Maybe I'll reject them this time. Maybe I'll never be with anyone, but be happy.

Maybe.

But I'm mad about it.

And Do-Over Again

So since my ex called, I haven't given it a repeat listen. It seems the memory of her voice is crystal clear. And I've toyed with how many ways I was going to call her back. What tone to set? What content? Confident? Cocky? Angry? Sad? Needy? Vulnerable? Honest?

Honest?

And then I just thought, if she wants me--I'm doing it. If she wants me--I want her. I want that normal life. I want that chance. I want it back. I want to fit in. I want acceptance from everyone who I fear will reject me.

I thought that, yes, I tried dating a man--but I couldn't seal the deal. I couldn't even kiss him. Too terrified. So I figured I could just forget I ever said anything. Just stop talking about it. Go with a girl who wants me, and I'll figure stuf out. I like to watch hetero porn a lot of times, still! So what, I think dudes are hot? So what??!! Girls think girls are hot too!!! They even kiss each other!!! That doesn't make THEM gay!!!! SO WHY DO I HAVE TO BE GAY!!?? WHYYYYY!!!!!!!???

And that's where I was at. Then I came home and checked out--went to play ChampionsOnline and listen to my friends' podcasts just to let all this pressure go.

Then I checked the comics' messageboards hangout where I chatbout comics with, and dipped in to a weight-loss thread to check out the latest progress of my cyberfriends. And lo and behold, what did I see? A fellow geek was so proud of his current weightloss that he posted a pic of himself flexing his biceps, sans shirt.

And he is so fucking cute I wanted to cry.

And now I'm like fffffffuuuuuuuck. Imagine I'm trying to date a girl who wants me when I'm having a reaction like this out of NOWHERE. Minding my own fucking business and then this guy strips his shirt off and suddenly my heart's doing a motherfucking cha-cha.

What the fuck, man. I cannot win. I can't kiss a man and I can't date a woman.

The loneliest fucking place in the whole wide world.

You know what Jesus? If you're coming tomorrow then come the fuck on because I'm quite done. This life you gave me is one tremendous clusterfuck and a total washout. Pretty fucking ridiculous fucking situation right here. You coming to get your faithful little perfect heterosexual angels, all fucking so merrily and having babies and getting married under your holy roof? Yes. Good. Take them and GO. All you and your people do is remind me of how UTTERLY FUCKED UP MY LIFE IS AND HOW THE FUCK MUCH I WISH I WERE FUCKING DEAD SO GOOD FUCKING JOB GOD, AND CONGRATU-FUCKING-LATIONS. AND THANKS FOR ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOTHING.

Do-Overs

So on my phone right now is a message from my last girlfriend, whom I loved. When my life was messier than it is now. When I hoped I was straight and not gay.

I don't know why she called. She Googled me. She said in the message that she wanted to catch up. Last I'd heard, she'd gotten married.

Why do things like this happen?

Life is working out real well for so many of you out there. I'm happy for you all. And I was maintaining myself with the acknowledgement that I remain as you first found me. Conflicted, complex, maybe a little tragic - but human and therefore by dint of Creation, deserving of a little happiness, no matter what my lot is in life. So I went away for a Geekfest and I involve myself in creativity, imagination, entertainment and my career, which is fulfilling on many levels (except financially).

And also I've been running more regularly- not jogging but running. 6.0 miles/hour for 35 minutes, several times a week. That's the equivalent of a 5k race in a half hour. ME! Been getting below 185lbs and fighting to go lower. Been watching what I eat. Been tweeting and enjoying the words & pics of my many cyberfriends. Bought a speedo and trying to get to be a swimmer. Been just trying to live. Live... Even if it's alone.

So WHY did I have to hear her voice today? Why did she have to speak to me so kindly? Why am I still on her mind?

Don't get me wrong, we broke up wonderfully. No fighting, no hatred, no acrimony. She had concerns about me as a potential husband and so did I. When she lost faith, so did I. I let her go because she was right. Still she said she loved me, which was nice - but clearly, I didn't. Not enough, anyway. Not enough to take advantage of the evenings we spooned on the couch. Not enough to kiss her as deeply as she deserved.

Hearing her voice opened up a million emotions. I want to be what I could've been with her. I wanted to be her lover. I wanted to be her man. I wanted to be her protector, her partner, her friend. I want to be that. But I couldn't because nothing came naturally. It all felt like uncharted territory and I had/have no maps. That's where I was when I started all this bloggeration. Leaving Trenton, and her, and trying to make a new life.

And I'm still trying. And I feel like I'm failing. Or at least hearing her voice - knowing she's still real, and still out there with a mind that turned back towards me, even for the span of a phone message - reminds me how long I've been at this. It feels like failure.

I feel horribly inadequate and damaged and like such a terrible failure. It makes me very, very sad.

And I still have two clients left to see today. Well, thank God I do. Soon as they start to open up, I lose myself - and that sounds just like what the doctor ordered.

The One Month Match.Com Membership....

... is finished.

Not reactivating. I'm not attractive enough for the hunky handsome ones, apparently.

Oh well.

And also, Grim, the friend I re-united with, is acting like a right putz. I confronted him on his behavior (generally bullying of me to amuse himself) and now he's withdraw interacting with the group. He loves games, but mostly only if he wins. He's the sorest loser you ever met.

But this time, it's his decision, not mine. If he's doesn't want to be MY friend this time, that's on him. I can use one less sore-losing bully in this life. Especially that we're mostly in our fucking 40's. Grow. The. Fuck. Up.

When No Means ... Nothing

Wherein our hero hasn't heard from Blacks Only in more than a week, even though he had said he was still interested and that we'd do something before I left town last weekend. Mayhaps he was very, very busy. Mayhaps he chanced upon a better-looking man than I. Mayhaps I don't want it enough or else I'd pursue him more.

Because right now, I don't want it. I spent the weekend geeking out with my long distance friends at a meetup convention in PA. I had a great time answering no questions and being accepted. Knowing this familiar comfort made me want to stay single, celibate, and safe. I feel it right now as I'm typing. It'll change again and we'll see what I'll do when it does, but right now Blacks Only need not get back to me. Neither do that dozen or so gorgeous hairy chesty men I came across and dropped letters to and received no responses.

Ah life. You been mighty cruel but you're all I got.

The Road Not Taken

I chose to communicate with Blacks Only instead of He's A Doctor. I'm more attracted. He's got a cute smile. He seems more approachable. Or at least, he seems to fit into my affectionspace. Total chemistry at this point. He's not even hunky -- he's just ... I dunno. Handsome in an odd way. Imperfect. Juggy-shaped head, low ears. Square, dark eyes and straight eyebrows that frame the outer ridges, curving down towards jolly crinkles. A smile that looks warm, framed by a Frank Zappa goatee. It's just physical cues that make me want to know him--move into that space.

He might be a constant downer. He might hate everything. He might be hyper-feminine. He might have dealbreakers left & right. But physically, I've just got to meet him. See how that all looks in 3D. How it moves. How it sounds.

We'll meet before next week is out. He had grown-up stuff to do last weekend and I had grown-up stuff to do all week, and he's got grown-up stuff to do this weekend again. So before next week is over (when I depart for inner Pennsylvania and a Geek Retreat) we should be meeting. If he keeps having grown-up stuff to do, well ... I guess I wasn't all that.

But so far he sems to like me still. So we'll see what's what.

High Horse

So let me get down off mine, because now I've got TWO dialogues going. He's A Doctor is still waiting for my answer... but Blacks Only was too cute of a guy for me to judge. Or to resist. Probably the latter. And Blacks Only responded quickly. Both times. So I think I'm actually going to wind up going out with him sooner than I'll date He's A Doctor. Again, pair it down to chemistry. Chemistry trumps principles.

That's a horrible thing to say. So let me be even more honest. I have said this before (I hope)-- I'm attracted to white guys. So why did I judge those who are NOT attracted to black guys? I can't have it both ways. If I allow myself to dig white guys then I've got to let other people dig who THEY are attracted to. And if Blacks Only digs me because I'm black, I should just accept it. Especially if I want to date him.

Which it looks like will happen this week.

Hell, maybe he's got good reason to enjoy us black folk. I mean, we ARE pretty cool.

The Shoe On The Other Foot

So I just came across this Match.Com profile where this cute white dude said he did time in the Peace Corp in Africa, and he lived there for two years. So guess what Ethnicity he's requesting. "Black/African descent."

ONLY.

ZIP. No MAS.

I laughed, and laughed and laughed.

I instantly felt like, "Well alright den, white boy! Come git you somma dis blackness."

So, this just in from the Hypocrite Department, You may not exclude me because of my race, but apparently I like it when you exclude ERR'BODY else to make me feel wanted.

Sigh. Morals are HARD.

In other news, I got my letter back from the Match.Com'r who I wrote to last night. I just know we're on our way to a date if I keep this up. Oh I wish he were more hunky. I just know I'm not going to give this guy what he wants.

Unless I just DO.

Anybody out there have any idea why I shouldn't, if he's a nice enough guy?

PS; He's a DOCTOR.

I really hate a little bit of myself right now.

"You Try Sometimes But They Won't Stop..."

Another post titled with a lyric that I plucked out of a song. I featured it recently, though ... "I'd Do It All Again" by Corinne Bailey Rae, if you recall. Today I think I know why this song had me bawling for a week.

"I'd do it all again" doesn't just mean I'd make all my choices all over again -- it also means I'd fail the same way all over again, too. I'd make the same mistakes, make the same ommissions, the same acts of cowardice, waste the same amount of years of my life, have the same regrets that I do now, and be this old with nothing to show for it as I do right now.

I was made acutely aware of this today when on Twitter, in the public arena of my 463 followers (some of which you guys are), it was assumed that I was not gay. The young lady in question challenged my sexuality because I knew stuff about soap operas (I was crying out against the inherent violation I felt from them cancelling All My Children and *choke* One Life To Life). Well because she assumed I was straight (those are the words she used) I chose to let her go ahead and keep assuming that. The girl is clearly fascinated by me. She loves my sense of Twitter humor. And she involves me in conversations when she's play-fighting with a fellow New Yorking Geek. And myself, I have involved myself in those playfights as well. Instigated one or two. Trying to play matchmaker, in fact. She's resisting that (although who knows what they're texting each other behind the scenes), but she seems to be probing around MY area to see what I'M made of.

And those are the times when I wish it were true. That her assumption was right. That I was eligible and available. That I could just fall into a whirlwind romance and go along with the flow and upset no applecarts and challenge no one's assumptions, and shock no one, and be well-wished on by every witness of my relationship. But that's not what happens when you're gay. This is why kids jumped off bridges and campaigns called "It Gets Better" were started. "It Gets Better" because it starts out HORRIBLY, full of judgment and ridicule and rejection and classifying and ignorance and segregation and attitudes and whispers and scoffing and name-calling and ... stuff.

So I dodged my Twittersationalist. Deftly warped and weaved around her assumptions, leaving all who witnessed with "The Impression" which I've been nursing for years now. Alan's a little strange, but funny in a "ha-ha" way. I've LITERALLY had guys on a podcast call me "Cool--Because he's just himself." AND THAT KILLED ME because I swear before God how I wished that they were seeing the real me for true, and STILL thought I was "Cool." A part of me wished that they kind of know I'm gay, but since I don't talk about it they don't, and that adds to my "coolness." But no. One of those guys once asked me, a few years ago now, in a Direct Message, if I was gay, and that was back when it was more horrifying-er. I'm sure I denied it back then. So he must be left with the impression that, 'Hey, Alan likes to flirt with straight guys! But he's straight too! So he's COOL!'

So ... I'm not.

And I was thinking all this as my battery slowly died on my phone and my Twitter access died with it. And I started feeling like a failure and a coward. So I turned on Corinne Bailey Rae's "I'd Do It All Again" and realized why it was a painful song for me. I was doing it all again.

Then I went downtown to get some English-style fish and chips, and made a detour, and marched myself right into The Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual & Transgender Community Center on W13th St. and inquired about groups I could attend. I got me a brochure and I found out how to get me a peer counselor and we 'gone talk about some stuff and I'ma fucking figure out how to get the fuck out of this closet. Because I need help and I went and got me some.

Because I can't keep doing it all again.

Cool, right? Not the way you thought this blogpost was going to end, right?

But wait, there's more.

So you know how I've been fizzzling out on Match.Com? Well, no, I haven't gotten any of the dreamy hunks to wink back at me (and good gosh are they dreamy) but I DID get a letter from a fellow therapist. In Jewish Mother Voice; "A DOCTOR."

He wants to start a dialogue! I got that just yesterday, after I looked at his profile -- because after I did that, he was notified, so then he looked at mine and voila! He likes what I am.

Of course, I'd love to say he was a dreamy hunk, but ... not so much. I mean he weighs what I weigh, only stretched out to 6 ft tall, so hopefully he's got something nice to look at. SOME interlocking rib muscles would be cool.

Well, I'll find out. Because I wrote him back. Because why not? Plus--like my First Man Date, he's given to being therapeutic--he's a listener. Hopefully patient, but also hopefully, he's got something more. Something I find sexy. A manliness maybe. A guy-ness.

We'll see.

And I'm going back to The Center on Sunday to get my therapy on.

So yeah.

So let's see what's what.

Inadvertant, I'm Sure ...

... but there's nothing quite as hurtful as when you check out the profile of a particularly attractive someone on Match.Com, and you find they've left your ethnicity out of the qualities that they want in their date. You don't want to say they're being racist -- people are allowed to be attracted to what they're attracted to. It's just ... well who wants to discover yet ANOTHER way to be rejected?

"You're a great guy, Alan, but I'm sorry. I'm just don't find black people attractive."

Wellllll, okay then. Have a great life.

Gym Story

And this is exactly the way I'd always wished it would happen!

So today at the gym, I do what we always do. I'm getting my workout on, deciding what to do and what not to do, seeing what equipment is avaialable and what's not, noticing the astounding bodies and the not-so-much, knowing which set I belong to and being mad/sad/depressed/determined about it. And also what we do, brief eye contact and then possibly a very masculine head nod of acknowledgement, and keep it movin'. Because omg shoot, kill, and eat us right there on the spot if any of us dare be gay at the gym. So unless we're working out with a buddy (and I use the term loosely) we're all in our own little orbits of homophobia, saying nothing and dying to look sexy.

During, I saw a fella who I found attractive in a strange way. He had loose unkempt hair. He was medium build, no discernable paunch (unlike me)but no outstanding v-shape or awesome shoulders that I usually go for either. He had one of those interesting mouths, though. Lips thin and somewhat recessed, in an m-shape. Very white-guy-in-his-forties. Possibly Irish. Curlicues of wild chest hair poking up at the neckline. Not unlike the George that I used to live with three years ago. (Or is it four now?) Not unlike him at all. So let's call him "George II." I wound up doing shoulder shrugs next to his weight rack, where he was doing squats. Nary a word passed between us. I can only hope at this point that no one notices how much I look at them during any given gym session.

After I was done, I hastily changed back to my street clothes, not even stopping to shower. I had no one and nowhere to go so why bother? I was listening to a shuffle of Corinne Bailey Rae and it was affecting my mood again. The first lines of many of her songs can soooo send me to that place --

"Seems like everyone else has a love just for them ..." - Breathless

"Ohhhhhhh ... you're searching for something I know won't make you happy ... " - I'd Do It All Again

"I don't want to give you up, I don't want to hold you up..." -Closer

"So young ... for death ... we walk in shoes too big ..." - I Would Like To Call It Beauty

So I didn't wait around for a shower and I didn't do any aerobics on the elliptical. Just shrugged on pants, shirt, sweater, jacket, hat, scarf, sneakers, and I'm out the door.

Now, this gym is on the 15th floor of a Time Square hotel (one of its' best perks with BEAUTIFUL views of Hell's Kitchen and into the T-Square itself) so leaving it takes me to a bank of elevators. And who should be standing there waiting for an elevator? Why, George II of course! I'd missed when he stopped doing his squats and threw his clothes on, but it had to have been in a lockerroom apart from mine because I didn't see him. And trust me, I look. The lockerroom is the place where I get involuntary confirmation that I am, indeed, gay. Sorry, straight guys who just want to go get their workout on and get on with their day after a shower, but we gay guys are checkin yo shit out. I try not to stare, I promise. To be honest, I don't like you nude anyway. Your junk is ugly. No, I'm sorry, it really is. And your toes are often ghastly. But once you slip into your BVDs ... h'oh boy. And you be wearing them SEXY ones too. Oh no, not just tidy-whities anymore hath our Johnny Straight Guy, oh nooo. And then some of you have the nerve to have abs, and those interlocking rib-muscles?! And NORMAL clean feet with well-proportioned, trimmed nails on EVERY toe? You bastards.

Again, I'm trying not to stare. But wow. A glimpse says a lot.

Where was I?

Right! The elevators with George II! So these are highspeed elevators to service the 30 stories full of hotel tourists above us, who've shelled out good money to be here, and so accordingly, if you press the down button you better be ready to dash to one of the eight possible elevator doors that could open -- because it will not wait for you. And fortunately, when one did arrive, it did so near me, so in I went -- and I held the door for George II to catch up to it. Then I said as much to him by way of banter -- you know, about getting to the vator before it leaves. To which he answered 'It's a fitness test.' Which I laughed at because I thought the same thing about the hard-to-open lobby doors downstairs! And I said so aloud!

And then George II and I had a nice little stream of casual convo all the way down the elevator, down the escalators, through the lobby, out onto Broadway, and two blocks north until I departed to cross the street.

And we didn't talk about anything at all, really. Just about gyms and their opening, closing, the value of ours and the possible value of others. But his voice was sooooooo nice. Cool. Deep but clipped. Announcing every consonant and vowel. Like he could be a radio DJ. Again, very Middle-Aged White-Guy. Comfortable and safe like Ward Clever or Fred MacMurray. And apparently, comfortable with ME! So comfortable in fact that when I was ready to cross the street, he jut out a hand for that fraternal shake and announced his name! To wit I clasped in kind and gave him mine. So masculine!! So buddy!! Nice strong grip, but not trying to out-macho one another. Just Men being Men!

And then I thought DANG! I LIKED that!!! and went to my train.

So, his name is not "George". But neither's was the original George. And I'm not in LOVE or anything. George II had some manky teeth which caused his M-shaped lips to be as recessed as they were. But then again, my teeth are gappy, so who's perfect?

But he was the kind I like. Just a guy, you know? A guy who is open and friendly and ... a guy. An average guy. Who might have a interlocking rib-muscles under there. And a chest full of hair. And who might be gay.

So I'll end it with this -- the odds are, he's not gay. He's probably divorced and probably a sex addict. He's probably disorganized and maybe has some destructive addictions that he's trying to overcome. I'll probably never know why he'll accept me as a friend, but he will. And I'll probably wind up with a big inappropriate crush on him, and on it will go into nowheresville. You know ... that town at the junction of Despair Rd and Chronically Frustrated Life Ln?

Because hey. I'm nothing if not consistent.

And that's what happened today!

*curtsey*

The Therapist

Me.

More than once I have sat with a client and together we have arrived at answers for their lives that illuminated the whole room. Last week, one of them said "I don't know why I spent so much time worrying about what other people thought of me."

The peace on the client's face was incredible.

And I sat across from them thinking, "Why am I in THIS chair? Why are they not MY therapist??"

And those words have been in my head ever since. Because I've spent SO much time considering others thoughts about me. All my life, I guess. And it is seriously killing my happiness.

Over the weekend I was sitting between hobbies and feeling not lonely, but kind of ... oh, say, put out. Inconvenienced by being alone. And I do now have friends. But I thought to myself, in this one aspect, "Why am I alone? Why am I allowing myself to be alone like this? This is just STUPID."

Then I promptly did nothing.

But I tell you what. Out of all the people I've come across, whether it's through Blogging, Tweeting, Professionally, or In Person -- 98% of them refuse to be without someone. They don't care HOW effed up their lives are or WHAT their challenges are. And they don't give. A. Shit. what anyone thinks of them when it comes to this area. They hunger and they fill their appetite.

I owe myself nothing less.

I'm getting closer to blowing these doors off. FUCK Victoria Jackson and all her ilk who want to keep me in this closet. I don't see THEM doing without.

Fuck this.

Why am I alone?

I Would Do It All Again.

I'd do it all again.

I'd do it all again.

I'd do it all again.

I'd do it ALL again


Ooohhhhhh.
You're searching for something I know won't make you happy.

Ohhhhh ooooooh.

You're thirsting for something I know won't make you happy.

Oh, you did it all again.
You broke another skin.
It's hard to believe this time--
Hard to believe that my heart,
My heart's an open door.
You got all you came for, baby.

So weary.

Someone to love is bigger than your pride's worth.

It's bigger than the pain you got for and it hurts.

It outruns all of the sadness.

It's terrifying lights through the darkness!



And I'd do it all again.

I'd do it all again.

I'd do it all again.

I'd do it ALL again.

You try sometimes but they wont stop.
You got my heart and my head's locked.

Oh.

I'll be burning down these candles for love.

For love.

So weary.

Someone to love is bigger your pride.

Oooooooooh.

It's bigger than the pain it got for,

It hurts.



Ooohhhhhh.
You're searching for something I know ...


...won't make ...


... you ...


... happy ...


Ohhhhh ...


... H'ooooooh.

NYC 2, ME 0

Welp, NYC claimed another of my cars, but this tragic tale started in NJ, honestly. Back when I had my accident and needed a new car, it was clear that my credit was shot 8 ways to hell and no sane person would extend me credit without something exhorbitant and rapey. So I got my car. 3.15 years later I've paid 14K on it and still have 10K to go. The hope was that I'd start making enough money to pay the principal off on the car loan early.

Well that didn't happen.

Then I moved to NYC and then I got the dicey job I have now, and then took the supervisor's position, then gave it back, then the car got towed ... and towed ... and ticketed ... and ticketed ... and towed ... and finally towed again two weeks ago. Just when my finances bottomed out.

So not only can I not afford just to maintain the car in an openly hostile driving environment (I'd love to meet the person who owns a car in NYC and has never gotten a ticket for anything.), but I can't afford the car itself. Insurance + car payment + gas + repair/maintenance equals a broke and despairing Me.

So I told the Toyota finance company to take the car -- I no longer can afford it. "Voluntary Surrender" they call it. 150 pts put on my credit to be reflected for the next 7 years, they warned. Okay, whatever, thank you ma'am. I can't afford the car anymore. And in all truth, I never needed it the moment I moved into NYC. Every dime I spent on it, except in the service of my clients, was a waste and a delay on my saving money and being able to get my own place, one prepaid-yearly lease at a time.

So in the next few paychecks, I'll know where I stand. Will it be just enough to only pay rent to this guy I live with, or will there be some savings this time around?

We'll see.

In other news, My First Man Date checked-up on me through e-mail. It was confirmed--I DID see him that night in Williamsburg when I was with my hetero Con Buddy. I told him everything I had felt and he put on his "I Understand" hat. And he's no longer in the relationship he was in. And he's been with guys since. And he's definitely not the one for me. I get the feeling he's pursuing me now because I'm the one that got away. Soon as he's had me, he'll be on his merry way and I'll never hear from him again. But for right now, he doesn't want me -- he wants us to be each other's wingmen at a gay bar. Although he doesn't know where because he says he doesn't go to them. Also, he doesn't drink, and to his recollection, neither do I (which has been true in the last two weeks. I've fallen out of love with the idea and the sour taste in my stomach started to annoy me.)

So I might do that, although I'm not eager. It still feels awkward to go out with a guy I rejected, even though he insists it's friendship only. I mean, I AM a guy. I know how we think. And too, I don't want to watch men in a gay bar dancing. That's not attractive to me.

So yeah. A little down at the mo. Treating my clients has become all the life-affirmation I can muster up lately, and that's not so bad. I'm still helping people deal with their lives, regardless of how badly I manage to keep fucking mine up. That'll have to serve for self-esteem at the moment.

Memory Lane

So I was looking for my comments at YouTube to find out how long ago I had noticed a cover artist and how long ago I had been leaving him messages because I found out from his postings that he had been in a band 25 years ago, and what I thought was a heck of a good try for an amateur was/is the latter day stylings of a professional musician.

Little bit of a letdown. My messages were all, "Great job! You're really good!" when he was probably all, "Fool, *I* know *that*!"

Hehe.

So I came here to see if I ever posted his vids into any of my blog entries and it seems that I didn't. But I did find that it's been two years since I acknowledged my gay self. And I have noticed that now it's going on THREE years. And I've noticed how sad it makes me to see such a lack of progress on my part. And I noticed how I slowed my blogging down because I didn't want to keep dealing with the same failure over and over again, and neither did you.

So I found this post which details the group of geeks to whom's wife I told my designation sexuale a few nights ago. One of those people in that video died last year of a heart attack. (I repeat that each time I talk about them now, because I didn't want to face it before.)

I found that back then, I had some crippling anxiety issues that I had taken meds for. I found that at another geek getaway, I stayed in my hotel room and blogged with you guys and ate at Olive Garden.

I found that I'm not much different now than I was then. I find that yes, I do get out more, and have more friends, (and the same ones also), and I don't need the meds anymore to get me to go to a new social venue and meet people. But I still drop jobs like a neurotic person. I still live with someone instead of on my own. I still under-earn like an absolute wanker. I still hope for something (well, ANYthing really) that I haven't been able to achieve. I'm still weird and strange.

Surely I'm autistic? I live inside here and have not blogged or medicated my way out yet. I still hate mornings enough to reject fulltime work, even when I had it.

So anyway, it seems obvious to me that I've lost 2010. I've no idea where it went. It seems like it was a great year for many of you guys, though. So that's great.

So ... yeah.

That's just what's on my mind right now. Tomorrow is one of those insanely early days that I hate, but thankfully, it's only the one per week. So I should be going to sleep, but I've no chance of sleeping right now. Too many thoughts. And tomorrow, I'll have to clean the snow off the car practically at the crack of dawn to get going INTO the morning. No fun.

And I don't feel as coherent and as determined right now as I have in days (years) past. Little disappointed at that, really. I feel like there are some great things up in here that I keep failing to access. Well, I'll say that I have failed up to this point to access.

Who knows what tomorrow will show? I need to learn to ignore all the failed tomorrows of yesterday.

And ... just that's it right now.

Take care.

I See What's Going On Here

So I come to my blog and I spew my latest vitriol, drop a few f-bombs, then I go out and tell someone else that I'm gay. Somehow this is a process for me.

Because this time I told one of the Inner Circle. That is to say, the band of geeks that I've gone down to North Carolina to meet, dine and share with at the comics convention --I told the wife of that group. Her husband is the glue that holds us together with his podcasts and his energy and near-autistic love for comics and us. Out of that group we lost the 36 year old brother to a massive heart attack a year ago from Thanksgiving.

She knitted me a hat and is knitting me a scarf out of no reason, just because she likes me and thinks I'm a great guy--and she's a Mom to all of us and she's a fantastic woman. So I felt the safest with her. Her husband will probably also not freak out too, too much--but I can tell he sometimes gets uncomfortable with homosexual things. And our Geekmates in the cipher, one is a church-working mid-American Christian. Another is a slightly effeminate single black fella transplanted down there. Another is a brilliant satirist young feller, single and unlucky at love, living with mental illness. Lastly is a handsome young stud-nerd who is just a few degrees of seperation away from normal. He's like the Marilyn of this Munster family.

They are the faces that I see so often whenever I fear rejection the hardest. They are the ones who project all sorts of ladykilling antics on me to live out their fantasies. And they are the ones who, if a Gay Me repulses them, will hurt like a bitch. A biiiiitch. And no amount of "Well fuck that guy!"'s will make the pain vanish. I'm getting choked up right now just contemplating it.

But yeah. I keep saying it and it keeps being true. I can't stay like this, frozen and frightened and alone and lonely. Since the Amazing Mister Cosplaying Superhero Comic Nerd He-Man Gay Dude hasn't come to sweep me off my feet and out of my closet, I'm going to have to do it the slow hard way, on my own.

I have to take on the identity for everybody to see.

Then I have to start living out in the open.

Because I'm dying here in the dark.

No Worse

Which translates to "The Same."

The holidays were WAY quiet, despite many invites to go places to celebrate. One invitation I had was to go out to Ohio and share the integration my geek buddy's teenage son back into his life. He's already married with a single-digit kiddo from but the first child he had out of wedlock was far from his life due to distance and the child's mother. Now he's getting to know his teenage son through things like Twitter (before all our eyes) and business trips that he turns into personal trips, and the son is all for it because, well, the boy's gay and probably needs all the family he can get.

And thus why I turned the invitation down. It was a family affair, one of love and acceptance of a gay youth. It was something I wanted personally -- too much. I wanted it to apply to myself and I just couldn't let myself steal this kid's thunder, because when I do finally meet my geek buddy, I'm going to out myself. I feel he deserves to know for all the personal that he shares with me (us), and for all the affection he has shown me.

So far, it seems to work. Those who I love, to whom I came out to, loves me still. I doubt the streak would end with this guy because, hello, he just welcomed his gay son into his life with much fanfare (letter of announcement, invitations, everything). So you'll probably agree, when I make my diva move, it shouldn't be at the expense of someone else's.

And then on top on it, the Blizzard of '10 hit day after Crimmas. No more ice-driving for me! One near-death experience was plenty enough.

I also had an invite to go over to MFTD's family's house on Christmas Day for din-din. I din-din't. It was another family shindig that I didn't feel I was an actual member of. Plus there's this whole "by the way, the guy 10 years older than your son, who has known him since he's 15, who strongly influenced him to go away to Missouri and changed his life, (in some parts for the better-hello, he's a Doctor now)--well yeah, you know THAT guy ... ? He's gay."

Now, for New Year's Eve, I had the invite which I've enjoyed two years in the past--My Geek Celebrity's house. (Yes, I like that. I haven't called him this before, but I've referred to him before. He's the geek guy who is the lowest-key gay dude I've ever known. He runs a podcast with his loud, celebrity-seeking, name-dropping, attention-whore co-host. My Geek Celebrity has much more class than that, although thanks to the efforts of his co-host, he now enjoys a moderate level of geek fame and influence.

THIS is the guy who I've gone to the movies with on lots of occasions, and sometimes just he and I, and each time I always think--"Tell this guy! Maybe you and he will hook up!" except he's not 'manly' enough for me either. Mind you, I think I'm way more effeminate than he is, but he's not got those 'turn me on' qualities that would cause me to drop my guards and tell my WHOLE NYC GEEK COMMUNITY that I'm gay.

And let me add a new detail (finally!) I've started drinking.

Okay, well, not a lot of drinking. But ever since I've had a few successful whiskey sours, I've been lured by the memory of the taste to mix them at home and just drink them here. So twice I've had an evening polishing off one of those hand-sized, $7 bottles of whiskey mixed in with various amounts of Mango Lemonades and Crystal Lights.

So on New Year's Eve, with plans to go to My Geek Celebrity's place for festivities, and meeting up with My Con Buddy (the one I think is so handsome, and yet is so straight), for my warm-up drank activities, I chose Jim Beam. Is it "a fifth" that comes in the hand-sized flat bottle? Well whatevs, I drained it by 7:30. Then I set off toward the party. Then I realized My Con Buddy was still handsome and still straight. And I still haven't told him I'm gay. Nor My Celebrity Geek. And I realized too that they both had excellent positions in life. And that they were going to celebrate for the New Year because why not? Life was good!

For them.

But for me? In mid-travel, while fetching some Starbucks latte and a slice of pizza to prevent totally TOTAL drunkness, I realized I was suddenly, amazingly blindingly pissed off beyond all measure. I suddenly didn't want to "celebrate" a fucking thing.

"Celebrate?" HA!!!!!!!!! Celebrate WHAT?

Well, that was New Years Eve. I texted My Con Buddy and let him know I was changing my mind and so I went home and I played ChampionsOnline because Fuck Them, That's Why.

New Year's Day came and I had no hangover or regrets and it was another opportunity to be at peace with no one else's attention needing mine, so I played more ChampionsOnline for hours and hours and that's how I spent the holidays.

No better but no worse.

And that's just my life. It's redeemable, in theory, but ... yeah. Not so much right now.

But wow. For a while back then, I sure did come close, didn't I? Can that be my consolation prize?