"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.

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.

The Next Conversation

Grizz suggested the tone of the next conversation that I should have with My First Man Date in the last comments section. So I started this new post to say that I did actually have that conversation with him and found that he didn't want to rush me and understood perfectly that I needed time. At least, he said that. It didn't change the fact that he has had sex with a lot of men, and I'm not sure even he knows why. He says it hasn't all been satisfying. Well, he actually said most of it has not been satisfying and this was why he wasn't in a relationship currently. Yet, he still has sex.

So on the one hand, he wants me because I represent a chance at something he's never had -- which is not just virginity (I hope) -- but someone honest and open. And too, he said that I really turn him on.

Which has always sent me running from all my relationships. But I don't want to get into that.

As Grizz has also said, Look. At. Me. Doing this! Really dating again! Two dates now and the dude wants more. MUCH more!

However, the REAL next conversation happened last night, on the phone, with my Hero Friend. My Hero Friend should be a therapist. My Hero Friend said some things last night to me that really drove some points home.

1) One act does not have to define me. *I* get to define me.
2) I erroneously think that having one experience in this new dating world indicates that I'm ALWAYS going to have this same experience; ie, if I'm not turned on by him, I'll never be turned on by anyone.

Long time readers, doesn't that sound familiar? Have I not made those points in the past? Oh how soon I forget.

But today, after a little while, I remembered this guy;


Now you talk about being attracted to a man. Talk about no hesitation on my part. If THIS dude wanted me to kiss him ... omg OMG. I would snog his ever lovin' brains out.

There was something about this guy, besides that brawny powerful body of his. One, he was shy. He made eye contact with me, arched an eyebrow, grinned, but could never say 'Hey.' (Of course, neither could I). So there was a gentle masculinity about him. But that body. Oh that body. I am so gay for this guy.

And many, many others like this guy.

I'm saying all this, not to skeeve out you straight guys, but to re-affirm one fact that I overlooked.

I AM ATTRACTED TO A CERTAIN TYPE.

Duh?!

I can't change that. I could knock boots with anyone if I want to (and if THEY want to), but I'm just autistic, closeted, shame-based, repressed, stubborn, or fill-in-the-appropriate-adjective enough to never have done it with someone I wasn't attracted to.

So why am I going to start now? My First Man Date isn't my type. That will hurt him. But it will hurt him more if I go into a relationship that he really wants and I don't (Another kudoes to My Hero Friend). Especially when I'm so good at leaving relationships that I don't want to be in.

Take another look;

That's who I want. Or his twin bro.

Lets have it folks. What do you think? Am I copping out and running away behind a screen of words or does this make some small amount of sense?

Freedom FAIL

So last night I reunited with my old D&D group. Since I had been stepping over to Grim's place a few times I felt ready to make a whole re-entry, being that Grim was the one I had the problem with to begin with but now I had conquered that.

(To recap for those playing at home; Grim both pissed me off and I have a mad crush on him at the same time. I left the group because of both reasons. During my travels one day, I saw him driving and forgot all the anger and only missed him. Called him up and have since been to his house three times. Told him I was gay, and he accepted it with no fanfare nor calamitous disaster.)

So yesterday, on the day I chose to return to the group, Grim took the stairs out of the Hosting Girl's pool. This is a yearly ritual in which Grim takes off his shirt. This year I got a look. Several looks, to be honest.

Grim is so fine. omg is he so, so fine. He is the closest real-life equivalent to Jason Statham I have ever had the fortune of being friends with.

What's funny is, Hero Cop was also there and he's looking good too. He's maintained his weight loss and is as full of affection and enthusiasm as a puppy. He's eating right, working out, and is dying for appreciation. Which I give in copious amounts. So without a moment's hesitation, at the slightest encouragement, Hero Cop yanked his shirt off too (nowhere near the pool, I might add) to show me and the rest of us his progress. Clearly this was something the others hadn't allowed him to do during my absence. Well ... Hero Cop's stomach was flat. He is a full 30 lbs lighter and about 3 inches shorter than I am. BUT. There was no shape. No tone to him. He looked like a compressed man. Like remember those bodywraps people used to get? He looked freshly unwrapped. Things were held in, but I saw no muscle tone, except in his arms. Triceps, to be precise. I love my lil dude, but he's no Grim.

Anyway, I say all this as a preamble to what, exactly? That I didn't tell them all about my being teh gay. I just ... I couldn't. The same fear and pressure in my belly remained there through the night. Every time I considered it. Grim was able to comport himself as though he didn't know or care what I was, and that made it easier for me to do what I've always done. Pretend like I didn't know or care either.

And the moral of this story is, I'm aware that this is the way I'd rather live my life. This is my default position. This is what I've been doing for 4 decades and despite all my big talk, or maybe in the light of my kissless date with a kind and cute gay man, I know how safe it feels in this closet of mine and I know I want to stay in it.

I mean, I do know that. For the last couple of weeks, I've been wanting to change that but for the last couple of days, with increasing intensity, I have not wanted to. Very not.

Today it feels like Freedom FAIL. So much so that I want to cancel my date for Tuesday and pretend none of this ever happened.

And that's what's going on.

Obsessively Analytical. Still

The Date occurs in 2.5 hours. I'm inclined to buy something new, then head out. I should buy him a little gift too, huh? I'm nervous. I've pictured this going some-odd thousand different ways. I woke up early thinking about it. Songs come on the radio and I think about it.

While I'm not inclined to go all the way tonight, I do think that this is the beginning of the end of my hidden position. Dating a fella. I might as well kiss him. I might as well sleep with him. I might as well tell the world I'm gay.

I'm finding my boundaries. I don't HAVE to tell everything to everyone, do I. It's not a question. It remains a fact. A lot of people don't want to know about my life outside of the words that I pepper Twitter with. A lot of them have their own notions. A lot of them will think what they want. And a lot of them is not my concern.

My concern is me. I don't have to kiss him. I don't have to sleep with him. I have to be true to me and take my time with this. I'm not in a race. Another year of deliberation won't kill me after 45-minus-innocence years.

I just want this guy to be well. I wish him no harm at all. I am already as grateful to him as I am to all of you for coming into my bubble of shame and fear and helping me out of it.

Okay. I'll be back to fill out the rest. For those of you reading this late in the game, no suspense for you!

Oh, and if I never blog again, I ran afoul of life. Avenge me, Eliel. But it really couldn't have gone down any other way. And trust me, I was so unsure about this whole life of mine--on some level I'd be glad the struggle is over. So if this is my last night on Earth, I'm going gently into it. If I'm going to my murder, I'm not going to resist, beg, cry, or carry on at all. I'm resigned to it. Let's roll.

_______


Not dead.

Well, he's a HANDSOME little thing! He's like a miniature Tom Selleck, blond version! He's athletic, but not cut like deisel. And let me say this, he's softer than me. More gay, if that holds any meaning. Now, I know I've come to this life lusting after the straight dudes. I love guys who are guys. But my date looks like a guy-guy, even though he sounds a little gay.

God, this is so effed-up.

This date of mine was so sweet, and understanding, and patient (in otherwords, we were close enough to kiss several times, for several lengths of times, but I just couldn't yet. And I told him that. And he understood. Tonight anyway.) He's been gay for just shy of 40 years (oh, and by the way--dude is NOTHING like a 50-year old. NOTHING. He easily looks to be in his thirties.) and he's conmfortable with it. So enviably comfortable -- although he's tried women. Done women. But he knows what he likes.

He likes me.

Hugging him told my body that I'm gay. I'm waiting for the rest to follow. I'm waiting to kiss him and see what THAT does. I wanted to hug him for longer, but he most definitely wanted to kiss. I just didn't.

It's like the kiss would be the thrust of the ski poles that will tilt me over the precipice and plunge me into the ride down Mt Everest, and I've never been good with heights.

We'll go out again next week. I asked him if he would, please, even though I'm not kissing him yet, and he said yes. He really seemed to like me. He said a lot of nice things. He said I was genuine.

I'm going to hold his hand next time.

I think we'll kiss next time.

And Yeah, So. That Happened.

First phone conversation happened.
And now I have a date.
A real date.
A DATE date.
Wow.
Here we go ...

Sh*t Just Got Real

Actually real.

My nibble at FindFred turned into an interested tug.

To begin, his pictures were cleared by the Admins.

They were nice. Blond, curly-headed moustached guy with blonde eyebrows, and a smile that looks like he's up to something. He's thinnish, but has some shape to him. He takes pics of himself in the gym, at the beach, out on vacation. He's just hit his fifties but doesn't look a day over 45. His bare chest is fuzzy with coppery hair. No tattoos. And he's my height.

So I responded to his "Where in Manhattan do you live?" with a

"Why, have you seen me around? ;-)"

to which he has responded;

"No, but I'd like to."

Now. This means a few things.

1) He knows I'm a black dude.

2) He's attracted to me.

3) He wants to do stuff with me.

4) He will accept my interest in him.

And I'm sitting here thinking how much I want to do this. How my heart is speeded up right now thinking about how this could go down. I look again at his pictures and I'm thinking he looks better and better. Rugged-like. Right now, he looks like the best thing in the world.

He looks like hope. Like, yeah, he's someone who could like me the way I want to be liked. And he's someone I could like the way I've always wanted to.

I think of all the boyfriends of my girlfriends, and how I'd look at them and get this little heartspeed thing going. Wishing that I could see a little more of them--and then going to Gym and getting that wish fulfilled in the lockerroom, only to know that they'd beat the living shit out of me they knew how I felt. I think of how much I hated wanting what I wanted, and how locked-in I was. I remember how I'd quickly run away from it and try doing life the expected, "normal" way. Yeah. Ran all the way to church and hid under Jesus' skirt.

But 30 years later, here I still am. I traded the hem of Jesus' garment for the internet. I hide behind my side of the screen. I watch and I do not do.

And now I'm standing on the precipice of something real. Maybe. Something to change the way I live the rest of my life. Now I am entering into a flirtation with a man who actually knows I'm flirting, and is flirting back.

Stop.

I've never done this before. I've flirted with straight guys. I've been entertained by those who most likely think I'm playing bantery games with their masculinity. But I've never done this with someone ready to take it somewhere.
And I am really thrilled right now.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Yeah.

So.

Wow.

Okay.

Okay.

I'm going to talk to him. I'm going to find out more about him, I hope. I may just meet him. I might just kiss him. Perhaps I'll [censored] him. Or maybe I'll get to hug him.

You know what?

I would like to hug him.

Hug him for just being there and talking to me. For calling me handsome, and meaning it the way I want someone to mean it. The way I've always wanted a man to mean it.

Yeah, for right now. That's what I want. That would be just amazing.

Long Stretch

4 weeks later I got one nibble at FindFred. From a guy with no picture. Frustrating. He did say I was handsome, but he wants to know where in Manhattan I live. As IF, buddy. Can you take me out to dinner, verbally, first? I've had some others look at my profile, but I don't feel the impulse to leap.

It's all so strange. And defining. And humbling. Because I find that I'm a shallow prick. Yes, now's the time to realize that my snooty perceptions of love have been a lie I told myself. Because clearly to me, looks matter. When it came to women, I guess I was more open because it wasn't the promise or lure of sex drawing me in. I wanted to be friends, always. I wanted to laugh and talk and share. I wanted what most other girls want from their girlfriends. But I didn't want what a "man" wants.

Now, I do. This "man" wants to close the circuit between what he sees and what he feels. As most men do. What I don't know is how that works across the spectrum with straight men. Obviously there are the superstar gorgeous creatures in the media. Straight guys get to look but not touch. So when they go into the obtainable, are they "settling"? Or are they more mature than I've gotten the chance to be, and they realize beauty is where you find it? They love the skinny, the full-figured, the short, the tall, the slightly-off proportioned. They love without the trappings of Hollywood and the lie of beauty.

So why can't I? Why does it have to be muscles? Why do I have to learn these things so late in my life? I'm almost freakin' 50 years old.

And the inverse of that question is, why can't I have muscles? It's what 'trips my trigger' as a happy man once said to me. Why am I going to take on the stigma of being gay if I don't get to enjoy it on some level? Instead of an unfulfilling sexual relationship, I'd rather do nothing -- like I've been doing for 46 years, minus pre-sexual awakening.

Damn. What a sad freakin' life I've had. In this area--and that other area about having parents. But hey. I'm not the only one. And I do good things elsewhere. I'm not a TOTAL waste of protoplasm.

Maybe the FindFred guy will put up pics and be Jason Statham. And maybe I'll wake up tomorrow morning and be straight. Haha.

The One I Haven't Blogged About

So there's this gay comic fan and podcaster who I've gone out with a few times, just me and him. And it isn't Former Pastor, although he and this guy were friends way before I slipped into the cypher. They may even have History. I once saw a frustrated knowing glance that Former Pastor shared with a gay third-party about the guy in question. But Former Pastor moved back home down south. He ain't here no more.

Now. Let's call the guy in question "Eligible." Because, you know actually, he is. And each time we've met up for a movie, there's been ... You know. A Thing. Attraction. Or not an attraction actually, but more like our radars pinging off one another. It's like we're sizing each other up. No pun intended.

He's the kind of gay that I can see myself being. Folks know but it's just understood, not bandied about. Eligible's conversation is about Eco-friendly conservationism and comic books and civic awareness and his interests and stuff. No massive declarations or drawing of lines in the sand. The only reason to believe he's gay is because his co-host throws out a joke about it every once in a while and he'll great-humoredly catch the lob. In fact, his contribution actually dignifies his co-host's ham-handed attempts at the "gee isn't it fun to make fun of teh gay?"-humor. Think 'The Odd Couple' except Felix is gay and Oscar is a bartender who loves comics and fame.

So knowing Eligible was this bachelor, gay, subtle guy, I fired my retroes and allowed my craft to dip into his planetary orbit. When I went to my first social party (whereupon I denied my sexuality, posted pictures here at the blog, and tried living a life that I'm not destined for), it was Eligible's cool-ass Harlem pad w/a backyard hosting the party. And when the Geeks of New York would gather for events, I would hope he'd show up--glad and gravitating himward when he did.

And because he has shared many a kee-kee with me as we'd huddle in our theatre seats, I think he digs me too. It's like we're both waiting for the right signal from each other.

Except I have one thing (okay, LOTS of things) holding me back. He doesn't look like this;


Except he kind of does have that round head with receding hairline that I like. And he's a slim guy, but he said he's not packin' a sixpack under those urban casual clothes of his. (Yes I HAVE asked. I toldja ... the radar be pingin'!)

So. Here's the thing. To try a relationship with him would mean two very major MAJOR things.

1) Houston we have liftoff. Dude is a public geek figure. I arrive somewhere on his arm, or he on mine, and it's DONE. No turning back. Alan. Is. Teh. GAY. And ERRRRRRRBODY gunna know it.

2) He might never have that sexy-sexy that I crave. If I'm going to DO this, I want it to be GOOD. I want it "all." And if there's an abundance of anything, it's muscly gay men. Don't believe me, just walk along 23rd St in Chelsea for a few avenues. How that happened, I don't know, but Chelsea has become Teh Beefy Gay District. WOOF!

I got distracted.

Anyway, I want one of those. Eligible is eligible, pleasant, intelligent, successful generous, erudite, and a geek. He has a lot of qualities I like. But he doesn't stoke the fire. I find that with him, I'm just curious. I would share a kiss with him, if only to see what it's like to kiss an actual guy.

So yeah. That happened. If anything comes of it (the puns refuse to stop) I'll be sure to blog it.

I Talk A Good Game

But when it comes to rubber y road, I'm crap.

So I keep getting emails from frickin "FINDFRED" which happens because I went over there and started a profile. But stopped. Because. I'm crap.

But today I thought, no. Let me look around. BUT!! In order to look around, I had to frickin' finish the profile. So okay. Bastards.

So I started. I'm in fact in the middle of it now.

And SHIT! This effing thing is going all out!! It's asking nice questions like you would find on Match.Com, and then it asks stuff like what sex position I like, what is my ... size, what size do I WANT, what's my favorite bodypart, what's my BEST bodypart ... and I'm like HOLY CRAP. This thing is talking to me like I'm gay!!

And the voice in my head answered back "Well isn't that what you've been telling everybody?"

And I'm like "NO! I haven't been telling EVERYBODY...!!"

And the voice says, "Well either shit or get the fuck off the pot Nancy-Boy."

And then I literally want to break down in tears. Because FUCK YOU that's why!!! This is fucking fuck fuck HARD!! MOTHERFUCCCCCKKKERRR.

Dammit. I hate this. I'm lonely and scared and this is the worst thing that has ever happened to me. I feel like I can never EVER share this. Nobody wants to know this shit. What's MY size? What do I like???

How the hell do you answer something like that?

I hate this.

I'm going to be alone for the rest of my life.

It's not fair.

FUCK. YOU. KEVIN. You perverted criminal son of a bitch. I would kill you right now if I could. I would kill you.

Another Message In A Bottle

Because Match.Com isn't direct enough.

So yeah, I like to look at the nice men at a site called "something-or-othermuscle" Most of that name I made up, but not the muscle part. Because that's the part I like, of course. That muscle.

So it's a social networking site that features most prominently the pictures of how buff and wonderful the participants are, and they get to leave "I Likes" for one another, and they give out other details like their cities, their height, their weight, and all sorts of other details. And yes, THOSE details too. In fact more than half of those profiles and pics are pornographic. The lads love to show off their naughty bits.

With that kind of frank openness, I feel like I know what I'm dealing with. And too, I feel like I know what I want. I want to live as unashamed of my body and my sexuality as they seem to do. (Also they might just be exhibitionist freaks with damage in the restraint centers of their brains).

But I happened upon a connected pair of profiles, one amazing looking man who has a zipcode near me but no e-mail to use, and his "buddy" who has a very open profile link to a Facebook page where he reveals his professional side AND his orientation. HIS FB profile has a link and an e-mail address. And to backtrack a few steps, neither of their "something-or-othermuscle" profiles show pornography. Nothing more pornographic than you'd see in a underwear catalog, anyway.

And so, I went in. I'm hooked. Again. And to the professional one, I wrote the following e-mail (and I will censor the names, lest a google search opens me up to them before we ever meet. Not that I have anything to be ashamed of HERE. And actually, it would save time to let them see it...but in due time).

So here, read this;

"I don't know if I should call you, XXX, XXXXXXX, or Dr. XXXXXX, but whichever you prefer--hello!

"My name's Alan. I'm a 45 yr old black male New Yorker and I browse the (something-or-othermuscle) profiles pretty regularly. I've reached out to a few fellow New Yorkers there with no success so far. Given your Facebook link, I'm hoping that you might be open to a little communication from a guy who is seeking clarity on life and "the pursuit of happiness" whatever that means.

"I am currently a therapist in midtown Manhattan, (definitely not living as well as that might sound), and have also realized within the last four years that I'm gay. Being late to the life means, of course, that 95% of my friends are "straight" (jury's out on a few) and I don't know where I fit in with them anymore. I suppose it might go a little better if I were just to come out to everyone I know and let me friends accept or reject me accordingly, but all the repression and shame that I've been taught from my teen years makes that the hardest task ahead of me.

"So I'm writing to you for a few reasons. At the very least I'm looking for a pen pal who could offer some encouragement through opinion or shared experiences. At best, I could gain a new friend or a whole group of peers to help me into this new identity so I can get along with the rest of my life, and possibly do some good as a result. Now, of course, the guys on (something-or-othermuscle) are my types of guys. Prime example is the guy, XXXXXXX XXXX, whom you're buddied with and who doesn't seem to take e-mails. I definitely know I'm gay when I see his body. But finding you through his profile seems also like a win because you might be more willing to respond than have others. So I guess I was drawn to send you this e-mail on all kinds of levels. I suppose, whatever else could come from contact like this is yet to be seen. It's certainly new territory for me.

"So, yeah. I guess that's pretty much it. I have more online info about who I am and what I do that I can share if you want to know whether I'm a spambot, or want to know what I look like, or whatever. I figure that's only fair, right? Oh! Also I work out at NYSC too, usually in spots around midtown, mostly at 73rd near CPW because afterward it's a nice walk across the Park to work when I'm done. Or vice versa.

"Right. So. Here I go sending out my message in a bottle.

"Hope to hear from you. Thanks.

"-Alan"

What do you think about that, Dear Readers? Biggest Mistake Ever or About Damn Time?

Mom's Day '09

Okay, so nothing maudlin today. It was too beautiful out there today to go all goth. I got to work bright and early (for me) and saw lots of people in the day job who my boss wanted me to see. Then I got back into NYC while the sun was bright in the sky. I trolled around Riverside Drive on the Upper Westside and Broadway instead of going right home and ate sushi overlooking the Jersey Palisades.

(By the way, I took this picture. That's not MY crazy ass sitting there on the edge of the world, ready for a psycho to push me off into oblivion. It's actually about a 12 foot drop onto some thin trees. Bones might break, but the fool would live.)

I think about The Past Girl probably every day, and probably every day I think about Match Girl and The Last Girlfriend. Every day I probably think about them all. Given a 16-hour awake period, I'm sure that I do.

But still, it was quite a surprise to get a text message from The Past Girl today, wishing me and my mother a Happy Mother's Day. I knew her mother was deceased and I thought of how beautiful that was to send me out a text when her own heart must have been a little achy. Instead of, or maybe as a reaction to her own sadness, she reached out. and she reached out to ME.

For you see, I had stopped texting her about a month ago, figuring that if she wanted to date me, she'd be more responsive to me, but she hadn't and then I hadn't.

But out of the blue, she texted me. She didn't know my mother was dead, but that's not the point. The point is, she initiated text after I had stopped. She sent me the text which, I don't know--was it a general text "to everyone"? I know those are possible because I get holiday texts from a former client, and I KNOW they aren't specifically sending them to just me.

Hmmm. That changes the direction of this post. I was going to say that maybe The Past Girl is reaching out to me again. Maybe she wants me to be more forward and get this relationship jumped. But now I think it's possible that she sent me spam. Because, of course, my Mom's deceased.

Hmm. Ol' Charlie Brown missed the football again.

But here's what I'm going to do.

I'm going to meet with her and ask her if the phone message was a general send or specifically to me. Whatever she answers, I'm going to tell her that I hoped it was just for me because I missed texting with her and I had the impression that she didn't really want me to after a while and blah blah blah ...

In other words, I'm going to use today's texting as an opportunity to do some honest communication. Because really, I've got nothing to lose. If she doesn't want to date, well hey. We haven't been dating anyway, and I haven't been texting. Nothing changes and no love is lost.

See, when I think about all these Girls each day, my main thought is this;
"I wish I would've said ___________. I wish I could go back in time with what I know about myself now. I wish I had another opportunity to have some real honest conversation with the ladies I've lost."

So now here's an opportunity to Put Up Or Shut Up. And as I'm sure you guys noticed, I've Shut Up for the past few months. I Twitter pretty regularly so I'm not gone. And the Twitter feed is right up there in the blue horizontal bar. Any time you come here, there will be a new tweet to read and if you click on it, you'll get sent to a page with my get stream of consciousness stuff and my half of conversations with other Tweeters.

But I felt like all my back-and-forthing and whining about my faulty sexuality decision-making process had to come to an end. When I finally said what I was going to do, I felt like it was time to Just Do It. "It" = be alone unless I could find the right woman for me. Nothing more needs said because I meant it when I said it. It's really the only thing I can do. Everything else, when honestly considered, counseled, and even approached by taking walks on that side of town and attempting to identify myself with the population--it all ends up as a big fat No Can Do. I don't care what trips Lil' Alan's trigger, Big Alan Can Not Do.

So right now, The Past Girl is the only available girl that I feel safe with. And with anyone else, my clients included, I would be urging them to open up with honest communication if they want to be heard.

Well, time to practice what I preach.

So. That's what's going on.

I'll keep you updated.

Would It Be A Waste?

Adele is a sober, non-crack taking Amy Winehouse. She's as English as Amy too. Her, Duffy, Leona Lewis, Lily Allen--lots of British girls gettin' their funky divas on!

Yeah, I just want to BE in the relationship already. The Past Girl can definitely use a margin of time to approach the idea of a relationship and I'm the guy seemingly in a rush. Best case scenario is that I'm the first person she's considered in that way since her fiancee died. I'm sure I heard her say that she was wondering if this meant she was supposed to just rest for a while, in a What-does-God-want-me-to-do-now? sense, which, yeah--she has that spiritual outlook and has done since the first time I re-met her, and it's a big part of her character and her strength, and of my attraction to her. She's probably more spiritual than me these days. And yes, she reminds me a HELL of a lot of you Grizz. She's loving and supportive and kind like you. So she just may be gun-shy of another relationship right now. Which means I should wait it out.

And why not? I'm only in a rush because I'll be 45 this year. But I need to get out of my rush. There's no one else on my horizon that I like better. Which, oddly enough, I realize there are at least two others on my horizon, which doesn't include My Colleague, btw. Ned helped me get over her real quick. (She's flirting with me while she's got a man.) There are two ladies at the day job, at two different sites, who really put on the flirt when I come around. I've spoken about one already, but I've said nothing about the other, who is a supervisor at the site where I first met The Past Girl. But Supervisor Girl smokes occasionally and she talks to herself while using the bathroom (Yes, sorry, it's true. That's the only way I'd know it--because she talks to herself LOUDLY.) Funny but scary. The other one, I was very close to asking out, which again, I haven't mentioned -- or maybe I did? -- but I have said I have a crush on. Her signals are much clearer than The Past Girl's, but she (let's call her Director Girl) has a temper that I've seen in meetings that we've attended together. Director Girl is open with her emotions, which is how I can tell she digs me every time we cross paths, and that's what I'm sure I respond to. I like being found attractive. But again, I'm sure that temper will come into play as well as her affection if she and I were ever in a relationship and I'm just not trying to have it.

The Past Girl doesn't seem anything like that. She might in fact be missing that aspect of personality. She says she has "blonde moments." She covers up her insecurities with words and laughter. And colored contacts. And faith in God?

I don't know. Maybe I'm not good for her. Maybe I'd be cruel. Or maybe I'd drag her faith down with my wounds and scars. Maybe I'm worse than I think I am.

I don't know. All I know is, she fits me. There is no fear or trepidation when I think of her. I only hesitate when I think of putting an end to the positive aspects of my aloneness. There is an unaccountability that I live by, and I enjoy it. I want to get on a train and bop down to get fried shrimp? I do it. I want to stay in the room all day on my one day off and produce audio drama? I do it. I want to blow 40 bucks on comics and read them while eating Lay's BBQ potato chips in bed? Crunch crunch crunch!! I want to look at pictures of the buff men in the brightly colored speedos? (Which actually? IS reading superhero comics! Why didn't I realize that before??) Click click click!!

But ultimately, loving someone is more human than being alone.

And I want to be human.

So yes, Grizz, I agree. I should keep chasing pavements. Even if it leads nowhere.

Should I Leave It There?

I tell you I have the golden touch. I fell in love with Jennifer Hudson the moment she stepped first on American Idol and I realized I couldn't bear the competitive tension. But I knew she was amazing, even though Fantasia won that year.

And I bought this song off iTunes about a month ago, and the girl went and won a few Grammys the other night.

But all celebration aside, the song touched me because it seemed to narrate my experience as so many of them so often do.

The Past Girl has another visitor today from Texas, and I remember her telling me about this one when we first started chatting so I believe her. In other words, she's not available again ... but I don't feel shot down quite yet.

But isn't this funny--I'm growing impatient! Half of me says to hurry or else she won't think I'm interested, and then the other half tries to avoid the whole challenge altogether. I feel negligent when I take it slow, but frustrated when I choose to go for it and get stymied.

I guess I must really want this even though sometimes I don't. My hero suggested that when I want my aloneness, it could be a defense mechanism. Oh he's good. It is a defense. I want to be alone because it's less painful than trying and failing, and THEN being alone against my will.

see how this song applies so well right now?


Chasing Pavements
by ADELE

I've made up my mind
Don't need to think it over
If I'm wrong I am right
Don't need to look no further
This aint lust
I know
this is love

but

If I tell the world
I'll never say enough
'Cos it was not said to you
and thats exactly what i need to do
if I'd
end up
with you

should I give up
or should I just keep chasing pavements
even if it leads nowhere?

Or would it be a waste
even if I knew my place?
should I leave it there?

should I give up
or should I just keep chasing pavements
even if it
leads nowhere

I build myself up
and fly around in circles
waiting as my heart drops
and my back begins to tingle
finally
could this be

it?

Or

Should I give up
or should I just keep chasing pavements
even if it leads nowhere,
or would it be a waste
even if I knew my place?
should I leave it there?

Should I give up?
or should I just keep chasing pavements
even if it
leads nowhere

Yea?

Should I give up
or should I just keep chasing pavements
even if
it leads no where?

Or would it be a waste?
Even if I knew my place?
Should I leave it there?

Should I give up?

Or should I just keep on chasing pavements?

Should I just keep on chasing pavements?

or

Should I give up
or should I just keep on chasing pavements?
Even if it leads nowhere

Or would it be a waste
even if I knew my place

should I leave it there?

Should I give up
or should i just keep chasing pavements?


Even if it


leads no where?

I Nearly Fainted...

... when I saw this site advertised at one of my geek haunts.

And I signed up right away, uploaded my profile, and found a girl in her mid 30's who lives within 15 miles of me (on THIS side of the Hudson River) who adverts that she's looking to date "either geek-guys or geek-gals" and wants to watch Torchwood with someone.

ZING!!!

"Someone for everyone", you said?

Here's Something I Didn't Know...

...you can reject another Match person without sending an e-mail or a form letter at all! Last night I saw that Match Girl III had been to my profile, and this morning under her picture on the "My Connections" page (where a collection of all the girls I'm interested in reside) it simply said "she's not interested" and then a clickie that said "Remove her". So I removed her.

*initiate coping mode*

...





...







...







Hmm.










I got nothin'






:-)

Back Onto The Bike

I found a profile on Match that knocked me over and I was compelled to send an e-mail. So here we go again. Everybody send your best thoughts my way for me and Match Girl III!

The Brush-Off

Yep. I got my walking papers from Match Girl-I. She said she had a good time on our dates but she wanted to keep meeting other people, then wished me luck on my search.

*initiate coping mode*

Honestly, she sent me the proper signs and made it apparent that, as quoted, "She's Just Not That Into Me." She would have contacted me far more than she did, otherwise. And, just as apparently, I was not as into her either, else I would have called her after this Sunday passed, and I hadn't.

Well, that's taken care of.

Dreams and giddy aspirations aside, I'm glad to take another break. This is where I'm more comfy. Maybe after I'm a month into the meds, I'll have the whatever it takes to try again.

Or maybe I won't.

Whatever.

I'll still be okay.

I'm okay now, in fact.

2nd Date, Various States Of Ennui, And Becoming "The Guy"

Well it seems my girl is a phone-o-phobe.

Teehee. I said "my girl".

We had another date today, arranged last night after a hard-won, quick and brief phone chat.

It was hard-won because she called in the afternoon yesterday, close to the "when" of my comment response to the last post, wherein I wrote that I was a bit disillusioned. What I didn't know was that I was a lot disillusioned. I pledged to you guys I'd keep my options open, but I was emotionally moving on to Match Girl-II. And also, I was feeling the Call of the Sedate luring me back to my normal life of aloneliness. Back to the familiar ennui, the safer well-traveled ground. When she then called, I didn't want to pick up the phone.

And I did not.

I let her leave a message. And still, I did not want to hear it.

I had grown not just disillusioned, but disenchanted. Literally no longer enchanted by the idea of first dates, and beautiful eyes, and amazing smiles.

So I called MFTD about the meds. I asked him if they would help me whenever my mood took this kind of plummet. Whenever these slight derails of my enthusiasm turned into a fullblown trainwreck. His advice was priceless and he made me realize that I don't have to wait for a psychiatrist to get my meds. That my regular practitioner will prescribe them. So I'm going tomorrow to get started on something.

And he urged me to listen to the message and go on a second date. He could hear in my voice that I was 'moving on' and he knew I needed an intervention. He's been there, you see, for each of the women I've moved on from in the past. Each of them. He's my best friend, so of course he knows. He even made me promise to call him back after I listened to the message.

It was she, making plans for Sunday based on my last message, and opting out of a Saturday get-together (letting me off the hook from my not-wanting-to-ness yesterday anyway).

"Yesterday Anyway". I like that.

A few hours later I called her--and had to leave another message! About an hour after my message, she called again--and I picked up.

We actually spoke to one another!!! However, her reception was breaking up, so she just got the message out to the specifics of today's date, the where and the when and so forth.

So today we had a pleasant time, and when I asked if she (or any of us Matchedeers) usually date more than one at a time, she discouraged the idea. She said that she wasn't doing it, at any rate. And when I indicated that I wasn't inclined to do more than one at a time as well, she said "that's good" with the ever so slightest coyness of smiles.

That's why I started off this post by thinking in terms of "my". If we exclusively date, then she's "mine" and I'm "hers". What we exactly are to each other is not quite clear.

At its most innocuous, she's a woman used to her solitude and her routine. She's madly successful at her career, which my ego is handling fine so far since I have been able to pay for our meals. So maybe, she doesn't need the kind of social contact that me in my sappy old age, has come to want. Which means that I might be doing most of the reaching out, should we progress along in the exclusive way. And that possibly I won't need to get a Bluetooth for the indepth, running-commentary phone conversations that I was gearing up for.

And too, I'm wondering just when will I get to hold her hand. When, at a dinner table, I get to idly kiss her wrist and just nuzzle on it for a bit. When do I get to hug her from beind and fill up my arms with her. When do I get to smell the back of her neck, under her hair? When do I get to make her squee with my beard on the nape between her shoulder and jaw?

I'm learning there are no hard and fast rules to all this stuff. But I can't help but wonder.

I'm thinking we need to go out dancing for the third date. Go somewhere fun. Introduce some passion up in this piece.

Look at me all manly an' stuff!

Yeah, this is what I want to be.

I want to be The Guy.

May 4th. Remember This Date. Literally.

(Original Blondie Site) You must read the strip first. Oddly, it came out today.

It was bright olive green, actually. It matched my shirt. I'm sure the color wasn't called "bright olive green," but it was. It was beautiful. So was her sweater. And so was she.

She had that smile. The same smile. Only in person, it was ... better. Dimples!!

You all came with me, you should know. I took pictures up until the meeting because I knew I was going to tell you and I wanted you to see where I had took you.

First, I showered, shaved, trimmed my moustache and decided to take a picture to show you what I decided to wear.
I was so nervous I couldn't stop shaking the camera.


After about four blurries, I caught this one, while considering leaving my shirt untucked.


I thought better of it and tucked it in. Me and my belly headed out.


On the subway, a little girl was on a date with Batista. She had him, and other of his wrestling buddies in the palm of her hand. It was easy to see how that date was going to turn out.


First I hit a Kinkos for lamination of the bookmark.


Then a few blocks closer to Fate Central, there was a flower store.


Pretty right? and the flowers too! (Oh, my favorite neighborhood!)


So then getting closer to Fate Central I figured why not combine bookmark and flowers?


I entered Fate Central and staked out a seat. I had a view of the whole store. I'd see her before she saw me. It felt unfair, but either I have that advantage or wet myself. After a few minutes I went and got a comicbook graphic novel to read. Then I decided not to be sitting there reading comics when she arrived. The bookmark was enough to lay on her for today.

And then.

Well.

She arrived. She recognized me. She came to the table. She smiled that smile.

I got to my feet and I decided, "one chance at this..." So I kissed her cheek.

And I could not stop staring at her. I felt like I was doing the "therapist gaze" on her. Just watching every word tumbling out. Watching her bat her amazingly clear and deep brown eyes. I stared so hard, I could tell she was wearing contacts. Not color-contacts. Just clear. But I could tell. That's how hard I was looking. I had to consciously turn away at times for fear of giving her the creeps.

It's just that ... well, clearly her pictures were from less ... attentive times? Or it's just that the camera is CRAP for capturing the real person! And I did my best, my BEST in not gushing over her. And I succeeded. The most I said about her, to her, was that this was working out AMAZINGLY well for me. And re: her last relationship--that I wasn't mad that they were no longer together. I didn't want to seem like a leering pervert concentrating only on looks, so I didn't say anything about them. Except that I couldn't. STOP. staring.

But my God. This woman is amazing-gorgeous. Shockingly. I want to stare in her eyes some more. I mean right now.

I could go on and on, but really. When would I stop?

I'll tell you as much as you may want to know, within respect to her anonymity. Just ask.


Here, I'm just in a fog and have no idea what has just happened. The date was successful?!? How'd that happen?!? I have her PHONE NUMBER RIGHT NOW?!!? WHAT?!!?

Tell me when I should call her again! MFTD says Tues. His wife says tomorrow. I want to call her right now.

Right NOW.

I'd better watch last night's Doctor Who and try to relax...















































I have her phone number!!!