So yeah, so out with Con Buddy last night and had a fun time with the geekery, which went along with more candid talk about our private lives whereupon he detailed more of his very very straight libidinous attractions and I fronted again as if I were Johnny Hetereo.
Yeah, I'm settled. Con Buddy loves the ladies and I'm just where I always have been--on the outside looking in.
Whatevs.
Showing posts with label Girls. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Girls. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Hello Blogger My Old Friend...
...I've come to talk with you again.
So about my D&D buddies, who I've left behind because of utter frustration and growing tension between myself and the Grim Jester, I've discovered some news. The guy who I once gave a lift to, who once canceled because Jester wasn't going to show up, still checks up on me once inna. Even though he prefered Jester's compnay over all of ours that days, he still wants to be a friend of mine and invites me over to see movies and all sorts of things that I keep declining--the way I keep declining going back over there in a group-friend capacity.
Because, really--it's not so much about the tensions between me & Jester, now is it? Or, actually, it's EXACTLY about the tension between me and him. Or more just about MY tension. He turns me on. Always has done. And he infuriates me too, because he won't stop being a misanthrope weirdo who scoffs at my profession and pretty much everything else in life. That was all covered in previous posts.
So the news I got through the grapevine is that Jester found himself another girlfriend. Through Match.com. HAHAHAHAHAHAAAAHAHHAHAHAHAAAAAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!
And isn't it ironic?
Dontcha think?
A little too ironic.
Because, yes, he's successfully moved on from the death of his last girlfriend, which is great for him. And he's giving relationships another try. Which is also great. And he's successful again--which I thought was a longshot, given his crazy ways. But there's two things about this which makes me want to--need to post.
1) I continue to feel such jealousy toward the hetereo world. How nice and convenient and tidy how hetereos can date and find other other and hookup and be accepted, and be normal. Match.com. How very lovely for you. These guys in that group, they do date, yeh. Remember The Cop, another member of that group who I found to be a nice friend, affectionate and friendly? Serial dater. Never goes without a girlfriend, love interest, and at the very least, coitus. Little Italian sparkplug is what he is. And it's just so friggin disheartening to be in their company and watch them date, and make jokes about girls, and make fun of gay stuff (as hetereos do without nary a though) and sit there laughing and fronting as though I were one of them. When, once I actually was one of them. But now, I'm just nothing like them anymore at all. And that breaks my heart.
but
2) Like a fool, and I do mean an utter fool, I've been holding out hope that Jester is living a lie and is secretly gay (a power top if full definitions are to be used), and that the tension between us has always been sexual. That somehow my absence would have made him more fond of me, and that someday--and soon, I was going to make my confession to him and he'd just throw me to the bed and voila! Happy Homo Ending. Yeah. Meanwhile, he's been Desperately Seeking Susan, and of course, because he's all MAN, he found her.
So I'm so done with These Stupid Dreams. All these storybook fantasies that I've been pining away for. Ridiculous waste of my time and emotion. In the big dice game called life, when it comes to love, I crapped out.
But I have other things going for me, that I enjoy, and will continue to do so. No need to reserve energy for things I cant change or force to happen--I'm going to spend it on things that are fun, and wonderful, and make me laugh, and make me smile. Like comicbooks and friends who know I'm gay and don't care. Like controlling my weight and getting myself gorgeous for absolutely no one but myself. Listening to music that I adore. And making art for art's sake. And leaving a positive mark on planet Earth for when I'm no longer living on it, but enjoying my right nows in full succession until that day.
And that's what's going on.
So about my D&D buddies, who I've left behind because of utter frustration and growing tension between myself and the Grim Jester, I've discovered some news. The guy who I once gave a lift to, who once canceled because Jester wasn't going to show up, still checks up on me once inna. Even though he prefered Jester's compnay over all of ours that days, he still wants to be a friend of mine and invites me over to see movies and all sorts of things that I keep declining--the way I keep declining going back over there in a group-friend capacity.
Because, really--it's not so much about the tensions between me & Jester, now is it? Or, actually, it's EXACTLY about the tension between me and him. Or more just about MY tension. He turns me on. Always has done. And he infuriates me too, because he won't stop being a misanthrope weirdo who scoffs at my profession and pretty much everything else in life. That was all covered in previous posts.
So the news I got through the grapevine is that Jester found himself another girlfriend. Through Match.com. HAHAHAHAHAHAAAAHAHHAHAHAHAAAAAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!
And isn't it ironic?
Dontcha think?
A little too ironic.
Because, yes, he's successfully moved on from the death of his last girlfriend, which is great for him. And he's giving relationships another try. Which is also great. And he's successful again--which I thought was a longshot, given his crazy ways. But there's two things about this which makes me want to--need to post.
1) I continue to feel such jealousy toward the hetereo world. How nice and convenient and tidy how hetereos can date and find other other and hookup and be accepted, and be normal. Match.com. How very lovely for you. These guys in that group, they do date, yeh. Remember The Cop, another member of that group who I found to be a nice friend, affectionate and friendly? Serial dater. Never goes without a girlfriend, love interest, and at the very least, coitus. Little Italian sparkplug is what he is. And it's just so friggin disheartening to be in their company and watch them date, and make jokes about girls, and make fun of gay stuff (as hetereos do without nary a though) and sit there laughing and fronting as though I were one of them. When, once I actually was one of them. But now, I'm just nothing like them anymore at all. And that breaks my heart.
but
2) Like a fool, and I do mean an utter fool, I've been holding out hope that Jester is living a lie and is secretly gay (a power top if full definitions are to be used), and that the tension between us has always been sexual. That somehow my absence would have made him more fond of me, and that someday--and soon, I was going to make my confession to him and he'd just throw me to the bed and voila! Happy Homo Ending. Yeah. Meanwhile, he's been Desperately Seeking Susan, and of course, because he's all MAN, he found her.
So I'm so done with These Stupid Dreams. All these storybook fantasies that I've been pining away for. Ridiculous waste of my time and emotion. In the big dice game called life, when it comes to love, I crapped out.
But I have other things going for me, that I enjoy, and will continue to do so. No need to reserve energy for things I cant change or force to happen--I'm going to spend it on things that are fun, and wonderful, and make me laugh, and make me smile. Like comicbooks and friends who know I'm gay and don't care. Like controlling my weight and getting myself gorgeous for absolutely no one but myself. Listening to music that I adore. And making art for art's sake. And leaving a positive mark on planet Earth for when I'm no longer living on it, but enjoying my right nows in full succession until that day.
And that's what's going on.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
So In The Middle Right Now
SO in the middle. Let's start with a downer. When I lived in Harlem, before my eviction, I lived on the street one block south of my closest (great)aunt. My mother's aunt. She treated me with love and affection. She had three children, and a bunch of grandchildren. Her grandchlidren are my age. Well, she passed away a few years ago and her son, who had once given me a 20 dollar bill on my birthday (with which I went flying off to see Star Wars in the movie theater to discover I couldn't get in by myself) had come to visit me in my Harlem apartment. He was the only real father-type figure in my family. The other men were older--they were my great grandmom's brothers. So this guy, let's call him Marduke, held a special fascination for me.
Marduke was the father of my closest cousins, so when I hung out with Marduke's son I'd watch Marduke too. What kind of father was he? What kind of husband? What kind of black man? What kind of adult? What kind of homeowner? What kind of American citizen? Clearly, whatever answers I found, I didn't pay attention to. I idealized him because he was in all those roles, and I thought position equated to capacity. Not so. When I was reaching my twenties, I discovered he divorced his wife, had several affairs, and moved down south to leave his children--my cousins. I activated my blind eye and went slogging through my own FUBAR'd life.
So the few years ago when Marduke visited me, he seemed like he had his head on straight. Enough, at least, to tell me a few things about himself. Like his drug peddling and subsequent habit, and his regrets, and his recovery and on and on. Still, I couldn't figure him out. I wanted him to be who I thought he was and it seemed that he now was, or was again. He had never lost his height or his manly stature. He had all his bright teeth and wolfish grin. He had my mother's eyes. But I didn't know what he wanted. He took me out to eat and he expressed interest in my life. He promised to keep in touch. I never saw him again.
On Monday, his sister called me. She had found my number in the back of her mother's address book, tucked away. Her mom had kept all the numbers I had over the years. The one I had in Missouri, the one I had in Trenton, and the one I've had ever since I moved into NYC and got my first cellphone. Marduke's sister is an intelligent, vibrant, verbal, outspoken woman who I've always been fascinated with as well as with her brother. This was another adult black person with children (my other two cousins, brothers, to whom I'm NOT that close with) and a home and a profession. She's someone who lived in NYC all her life and survived (with and then without a husband). I just never grew closer to these people because I grew up a few suburban culture borders away, across a river, and up a state. It was only 25 measly miles, but evidently it was like another continent. I'd take the bus into NYC to go find back issues of comicbooks at conventions, but not to find my relatives.
Well Marduke's sister was calling me to tell me that Marduke had died. I forget how long ago, but she described his funeral and how his kids, my cousins, had scattered his ashes on his mother's grave, and that she was upset that they did it all so privately without telling anyone else. But since this was Marduke's sister, she was going to have her own celebration of his life and draw the family back together before we were all lost. Yeah. Told you she was outspoken. And she's having it this weekend.
THIS weekend. My VACATION weekend.
Well, I'm not going to Marduke's memorial at his sister's house. I need and I want my Geektastic vacation and I'm taking it.
But here's the kicker. She described the details of Marduke's death as she learned them. Marduke was in a boat off the South Carolina shore with a friend. The boat capsized. His friend drowned. He tried to swim to the shore and almost made it but got tangled in the seaweed and lost his life too.
Now ain't that some shit. She told me this about fifteen minutes before my first client on Monday evening. Which, as the Great Scriptwriter In The Sky would have it, our session was on my client's fear of water and refusing to fulfill the sailing lessons from the weekend. I swear to God. There I sat listening to an alive person talking about capsizing a boat on purpose as part of a paid lesson while thinking of my dead cousin who's accidental capsizing cost him his life. Can't make this stuff up, people.
So Marduke's sister tells me he was in his early 70's. As she must be. Or in her late 60's. Either way, I can't get my head around any of this. How does my cousin die tangled in seaweed? How is it that he was IN HIS SEVENTIES?!? Was he seventy when he visited me? How is HIS generation in their SEVENTIES for crying out loud?
And I just can't. I intend on having myself a good time starting today at 4:00pm and not stopping until I report to work 8:00AM next Wednesday morning. Marduke's already dead. Been dead longer than I knew about it. And his children, the cousins I was closest to, didn't think or bother or want to share that information at the time.
And now that Marduke's sister called me, I'm going to go visit her next week and see this celebration of Marduke's life, and of our family, in a more private setting. And maybe what's left of our relationships will mend. And maybe the rest of my adulthood will have some connectivity to it, without the qualifier of religious reconversion to first achieve--in the absence of romance and in the distance between you and I, my internet intimates. Isn't that what family is, for better or worse? It's about being comnnected? Not feeling adrift and helpless and inhuman? I dunno. I guess I'll find out. Or not.
And that's the downer.
The upper is that remember the Day Job Girl? What did I call her? I forget. But she was the girl who used to drift by my office and say hello to me, and say other things like she heard there was this "nice guy who worked here" and blah blah blah, talking about me? And how I believed she did this because she liked me? And so I was to bring her flowers and ask her out, on Scott's recommend? And how I may have done, but now I can't remember? Well, I do remember leaving a few messages for her but she didn't respond, and so like I do, I dropped it.
Yesterday, I found her working in our corporate office! And she had these large braces on her teeth! It was as though I had caught her in mid-transformation! And when she saw me, it was very much like it was when she'd come by my office! She has this way of looking at me as if it's "Wow. He's so handsome!" I mean, she looks at me like she's 14 and I'm Elvis. I swear.
And it occured to me yesterday that all along, I could have just asked her out. No games, no notes, no phone messages left. Just, while she hovered in my doorway, trying to make small talk, sending me more signals than the NJ Transit MetroNorth line, that I could've said "Hey, you want to get some lunch?"
So yesterday I said, "Hey, you want to go get some lunch?" And she said, "That would be great!" And we went and got some lunch. Then after work I stopped by again and gave her a ride back to her place. Where I promptly lost my virginity and every ambivalence I ever had about my sexuality.
Now you know that last paragraph is not true at all. It would only be true if I were a normal person. I probably wouldn't even be a blogger if I could do the events in that last paragraph. I'd just be out living my life and not typing about how many different ways I cannot and have not lived it. And if my stops and starts frustrate you and make you turn away from these pages as it appears to have done the others, I do apologize. If it's any consolation, I wish I could do the same. But it's kind of my life, y'know? I don't get to unBookmark it and escape the frustration. I don't get to tidy it up with the "Age of Aquarius" playing in the background.
But the real kicker is that the Day Job Girl came back on my radar after I decided that girls weren't going to be for me. That because The Past Girl blew me off, that I was just inherently unsexy to women and possibly destined to have a relationship with a dude. And that if I'm to stay honest, the most electrifying sexuality I experience at first glance comes in this package;
And I've learned that there are non-penetrative ways for menfolk to do The Deed that won't drive me screaming from a given bedroom, and that if I'm going to Hell for being homosexual, then I'm going because no matter what I want to do or how I want to appear straight or live straight--no matter how much I want to avoid condemnation, judgment and scrutiny...no matter what I WANT WITH ALL MY HEART, my sexuality is its own entity. Whether this sexuality was forced on me or whether it got jumpstarted by an inappropriate and criminal adult, it just IS. It just is.
And when I face God, with all the layers of human culture and interpretation stripped away, I'm only going to open my heart and say "You know what this is and you know how hard I tried to do what I thought was Your will."
I mean what else can a person do?
Either way, The Day Job Girl can adore me. She can look at me the way I look at Jason Statham. It isn't going to change everything I'm struggling with. I might get to sex her, but it isn't going to make the 30+ years of my constant craving disappear in one puff of heterosexual coitus. Somehow I thought and hoped ... prayed ... that it would. But that just doesn't make sense to believe it will. And I guess my fallback plan was to live with the dichotomy. To have a woman know me and accept me and still be my wife. But how can I do that? Seeing Day Girl Job again, and seeing who she might be--what hopes she might have for her own life--her braces to make her more attractive, her new position to giver her a better life--am I what she deserves? Is that fair?
No, I don't think it is. Life's not fair, but I don't think I want to contribute to its unfairness.
And even as I say this, still I'd love to be able believe for the normal life. Still I'd love to fake my way through it. Still I'd love to pull it off.
I am SO in the middle right now.
But you know what?
I'm really not.
Marduke was the father of my closest cousins, so when I hung out with Marduke's son I'd watch Marduke too. What kind of father was he? What kind of husband? What kind of black man? What kind of adult? What kind of homeowner? What kind of American citizen? Clearly, whatever answers I found, I didn't pay attention to. I idealized him because he was in all those roles, and I thought position equated to capacity. Not so. When I was reaching my twenties, I discovered he divorced his wife, had several affairs, and moved down south to leave his children--my cousins. I activated my blind eye and went slogging through my own FUBAR'd life.
So the few years ago when Marduke visited me, he seemed like he had his head on straight. Enough, at least, to tell me a few things about himself. Like his drug peddling and subsequent habit, and his regrets, and his recovery and on and on. Still, I couldn't figure him out. I wanted him to be who I thought he was and it seemed that he now was, or was again. He had never lost his height or his manly stature. He had all his bright teeth and wolfish grin. He had my mother's eyes. But I didn't know what he wanted. He took me out to eat and he expressed interest in my life. He promised to keep in touch. I never saw him again.
On Monday, his sister called me. She had found my number in the back of her mother's address book, tucked away. Her mom had kept all the numbers I had over the years. The one I had in Missouri, the one I had in Trenton, and the one I've had ever since I moved into NYC and got my first cellphone. Marduke's sister is an intelligent, vibrant, verbal, outspoken woman who I've always been fascinated with as well as with her brother. This was another adult black person with children (my other two cousins, brothers, to whom I'm NOT that close with) and a home and a profession. She's someone who lived in NYC all her life and survived (with and then without a husband). I just never grew closer to these people because I grew up a few suburban culture borders away, across a river, and up a state. It was only 25 measly miles, but evidently it was like another continent. I'd take the bus into NYC to go find back issues of comicbooks at conventions, but not to find my relatives.
Well Marduke's sister was calling me to tell me that Marduke had died. I forget how long ago, but she described his funeral and how his kids, my cousins, had scattered his ashes on his mother's grave, and that she was upset that they did it all so privately without telling anyone else. But since this was Marduke's sister, she was going to have her own celebration of his life and draw the family back together before we were all lost. Yeah. Told you she was outspoken. And she's having it this weekend.
THIS weekend. My VACATION weekend.
Well, I'm not going to Marduke's memorial at his sister's house. I need and I want my Geektastic vacation and I'm taking it.
But here's the kicker. She described the details of Marduke's death as she learned them. Marduke was in a boat off the South Carolina shore with a friend. The boat capsized. His friend drowned. He tried to swim to the shore and almost made it but got tangled in the seaweed and lost his life too.
Now ain't that some shit. She told me this about fifteen minutes before my first client on Monday evening. Which, as the Great Scriptwriter In The Sky would have it, our session was on my client's fear of water and refusing to fulfill the sailing lessons from the weekend. I swear to God. There I sat listening to an alive person talking about capsizing a boat on purpose as part of a paid lesson while thinking of my dead cousin who's accidental capsizing cost him his life. Can't make this stuff up, people.
So Marduke's sister tells me he was in his early 70's. As she must be. Or in her late 60's. Either way, I can't get my head around any of this. How does my cousin die tangled in seaweed? How is it that he was IN HIS SEVENTIES?!? Was he seventy when he visited me? How is HIS generation in their SEVENTIES for crying out loud?
And I just can't. I intend on having myself a good time starting today at 4:00pm and not stopping until I report to work 8:00AM next Wednesday morning. Marduke's already dead. Been dead longer than I knew about it. And his children, the cousins I was closest to, didn't think or bother or want to share that information at the time.
And now that Marduke's sister called me, I'm going to go visit her next week and see this celebration of Marduke's life, and of our family, in a more private setting. And maybe what's left of our relationships will mend. And maybe the rest of my adulthood will have some connectivity to it, without the qualifier of religious reconversion to first achieve--in the absence of romance and in the distance between you and I, my internet intimates. Isn't that what family is, for better or worse? It's about being comnnected? Not feeling adrift and helpless and inhuman? I dunno. I guess I'll find out. Or not.
And that's the downer.
The upper is that remember the Day Job Girl? What did I call her? I forget. But she was the girl who used to drift by my office and say hello to me, and say other things like she heard there was this "nice guy who worked here" and blah blah blah, talking about me? And how I believed she did this because she liked me? And so I was to bring her flowers and ask her out, on Scott's recommend? And how I may have done, but now I can't remember? Well, I do remember leaving a few messages for her but she didn't respond, and so like I do, I dropped it.
Yesterday, I found her working in our corporate office! And she had these large braces on her teeth! It was as though I had caught her in mid-transformation! And when she saw me, it was very much like it was when she'd come by my office! She has this way of looking at me as if it's "Wow. He's so handsome!" I mean, she looks at me like she's 14 and I'm Elvis. I swear.
And it occured to me yesterday that all along, I could have just asked her out. No games, no notes, no phone messages left. Just, while she hovered in my doorway, trying to make small talk, sending me more signals than the NJ Transit MetroNorth line, that I could've said "Hey, you want to get some lunch?"
So yesterday I said, "Hey, you want to go get some lunch?" And she said, "That would be great!" And we went and got some lunch. Then after work I stopped by again and gave her a ride back to her place. Where I promptly lost my virginity and every ambivalence I ever had about my sexuality.
Now you know that last paragraph is not true at all. It would only be true if I were a normal person. I probably wouldn't even be a blogger if I could do the events in that last paragraph. I'd just be out living my life and not typing about how many different ways I cannot and have not lived it. And if my stops and starts frustrate you and make you turn away from these pages as it appears to have done the others, I do apologize. If it's any consolation, I wish I could do the same. But it's kind of my life, y'know? I don't get to unBookmark it and escape the frustration. I don't get to tidy it up with the "Age of Aquarius" playing in the background.
But the real kicker is that the Day Job Girl came back on my radar after I decided that girls weren't going to be for me. That because The Past Girl blew me off, that I was just inherently unsexy to women and possibly destined to have a relationship with a dude. And that if I'm to stay honest, the most electrifying sexuality I experience at first glance comes in this package;
And I've learned that there are non-penetrative ways for menfolk to do The Deed that won't drive me screaming from a given bedroom, and that if I'm going to Hell for being homosexual, then I'm going because no matter what I want to do or how I want to appear straight or live straight--no matter how much I want to avoid condemnation, judgment and scrutiny...no matter what I WANT WITH ALL MY HEART, my sexuality is its own entity. Whether this sexuality was forced on me or whether it got jumpstarted by an inappropriate and criminal adult, it just IS. It just is.
And when I face God, with all the layers of human culture and interpretation stripped away, I'm only going to open my heart and say "You know what this is and you know how hard I tried to do what I thought was Your will."
I mean what else can a person do?
Either way, The Day Job Girl can adore me. She can look at me the way I look at Jason Statham. It isn't going to change everything I'm struggling with. I might get to sex her, but it isn't going to make the 30+ years of my constant craving disappear in one puff of heterosexual coitus. Somehow I thought and hoped ... prayed ... that it would. But that just doesn't make sense to believe it will. And I guess my fallback plan was to live with the dichotomy. To have a woman know me and accept me and still be my wife. But how can I do that? Seeing Day Girl Job again, and seeing who she might be--what hopes she might have for her own life--her braces to make her more attractive, her new position to giver her a better life--am I what she deserves? Is that fair?
No, I don't think it is. Life's not fair, but I don't think I want to contribute to its unfairness.
And even as I say this, still I'd love to be able believe for the normal life. Still I'd love to fake my way through it. Still I'd love to pull it off.
I am SO in the middle right now.
But you know what?
I'm really not.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Revisited, Rekindled, and Refailure
Soooooo yeah. I was going to ask The Past Girl if she sent that Mother's Day thing just to my phone or was it a general send. I've had three opportunities. Timing was never right. Though I was face to face with her, she'd have a meeting soon afterwards or I did.
Today there were just too many co-workers and clients hanging around the house.
Fast forward 7 hours to now.
To mess with someone in Twitter, I went searching for vids and stumbled upon Jennifer Hudson again.
The official vid if you prefer.
And back goes my head to The Past Girl.
Please let me describe this dichotomy that I live with okay?
The same-sex thing? It's like this--you guys seen 300, right? Or Wolverine: Origins. So you know when Leonides/Logan is/are all full of power and anger and strength and passion? Eyebrows knitted, muscles writhing, jaws agape, teeth bared, faces grimacing? Yeah. And you know when you're leaning a little forward in your seat and you want to punch the air when you watch? And when you leave the theater your fists are clenched and you wish somebody WOULD say something foul right in that moment. You know that feeling of empowerment and brotherhood? That feeling of masculine identity?
Yeah. Well, I get all that. And then I think of sex. Maybe that doesn't happen to every guy. Or any guy, despite all my decades of convincing myself that it does happen to some. But it happens to me. (And I DO think it happens to others. I think society reflects the fact that other men--photographers, porn producers, casting agents, and every man who watches adventure movies that star another man--knows what a sexually attractive man looks like.) So the thought starts--"he's sexy." And then if I dwell long enough, it could go into an actual same-sex experience. (Interpret this how you may.) But in person, it never has. Because I won't think on it long enough when I'm actually WITH a dude. That's when all the circuit breakers start to flip. That's when all the conditioning takes hold. That's when the fear comes in. "if you do this ... IF YOU DO THIS ... IF YOU DOOOOO THIIIIIIS ..."
So I don't.
But now let me tell you what it's like with a woman. And let me tell you what it's like with The Past Girl.
She's curvy. She has a tickling husky laugh. She has big brown eyes, and she bats her lashes, not to be coy, but to cover up an insecurity or two. She's observing her world but she doesn't seem to want everyone around her to know precisely when she's doing it.
Her phone rings and Earth, Wind and Fire plays. Literally. "September." I react to it, dancing, and she laughs as she answers it.
And her laugh makes me want to take her by the hand and have her dance with me. I want her to press her body up against mine. I want to smell her neck and the hair around her earlobe. I want to feel her hand on my shoulder. I want to fit into her arms.
I want to become her Leonides/Logan. I want to be that same strength that if I were alone, I would fixate on differently. I want to be to her what those heroic men can be to me. I want to own the image, instead of watch others be the image. And I want to feel her react to me--a man.
When Jennifer Hudson sings her song, and she's asking "If this isn't love, tell me what it is" I get tears in my eyes. Because I don't love a man the way I love a woman. I don't want with a man what I want with a woman. I don't care where my mind goes or what my body does in the case of a man. I want that masculine/feminine contrast. I want the light/dark, that yin/yang, that man's/woman's voice interplay before, during and after.
And when I'm around The Past Girl, she's the one I want all this with. I'm drawn to her in ways I haven't been drawn since my last girlfriend. I feel new chances with her in ways that I haven't felt in years. And when she's around me, I don't want anything else. I don't want men. I don't want other women. I want her.
And that's when I'm around her.
So why not make it so that I'm around her more often?
Why not ask her out?
Yeah. Why not?
I thought to text her simply "Do you dance? I want to dance with you."
But did I?
Today there were just too many co-workers and clients hanging around the house.
Fast forward 7 hours to now.
To mess with someone in Twitter, I went searching for vids and stumbled upon Jennifer Hudson again.
The official vid if you prefer.
And back goes my head to The Past Girl.
Please let me describe this dichotomy that I live with okay?
The same-sex thing? It's like this--you guys seen 300, right? Or Wolverine: Origins. So you know when Leonides/Logan is/are all full of power and anger and strength and passion? Eyebrows knitted, muscles writhing, jaws agape, teeth bared, faces grimacing? Yeah. And you know when you're leaning a little forward in your seat and you want to punch the air when you watch? And when you leave the theater your fists are clenched and you wish somebody WOULD say something foul right in that moment. You know that feeling of empowerment and brotherhood? That feeling of masculine identity?
Yeah. Well, I get all that. And then I think of sex. Maybe that doesn't happen to every guy. Or any guy, despite all my decades of convincing myself that it does happen to some. But it happens to me. (And I DO think it happens to others. I think society reflects the fact that other men--photographers, porn producers, casting agents, and every man who watches adventure movies that star another man--knows what a sexually attractive man looks like.) So the thought starts--"he's sexy." And then if I dwell long enough, it could go into an actual same-sex experience. (Interpret this how you may.) But in person, it never has. Because I won't think on it long enough when I'm actually WITH a dude. That's when all the circuit breakers start to flip. That's when all the conditioning takes hold. That's when the fear comes in. "if you do this ... IF YOU DO THIS ... IF YOU DOOOOO THIIIIIIS ..."
So I don't.
But now let me tell you what it's like with a woman. And let me tell you what it's like with The Past Girl.
She's curvy. She has a tickling husky laugh. She has big brown eyes, and she bats her lashes, not to be coy, but to cover up an insecurity or two. She's observing her world but she doesn't seem to want everyone around her to know precisely when she's doing it.
Her phone rings and Earth, Wind and Fire plays. Literally. "September." I react to it, dancing, and she laughs as she answers it.
And her laugh makes me want to take her by the hand and have her dance with me. I want her to press her body up against mine. I want to smell her neck and the hair around her earlobe. I want to feel her hand on my shoulder. I want to fit into her arms.
I want to become her Leonides/Logan. I want to be that same strength that if I were alone, I would fixate on differently. I want to be to her what those heroic men can be to me. I want to own the image, instead of watch others be the image. And I want to feel her react to me--a man.
When Jennifer Hudson sings her song, and she's asking "If this isn't love, tell me what it is" I get tears in my eyes. Because I don't love a man the way I love a woman. I don't want with a man what I want with a woman. I don't care where my mind goes or what my body does in the case of a man. I want that masculine/feminine contrast. I want the light/dark, that yin/yang, that man's/woman's voice interplay before, during and after.
And when I'm around The Past Girl, she's the one I want all this with. I'm drawn to her in ways I haven't been drawn since my last girlfriend. I feel new chances with her in ways that I haven't felt in years. And when she's around me, I don't want anything else. I don't want men. I don't want other women. I want her.
And that's when I'm around her.
So why not make it so that I'm around her more often?
Why not ask her out?
Yeah. Why not?
I thought to text her simply "Do you dance? I want to dance with you."
But did I?
Sunday, May 10, 2009
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.
(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.
Friday, March 6, 2009
These Friends Of Mine ...
So I'm on the outs again with Grim. Last Saturday night I told him and the group that I didn't know who I was going to see Watchmen with because I had a few groups of friends who were extending invites. Some of them are the New York Geeks, about whom I blogged when the New York Comic Con came last month and dinner and fun was had and pictures were taken. Another group is my longtime ago D&D group when we used to game in the building overlooking Central Park South (good times--until the DM had a hissy and kicked all of us out of his apartment one night, never to game again).
So there was the lure of new friends, the lure of old friends, and the comfort of current friends to choose from. Plus MFTD wants to see it with me too, so I invited him to come with me and as soon as I figured out which one one of these groups of friends. He said yes, which was cool. So which one to choose?
I decided on the current friends, which includes Grim, and informed them that MFTD was going to come so we needed a time and place--which we hadn't decided on yet (although the other friendgroups had).
Then this morning I get a phone message from Grim who said he had heard negative reviews from people who liked the original graphic novel so we should think about changing our plans.
And I'm like, what the hell? It's bad enough that he gets to decided what the group is doing, but now he's going to decide that the group is not going because HE heard negative reviews?!? What the hell are we, totally without our own brains?!?
So I called him back and got his message system, in which I informed him by voicemail that 1) Surely he's not making a decision based on what someone else thinks, and 2) jerking me around is one thing which I can handle, but it's not okay to jerk me and the friend I want to bring to the movie as well. AND another friend I was thinking of bringing.
And let me add here, ladies and gentlemen... I had also invited The Past Girl yesterday night to come with us on Saturday. It was another "friends' gathering" which she seemed most comfortable with before. I mean, I did have to try again, didn't I? When my courage came back? And she was receptive enough last night as we traded texts, but she ended up putting me off again and said she'd give me the answer today. Which I still haven't received. Which is just enough to tell me that she's too nice to tell me to stop asking her.
So yeah, I was pissed with life in general and with Grim and the power he kept asserting over me. I should never have chosen them to see the movie with. I should have known they'd yank the football away just when I was about to kick it. Or I should say GRIM would.
So I went to the gym and while I was busy, you know what happened? He called my phone and left the following message; "Consider yourself off the invite--you and your 'friends.' "
Ain't that a bitch? What are we, twelve????? He's effectively kicking me off the playground because 1) I differ with his opinion and 2) I have other friends than him?!? Are we THAT petty? Are we THAT immature?!? Why ... why yes, I think we ARE! Does he REALLY expect me to count on him alone for friendship when he's bound to say we all shouldn't go to a movie because HE heard negative reviews?!
GMAFB.
I'm not going to respond to his message. I'm not texting or emailing or anything. The next time "they" want to get together with me, Grim can be the one to approach me and tell me how he's made their minds up for them to re-invite me into the group.
But who the hell wants to be a part of a group like that anyway?
Not me anymore.
EFF them.
Big stupid bully.
And to think I once took HIS advice about how to be a friend! Just because he helped me move furniture twice and lent me a buttload of money, and is a mancrush of mine, doesn't mean I have to be his friend forever.
He owes me an apology. I want it. Or I'm OUT.
So there was the lure of new friends, the lure of old friends, and the comfort of current friends to choose from. Plus MFTD wants to see it with me too, so I invited him to come with me and as soon as I figured out which one one of these groups of friends. He said yes, which was cool. So which one to choose?
I decided on the current friends, which includes Grim, and informed them that MFTD was going to come so we needed a time and place--which we hadn't decided on yet (although the other friendgroups had).
Then this morning I get a phone message from Grim who said he had heard negative reviews from people who liked the original graphic novel so we should think about changing our plans.
And I'm like, what the hell? It's bad enough that he gets to decided what the group is doing, but now he's going to decide that the group is not going because HE heard negative reviews?!? What the hell are we, totally without our own brains?!?
So I called him back and got his message system, in which I informed him by voicemail that 1) Surely he's not making a decision based on what someone else thinks, and 2) jerking me around is one thing which I can handle, but it's not okay to jerk me and the friend I want to bring to the movie as well. AND another friend I was thinking of bringing.
And let me add here, ladies and gentlemen... I had also invited The Past Girl yesterday night to come with us on Saturday. It was another "friends' gathering" which she seemed most comfortable with before. I mean, I did have to try again, didn't I? When my courage came back? And she was receptive enough last night as we traded texts, but she ended up putting me off again and said she'd give me the answer today. Which I still haven't received. Which is just enough to tell me that she's too nice to tell me to stop asking her.
So yeah, I was pissed with life in general and with Grim and the power he kept asserting over me. I should never have chosen them to see the movie with. I should have known they'd yank the football away just when I was about to kick it. Or I should say GRIM would.
So I went to the gym and while I was busy, you know what happened? He called my phone and left the following message; "Consider yourself off the invite--you and your 'friends.' "
Ain't that a bitch? What are we, twelve????? He's effectively kicking me off the playground because 1) I differ with his opinion and 2) I have other friends than him?!? Are we THAT petty? Are we THAT immature?!? Why ... why yes, I think we ARE! Does he REALLY expect me to count on him alone for friendship when he's bound to say we all shouldn't go to a movie because HE heard negative reviews?!
GMAFB.
I'm not going to respond to his message. I'm not texting or emailing or anything. The next time "they" want to get together with me, Grim can be the one to approach me and tell me how he's made their minds up for them to re-invite me into the group.
But who the hell wants to be a part of a group like that anyway?
Not me anymore.
EFF them.
Big stupid bully.
And to think I once took HIS advice about how to be a friend! Just because he helped me move furniture twice and lent me a buttload of money, and is a mancrush of mine, doesn't mean I have to be his friend forever.
He owes me an apology. I want it. Or I'm OUT.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Patience Feels Like Fail
So I shot The Past Girl a text last Friday and there was no response ever since. And so, yes, I agree that I should keep chasing pavements and not stop with The Past Girl. But her lack of response means she's not interested. Not That Into Me. For whatever reason. Best case; She's not ready. Worst case; she's not interested in me.
And since me and Worst Case Scenario Man go so far back, let's wallow in that a little, say wot?
They're Just Not That Into You.
Which means I'm not the type that girls like. I don't bring the sexy. I outgeek all my geek buddies and heroes. I know so many geeks who are married and have kids. So Many. And I do mean the geeks who seem like geeks. Not the undercover geeks. Not the Geeks Who Can Pass For Straight.
So given the inability to be attractive enough to girls, the apparent answer seems to be to play for the other team. Easy for you to say. All you happily straight people reading this. All you unmolested folk who get to enjoy the lure of your genitalia without a society reprisal or message films that earn their actors Academy Awards because It's Important. You get to shag without worrying about representing a cause, defending a minority, taking on a mission, declaring a side, fighting social justice, and all the troublesome bullcrap that will. KILL. me. if I have to add their responsibilities to my already FUBAR'd life.
Go ahead and tell me that if you could flip a switch inside yourself and become homosexually inclined, (or rather driven) that you'd willingly do it. Tell me that. Go ahead. I DARE you.
Dammit, I'm so mad. I'm so angry. And lonely. Let's not forget that part.
But we must soldier on, mustn't we? And we shall.
I've got wonderful audio adventures to make and comicbooks to read. I've got ass to kick and names to take. I've got contributions to make.
Earth is stuck with me for another 40 years at least.
And since me and Worst Case Scenario Man go so far back, let's wallow in that a little, say wot?
They're Just Not That Into You.
Which means I'm not the type that girls like. I don't bring the sexy. I outgeek all my geek buddies and heroes. I know so many geeks who are married and have kids. So Many. And I do mean the geeks who seem like geeks. Not the undercover geeks. Not the Geeks Who Can Pass For Straight.
So given the inability to be attractive enough to girls, the apparent answer seems to be to play for the other team. Easy for you to say. All you happily straight people reading this. All you unmolested folk who get to enjoy the lure of your genitalia without a society reprisal or message films that earn their actors Academy Awards because It's Important. You get to shag without worrying about representing a cause, defending a minority, taking on a mission, declaring a side, fighting social justice, and all the troublesome bullcrap that will. KILL. me. if I have to add their responsibilities to my already FUBAR'd life.
Go ahead and tell me that if you could flip a switch inside yourself and become homosexually inclined, (or rather driven) that you'd willingly do it. Tell me that. Go ahead. I DARE you.
Dammit, I'm so mad. I'm so angry. And lonely. Let's not forget that part.
But we must soldier on, mustn't we? And we shall.
I've got wonderful audio adventures to make and comicbooks to read. I've got ass to kick and names to take. I've got contributions to make.
Earth is stuck with me for another 40 years at least.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, February 16, 2009
In Which The Life Of Our Hero Dramatically Changes
So I got in touch with My Hero. What else do you do when you're Jimmy Olsen and you find yourself in danger?
The danger was, I felt as though I had been thrust into an alternate reality wherein the opportunity actually existed for happiness and I was extremely ill-prepared.
So my hero gave me heroic advice on the order of "Do something, and do it now. Don't wait until Valentine's Day is past." For you see, My Hero is a "right now" kind of guy. I tend to elevate this type of action-man. All my heroes are men who shape their own destinies. They take charge. They excel. And being that I want to be my own hero someday, I go to my heroes and get advice. And sometimes I follow it.
Like I did this weekend. My Hero said I should go back to The Past Girl's worksite and invite her for lunch. For full details as to the why, go here.) And since I had plans on Valentine's Day already (oh didn't I tell you? Yeah, Childhood Bud's wife & kids were going out of town and he wanted to see the same kind of play we saw in the summer what with the kicking and the martial arts and the geek genre small house indie vibe). And since it wasn';t exactly Valentine's Day faire, I thought it might be good for her to go through her Valentine's Day distracted -- with me.
We didn't have lunch on Friday, but we did talk for a good hour, and I showed her the play website and invited her to come with us. I gave her my number and left it up to her. She programmed it into her phone and after some last words, I left. Within those words, she seemed a little unsure about the geekery. She was revealing a bit of a virginity when it came to the vampire comboys. But she said she'd definitely let me know.
Saturday morning I awoke to a text she left. Someone in her family had come up from South to visit with her and her father. She was staying put but wants me to invite her out again the next time. And she's calling me "Friend."
So like that, life's changed. I have a new "friend." I mean, I don't know how "friendly" she means us to be. I don't know if I effectively chased her away with my geek display. She did say she loved "a Nerd" not "a geek." Maybe I overwhemled her. Maybe she was just being nice. Maybe she'll let me down gently for the next few times I ask her out.
Or maybe I'm just too soon in her grieving process.
But whatever is the maybe, I will be attempting to see where this can lead. If nothing else, maybe I'll have a fun, positive lady friend that I can go to movies with and have quick bites to eat with. Someone that I'm ready for.
We'll see, huh? Together?
The danger was, I felt as though I had been thrust into an alternate reality wherein the opportunity actually existed for happiness and I was extremely ill-prepared.
So my hero gave me heroic advice on the order of "Do something, and do it now. Don't wait until Valentine's Day is past." For you see, My Hero is a "right now" kind of guy. I tend to elevate this type of action-man. All my heroes are men who shape their own destinies. They take charge. They excel. And being that I want to be my own hero someday, I go to my heroes and get advice. And sometimes I follow it.
Like I did this weekend. My Hero said I should go back to The Past Girl's worksite and invite her for lunch. For full details as to the why, go here.) And since I had plans on Valentine's Day already (oh didn't I tell you? Yeah, Childhood Bud's wife & kids were going out of town and he wanted to see the same kind of play we saw in the summer what with the kicking and the martial arts and the geek genre small house indie vibe). And since it wasn';t exactly Valentine's Day faire, I thought it might be good for her to go through her Valentine's Day distracted -- with me.
We didn't have lunch on Friday, but we did talk for a good hour, and I showed her the play website and invited her to come with us. I gave her my number and left it up to her. She programmed it into her phone and after some last words, I left. Within those words, she seemed a little unsure about the geekery. She was revealing a bit of a virginity when it came to the vampire comboys. But she said she'd definitely let me know.
Saturday morning I awoke to a text she left. Someone in her family had come up from South to visit with her and her father. She was staying put but wants me to invite her out again the next time. And she's calling me "Friend."
So like that, life's changed. I have a new "friend." I mean, I don't know how "friendly" she means us to be. I don't know if I effectively chased her away with my geek display. She did say she loved "a Nerd" not "a geek." Maybe I overwhemled her. Maybe she was just being nice. Maybe she'll let me down gently for the next few times I ask her out.
Or maybe I'm just too soon in her grieving process.
But whatever is the maybe, I will be attempting to see where this can lead. If nothing else, maybe I'll have a fun, positive lady friend that I can go to movies with and have quick bites to eat with. Someone that I'm ready for.
We'll see, huh? Together?
Thursday, February 12, 2009
"I Love A Nerd!"
(This post was started on Thursday the 12th but completed this Monday morning.)
So when the passengers of the ditched plane in the Hudson woke up that morning, I bet very few of them had an idea that they'd wind up landing on the surface of a river (and our hearts) instead of the airport of their destination.
Everyone who wakes up never knows what the day is going to be like in front of them. Usually we just think that it's going to be another day. Just nothing special. An "everyday."
And then at some point, somewhere in that day, BLAMMO! And minutes later you're just blinking in the aftermath and thinking "What. The hell just happened?"
So that's what my Thursday was. Going about my business, doing what is necessary in my day job. Paperwork and travel and more paperwork. And more travel. So I wind up at a very infrequently visited site because my boss and other specialists in our department are handling it (thank God), but I was on a committee that asked for some specific data from that site, and my boss put me in charge of getting it. Lucky me.
At that site is a co-worker who I've mentioned before. In that mention, I mis-posted. I said she was 6 months hired in November, but she was actually 11 months in at that time. This I learned and a lot more as I visited her site (she had been moved to this one since November).
I discovered that the boyfriend she lived with when she first got hired had died last year in the summer. I had NO idea. So I'm just realizing in that post I left in November, she had already lost her man. But there was nothing about her that portrayed that loss.
Also in re-reading that post, I discover that I called her The Past Girl, and that I declared my un-need for her in my life.
But on Thursday, I learned that her positive personality (recall, she defended me against the Homegirls) was a very real optimism, and something that looks a hell of a lot like strength. She said the boyfriend and she had been best friends for 20 years before they made it a romance and they were due to marry in August. Her defense of me and all the other cheerful, nurturing things she's done and said since then has been a character trait she's managed to hold onto in the wake of a devastating tragedy.
All this I learned on Thursday. She was able to speak about her partner (she called him that) with admiration and respect. With fondness. With strength. She said he was intelligent. She said "I love a nerd."
And then I remembered the experience in November when she defended me. And the 30 years ago when she used to defend me.
And I thought "Oh my God. I could be safe with this woman. I could be myself with this woman."
And just like that, my life changed.
More to come ...
So when the passengers of the ditched plane in the Hudson woke up that morning, I bet very few of them had an idea that they'd wind up landing on the surface of a river (and our hearts) instead of the airport of their destination.
Everyone who wakes up never knows what the day is going to be like in front of them. Usually we just think that it's going to be another day. Just nothing special. An "everyday."
And then at some point, somewhere in that day, BLAMMO! And minutes later you're just blinking in the aftermath and thinking "What. The hell just happened?"
So that's what my Thursday was. Going about my business, doing what is necessary in my day job. Paperwork and travel and more paperwork. And more travel. So I wind up at a very infrequently visited site because my boss and other specialists in our department are handling it (thank God), but I was on a committee that asked for some specific data from that site, and my boss put me in charge of getting it. Lucky me.
At that site is a co-worker who I've mentioned before. In that mention, I mis-posted. I said she was 6 months hired in November, but she was actually 11 months in at that time. This I learned and a lot more as I visited her site (she had been moved to this one since November).
I discovered that the boyfriend she lived with when she first got hired had died last year in the summer. I had NO idea. So I'm just realizing in that post I left in November, she had already lost her man. But there was nothing about her that portrayed that loss.
Also in re-reading that post, I discover that I called her The Past Girl, and that I declared my un-need for her in my life.
But on Thursday, I learned that her positive personality (recall, she defended me against the Homegirls) was a very real optimism, and something that looks a hell of a lot like strength. She said the boyfriend and she had been best friends for 20 years before they made it a romance and they were due to marry in August. Her defense of me and all the other cheerful, nurturing things she's done and said since then has been a character trait she's managed to hold onto in the wake of a devastating tragedy.
All this I learned on Thursday. She was able to speak about her partner (she called him that) with admiration and respect. With fondness. With strength. She said he was intelligent. She said "I love a nerd."
And then I remembered the experience in November when she defended me. And the 30 years ago when she used to defend me.
And I thought "Oh my God. I could be safe with this woman. I could be myself with this woman."
And just like that, my life changed.
More to come ...
Monday, February 2, 2009
I'm Not My Type
So this weekend, I passed up an invitation to go to MFTD's daughter's 2nd Year birthday party. I told him why. He seemed to take it well. Hopefully he had seen this coming for a little while. I passed on his Thanksgiving invite, and I went to his Christmas invite, but only with a friend. So here came this other event, and this time I fessed up.
All those people who are someone else's family. Surrounded by all of them and trying to keep the gameface on so that I don't make them uncomfortable. Trying my best to enjoy the morsels that there is to enjoy and ignore the parts that make me ache.
Jealousy isn't even so much the factor. It's more about the absence of sound that I experience when I'm driving away from the festivities. It's grown more than I want to wrestle with.
So ... re-open an account on Match, right? Or do an eHarmony and see what lies there.
Yeah.
But.
I don't know. I feel confident, capable, and attractive when I get the opportunity to. Then something goes wrong that I'm oblivious to. Something doesn't pan, doesn't connect, doesn't jibe. I'm missing an ingredient. Almost perfect except for a pinch of--?
This weekend will be New York's Geek Fest. I will be colliding with the men behind the voices of the podcasts that I listen to. And they will get to meet me, who's messageboard posts have been entertaining them all the livelong day. We shall have smiles and laughs, we shall share groans and foodstuffs, and they will be getting their drink on while I sip my water, diet soda, or some high-sugar beverage. And when the weekend ends, they will be heading back to their wives, kids, and houses while the silence returns to me ringing louder than it did before the weekend began.
I think I have a few friends that I have found out of this bunch. Friends who I've not allowed all the way in. I did let Former Pastor in from this crowd, but not all the way. I mean, I made as full a disclosure to him as I have to anyone who reads this blog, but--I haven't taken full opportunity to enjoy his friendship. I feel like a girl who is keeping a well-meaning guy at arm's length because she doesn't want there to be any misconceptions to form--more than they may already have.
Sure, at the end of the day, a hug and a kiss would be nice from anyone, but then there's the next day. And the one after that. And the one after that. If I would ever decide to be gay, it won't be for temporary comfort. It would be a lifetime commitment. And the person I'd be gay for would have to be ready to keep me. The sacrifice is too great for some jive, temporary bullsh!t. And since even my own self is not enough of a person for me to go gay for, I'm not putting it out there to find this hypothetical someone else. It would have to be someone I already know and trust, coming out of their closet and bonding with me in the same fear that I have. And even then there might never be any sex. Because I've heard that anal penetration HURTS. And I've heard that from the PROS. And Alan don't like no pain. Nor do I like the smell of poop, which hey--if you dig something hand-deep into an anus and tell me you won't hit "gold" and I wil have to call you a liar right to your face. If there's a way to prevent it, I don't even care. The whole topic of poop is as off-putting as a three-day old corpse in June. Penis plus vagina seems to be the safest bet as far as I'm concerned, and I don't care WHAT genders are involved.
So, yeah I'm alone still. Maybe I deserve it for criticizing people's sexuality when they haven't even chosen to be the way they are. Maybe that's the price I pay for being such a bastard. But hey, guys cut me some slack. I'm paying that same price too. I didn't get to be a 44-year old virgin by being a well-adjusted bigot.
So you can tell, this post is a blog to process some feelings. My need for community. For a friend that I get to actually keep. For a life.
And I may just blog like this again because I'll still need to.
And you guys are welcome to avoid me for a while until I can make you laugh and smile again.
But I sure wish you wouldn't.
All those people who are someone else's family. Surrounded by all of them and trying to keep the gameface on so that I don't make them uncomfortable. Trying my best to enjoy the morsels that there is to enjoy and ignore the parts that make me ache.
Jealousy isn't even so much the factor. It's more about the absence of sound that I experience when I'm driving away from the festivities. It's grown more than I want to wrestle with.
So ... re-open an account on Match, right? Or do an eHarmony and see what lies there.
Yeah.
But.
I don't know. I feel confident, capable, and attractive when I get the opportunity to. Then something goes wrong that I'm oblivious to. Something doesn't pan, doesn't connect, doesn't jibe. I'm missing an ingredient. Almost perfect except for a pinch of--?
This weekend will be New York's Geek Fest. I will be colliding with the men behind the voices of the podcasts that I listen to. And they will get to meet me, who's messageboard posts have been entertaining them all the livelong day. We shall have smiles and laughs, we shall share groans and foodstuffs, and they will be getting their drink on while I sip my water, diet soda, or some high-sugar beverage. And when the weekend ends, they will be heading back to their wives, kids, and houses while the silence returns to me ringing louder than it did before the weekend began.
I think I have a few friends that I have found out of this bunch. Friends who I've not allowed all the way in. I did let Former Pastor in from this crowd, but not all the way. I mean, I made as full a disclosure to him as I have to anyone who reads this blog, but--I haven't taken full opportunity to enjoy his friendship. I feel like a girl who is keeping a well-meaning guy at arm's length because she doesn't want there to be any misconceptions to form--more than they may already have.
Sure, at the end of the day, a hug and a kiss would be nice from anyone, but then there's the next day. And the one after that. And the one after that. If I would ever decide to be gay, it won't be for temporary comfort. It would be a lifetime commitment. And the person I'd be gay for would have to be ready to keep me. The sacrifice is too great for some jive, temporary bullsh!t. And since even my own self is not enough of a person for me to go gay for, I'm not putting it out there to find this hypothetical someone else. It would have to be someone I already know and trust, coming out of their closet and bonding with me in the same fear that I have. And even then there might never be any sex. Because I've heard that anal penetration HURTS. And I've heard that from the PROS. And Alan don't like no pain. Nor do I like the smell of poop, which hey--if you dig something hand-deep into an anus and tell me you won't hit "gold" and I wil have to call you a liar right to your face. If there's a way to prevent it, I don't even care. The whole topic of poop is as off-putting as a three-day old corpse in June. Penis plus vagina seems to be the safest bet as far as I'm concerned, and I don't care WHAT genders are involved.
So, yeah I'm alone still. Maybe I deserve it for criticizing people's sexuality when they haven't even chosen to be the way they are. Maybe that's the price I pay for being such a bastard. But hey, guys cut me some slack. I'm paying that same price too. I didn't get to be a 44-year old virgin by being a well-adjusted bigot.
So you can tell, this post is a blog to process some feelings. My need for community. For a friend that I get to actually keep. For a life.
And I may just blog like this again because I'll still need to.
And you guys are welcome to avoid me for a while until I can make you laugh and smile again.
But I sure wish you wouldn't.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Other News ...
My Colleague is still show me interest. When I told MFTD how that party had turned out, he was astounded. "What was THAT all about, she brought her BOYFRIEND?" And then he asked the magic question, "Could you have misinterpreted the signals?"
Well, yes. I could have. But the fact are as I stated them. She had been nervous around me, she had initiated conversation about my life outside of the center, and she had let me talk her into going to the party. Then at my showing up late, she had expressed disappointment (in a great, funny way), she had been standing apart from her boyfriend, I did have to ask who he was, and she was standing closer to me than him until they left. And she had leaned her head to my shoulder when she laughed. So, yes, I could have misinterpreted all that, but if I did, it will take a while to figure out what she was actually doing.
And now, last night, she saw me leaving the office, when she was leaving, and she waited for me. She joked with me about her birthday and what I wrote on her card (which was open to all members of the staff). We rode down in the elevator, laughing. And we stood on the sidewalk in the chilly air while she waited for her ride (who was most likely her boyfriend). So whatever might be happening, I can't tell. It sure SEEMS like she digs me and wants out of her present relationship.
So complicated.
Are gay people this complex? According to the tribulations I read from Former Pastor (who also Twitters) the answer is yes. People don't just come out and say what they want these days. Including me.
Oh well. I'm taking suggestions from the audience. :-D
Well, yes. I could have. But the fact are as I stated them. She had been nervous around me, she had initiated conversation about my life outside of the center, and she had let me talk her into going to the party. Then at my showing up late, she had expressed disappointment (in a great, funny way), she had been standing apart from her boyfriend, I did have to ask who he was, and she was standing closer to me than him until they left. And she had leaned her head to my shoulder when she laughed. So, yes, I could have misinterpreted all that, but if I did, it will take a while to figure out what she was actually doing.
And now, last night, she saw me leaving the office, when she was leaving, and she waited for me. She joked with me about her birthday and what I wrote on her card (which was open to all members of the staff). We rode down in the elevator, laughing. And we stood on the sidewalk in the chilly air while she waited for her ride (who was most likely her boyfriend). So whatever might be happening, I can't tell. It sure SEEMS like she digs me and wants out of her present relationship.
So complicated.
Are gay people this complex? According to the tribulations I read from Former Pastor (who also Twitters) the answer is yes. People don't just come out and say what they want these days. Including me.
Oh well. I'm taking suggestions from the audience. :-D
Monday, December 29, 2008
By The Time You Read This
I will have departed for my party meetup with My Colleague. And I am excited. I'm not scared. I feel butterflies, but the good kind. I want more to come from this night, but I won't die if it doesn't happen. I won't even die if I blow it tonight, and say something that makes her roll her eyes and consign me to the hopeless nerd bin. Idon't plan on dumping the whole Geek Me on her, but I'm not inclined to be ashamed of anything that I am. I'll just be wise and diplomatic. I'll do whatever I would tell any of my clients to do. No pretenses, but nothing overwhelming either.
As so many of you have said, Just Be Myself.
And I can do that better than ever.
Because I LIKE myself better than ever.
So I polished me up. I shaved and trimmed my hairline. And I liked what I saw. So I dabbed a little cologne (25 year-old Stetson, for the curious) and I liked how I smelled. Then I stripped off my socks and baby-wiped with shea butter my feet--every inch--until they glowed healthy brown, ash-free, just in case they have to make an appearance tonight for whatever reason. Then I put on my business casual--what I'd wear at any time that I'm with a client. And beheld myself. WITH my little stomach pooch.
And I liked it.
I'm not a bad looking guy.
Even my feet are okay. Nails and all.
And I'm funny.
And smart.
And I have a great career.
(And so does she.)
Yeah.
I like this.
This is going to be fun. No matter what happens. Because I'm okay.
I'm O.
Kay.
As so many of you have said, Just Be Myself.
And I can do that better than ever.
Because I LIKE myself better than ever.
So I polished me up. I shaved and trimmed my hairline. And I liked what I saw. So I dabbed a little cologne (25 year-old Stetson, for the curious) and I liked how I smelled. Then I stripped off my socks and baby-wiped with shea butter my feet--every inch--until they glowed healthy brown, ash-free, just in case they have to make an appearance tonight for whatever reason. Then I put on my business casual--what I'd wear at any time that I'm with a client. And beheld myself. WITH my little stomach pooch.
And I liked it.
I'm not a bad looking guy.
Even my feet are okay. Nails and all.
And I'm funny.
And smart.
And I have a great career.
(And so does she.)
Yeah.
I like this.
This is going to be fun. No matter what happens. Because I'm okay.
I'm O.
Kay.
Friday, December 12, 2008
"Wolf!"
Cried the boy.
Or at least, this is how it has felt, what with me calling out about The Crush, Crazy Plane Girl, Match Girl I, Childhood Bud II, etc. Every time I brought up a new possible girl here on the blog and it petered out, it felt like I was crying wolf.
So this is nothing new, except it's kind of different. I will call her The Colleague because she's a fellow therapist in the center where I do my evening sessions. And I have found her attractive, but in that distant "she's a professional girl" kind of way. Then increasing over the past months, as we passed each other or processed our paperwork at the same time in the front office, she and I would trade smiles, laughs, and banter. And of course, I was doing so because I wanted the pretty lady to talk to me. Then my ego helped me realize that she was doing the same thing. I smiled, she'd smile. I bantered, she'd banter. I made small talk, she'd make small talk.
So tonight, she let out a few microscopic hints that she wanted to know more about my life. She wanted to know about my day job and if, given the additional night cases I have, if I had any time for a social life, "like going to the gym." Yeah, she said that. In that "make it sound as casual as possible" way. And as I picked up on this it occurred to me that this was an opportunity that I wanted--one that I've been whining about here in this blog.
So there's this holiday party thrown for the center at a swank apartment overlooking Central Park South. I went to the one they had earlier this year. They seem to be throwing another one here in December. And I didn't want to go because for me, the gloss has WAY worn off for the center's director. But I did love that apartment and I get along well with the other therapists, so I considered going. But last night The Colleague, while we were bantering, found the party notice in her mailbox. She was making noises like she felt the way I felt and asked if I were going. I said "I would if I had you there to talk to."
Yes I did!
And then she started making noises like she might go in that case, and I added in, "If you go I'll go."
And she said, "Alright..." pensively.
So I got the party notice out of my box and said, "We'll check the RSVP at the same time, ok?"
This made her smile. And we then did check them at the same time, with she looking over at my paper to make sure I put my name down as well. When another therapist walked into the office and saw our party notices she asked The Colleague, "Are you going to the party?" The Colleague answered, "Alan convinced me to."
So. How about that, hunh? And check this, the party is designed to end at 9:00pm. A real sterile affair. But it leaves enough time in the evening to go somewhere else when it's over. Which I'm going to ask The Colleague to do. Because enough with the maoning and groaning, right? The opportunity presented itself, and I took it. As you guys have counseled me many times before, this isn't marriage and I don't have to panic. This is just a friendly get together. It's not even really a date.
But it would be nice if she and I became friends. With benefits.
And that's what's going on.
Woo!
Or at least, this is how it has felt, what with me calling out about The Crush, Crazy Plane Girl, Match Girl I, Childhood Bud II, etc. Every time I brought up a new possible girl here on the blog and it petered out, it felt like I was crying wolf.
So this is nothing new, except it's kind of different. I will call her The Colleague because she's a fellow therapist in the center where I do my evening sessions. And I have found her attractive, but in that distant "she's a professional girl" kind of way. Then increasing over the past months, as we passed each other or processed our paperwork at the same time in the front office, she and I would trade smiles, laughs, and banter. And of course, I was doing so because I wanted the pretty lady to talk to me. Then my ego helped me realize that she was doing the same thing. I smiled, she'd smile. I bantered, she'd banter. I made small talk, she'd make small talk.
So tonight, she let out a few microscopic hints that she wanted to know more about my life. She wanted to know about my day job and if, given the additional night cases I have, if I had any time for a social life, "like going to the gym." Yeah, she said that. In that "make it sound as casual as possible" way. And as I picked up on this it occurred to me that this was an opportunity that I wanted--one that I've been whining about here in this blog.
So there's this holiday party thrown for the center at a swank apartment overlooking Central Park South. I went to the one they had earlier this year. They seem to be throwing another one here in December. And I didn't want to go because for me, the gloss has WAY worn off for the center's director. But I did love that apartment and I get along well with the other therapists, so I considered going. But last night The Colleague, while we were bantering, found the party notice in her mailbox. She was making noises like she felt the way I felt and asked if I were going. I said "I would if I had you there to talk to."
Yes I did!
And then she started making noises like she might go in that case, and I added in, "If you go I'll go."
And she said, "Alright..." pensively.
So I got the party notice out of my box and said, "We'll check the RSVP at the same time, ok?"
This made her smile. And we then did check them at the same time, with she looking over at my paper to make sure I put my name down as well. When another therapist walked into the office and saw our party notices she asked The Colleague, "Are you going to the party?" The Colleague answered, "Alan convinced me to."
So. How about that, hunh? And check this, the party is designed to end at 9:00pm. A real sterile affair. But it leaves enough time in the evening to go somewhere else when it's over. Which I'm going to ask The Colleague to do. Because enough with the maoning and groaning, right? The opportunity presented itself, and I took it. As you guys have counseled me many times before, this isn't marriage and I don't have to panic. This is just a friendly get together. It's not even really a date.
But it would be nice if she and I became friends. With benefits.
And that's what's going on.
Woo!
Friday, November 28, 2008
At Work In Jersey...
I was at a site where newly hired (6 months now, though) is a woman who grew up in the same apartment complex as me, Childhood Bud, and Childhood Bud II. Lest you think this strange to know, our apartment complex was one structure built like a three-story square letter "C". So most of all our apartments looked out over the court, and so everybody's business was everyone else's.
This woman (girl) from my past and myself have already tried reminiscing and found that we ran in different circles at the time, so none of my "friends" were hers and vice versa. But last week a nuggest from our shared history broke the surface of our work environment.
She is a supervisor of the site and I am a specialist for the client's psychology. Therefore, we're just about on the same ladder rung in terms of position. with us were two direct care workers--effectively, the bottom of the ladder. The four of us are black. The Girl From The Past was discussing a club she went to in New York City, and one of the direct care workers shared one of the spots in NYC that she liked to frequent as well. It just so happened that I knew the area of The Past Girl's club and wanted to show-off my Cityese. so I said, "Yeah, that club is perpendicular to the IFC Theater, right?"
Well, the three ladies broke into giggles. The Past Girl said, in a scolding/laughing tone to her subordinates, "Now stop it! I know what you're doing! Be nice!"
The cute subordinate, "What? I'm not doing anything!"
The other cute subordinate, "Perpendicular. Hahaa..."
I feign being perplexed, but I'm really not. I believe I know exactly what's happening. and I believe I recognize The Past Girl's place in all of this. Where she resided 30 years ago. where I had completely forgotten about.
The other cute subordinate said, "Why you gotta say 'perpendicular.' You coulda just said 'adjacent.'"
Well, I was so impressed that homegirl broke out the word 'adjacent' that I complimented her and told her, "That's good! Okay, lesson learned. I'll remember that."
The moment passed. I rolled with it and we all had a nice chuckle. My expense wasn't as much in the end as it could have been.
But I came away from that experience with a memory.
When we were all growing up, Childhood Bud, you weren't the only strange kid on the block. I used to get this all the time from the peers. This is why I wound up at your house as often as I did, eating your mom's peas and rice and plantains. Already not an athlete, I was also not anyone's loverboy.
I was a weird little precocious kid. With crossed-eyes. And a vocabulary that built walls around me. The Past Girl was on the scene at the time. And even though I recognized her first aloud, I think she knew me when she saw me at once. Because I think she had a crush on me when we were growing up. And I think she would come to my defense at times back then. While laughing at me. because she wanted to fit in too. She didn't want to come inside my walls and be isolated like I was. But she did want me to come out and join her.
And I never did.
And I doubt I ever will. I don't much like The Past Girl here in the present. She's a good person, but her personality is grating. A little too manic and a little too faux-homegirlish. Maybe she has been cut from the same cloth I am all along, but her willingness to fit in was way more than mine. Seeing that we both are on the same level careerwise, I think it may be truer than I even know.
And too, I already had a mother. That didn't work out so well. So I don't need another one, defending my awkward language to the homegirls of Earth.
Boy. You never know when a memory is ready to strike.
'S a funny ol' life.
This woman (girl) from my past and myself have already tried reminiscing and found that we ran in different circles at the time, so none of my "friends" were hers and vice versa. But last week a nuggest from our shared history broke the surface of our work environment.
She is a supervisor of the site and I am a specialist for the client's psychology. Therefore, we're just about on the same ladder rung in terms of position. with us were two direct care workers--effectively, the bottom of the ladder. The four of us are black. The Girl From The Past was discussing a club she went to in New York City, and one of the direct care workers shared one of the spots in NYC that she liked to frequent as well. It just so happened that I knew the area of The Past Girl's club and wanted to show-off my Cityese. so I said, "Yeah, that club is perpendicular to the IFC Theater, right?"
Well, the three ladies broke into giggles. The Past Girl said, in a scolding/laughing tone to her subordinates, "Now stop it! I know what you're doing! Be nice!"
The cute subordinate, "What? I'm not doing anything!"
The other cute subordinate, "Perpendicular. Hahaa..."
I feign being perplexed, but I'm really not. I believe I know exactly what's happening. and I believe I recognize The Past Girl's place in all of this. Where she resided 30 years ago. where I had completely forgotten about.
The other cute subordinate said, "Why you gotta say 'perpendicular.' You coulda just said 'adjacent.'"
Well, I was so impressed that homegirl broke out the word 'adjacent' that I complimented her and told her, "That's good! Okay, lesson learned. I'll remember that."
The moment passed. I rolled with it and we all had a nice chuckle. My expense wasn't as much in the end as it could have been.
But I came away from that experience with a memory.
When we were all growing up, Childhood Bud, you weren't the only strange kid on the block. I used to get this all the time from the peers. This is why I wound up at your house as often as I did, eating your mom's peas and rice and plantains. Already not an athlete, I was also not anyone's loverboy.
I was a weird little precocious kid. With crossed-eyes. And a vocabulary that built walls around me. The Past Girl was on the scene at the time. And even though I recognized her first aloud, I think she knew me when she saw me at once. Because I think she had a crush on me when we were growing up. And I think she would come to my defense at times back then. While laughing at me. because she wanted to fit in too. She didn't want to come inside my walls and be isolated like I was. But she did want me to come out and join her.
And I never did.
And I doubt I ever will. I don't much like The Past Girl here in the present. She's a good person, but her personality is grating. A little too manic and a little too faux-homegirlish. Maybe she has been cut from the same cloth I am all along, but her willingness to fit in was way more than mine. Seeing that we both are on the same level careerwise, I think it may be truer than I even know.
And too, I already had a mother. That didn't work out so well. So I don't need another one, defending my awkward language to the homegirls of Earth.
Boy. You never know when a memory is ready to strike.
'S a funny ol' life.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
The Crush
This time, it's a girl.
In my NJ workplace, there's a girl--a woman--who I've mentioned before. She's a full-figured director of one of our programs that I've had the occasion to visit on work-related missions, and she's always been so flirtatious and effervescent with me that I love her company. She has freckles spinkled across her nose like flecks of cinnamon across the skin of a latte. She growing out her hair in locks. And she has polished apples for cheeks, which always seem in full blush because she always seems to be smiling.
Now, before anyone pitches in to tell me to go for it, let me just put out the disclaimer. I'm not single and alone fer nuthin'. I'm describing this crush so I can get it out of my system. Because this dear cherub of a woman has another side, and I've seen it too. With the same energy she gives her joy, she clouds over and expresses her displeasure temptestuously. This is the downside of passion. The fear I wrestle with. The passion in a woman ignites my own, but the fiery anger that comes with it incinerates me.
The holiday season is upon us and I invited myself to MFTD's parents for turkey (it was originally scheduled to be Prime Rib for some strange reason, but he informed me that his brothers, of which he is the oldest, revolted). Yes, I invited myself because last week I left a successful series of sessions and decided to follow some advice I gave, and went proactive on my holiday plans. Why B Lonely? Because I knew I had a standing invitation, as I believe I may also do with Childhood Bud, and Childhood Bud II, and their mom down in Atlanta. (Right? :-) ).
And everyone's so very wonderful for having these doors open to me. It's completely to their credit and the benefit will go straight to their souls. Charity and love. Nothing finer.
As for me? It's just kind of miserable and sad. Watching other people's families. Knowing that my own shortcomings may just affix me into this position forever. Watching holidays slide by with alarmingly accelerating frequency. Being 44 for the first time in my life and no longer being able to believe that I'm not really middle-aged, and that "age is just a number". Age might be, but my time on Earth is not. When I now say, "In my day, we never thought we'd live to see a Black president of the United States"--it's actually true. Along with the fact that there are touchscreen computers the size of your palm in existence. Back in "my day" the only computers that existed where the size of city blocks and there were maybe 8 in all the world. Until there wasn't.
And too, I'm feeling a little heavy-hearted about the job opportunity of yesterday not turning out to be a good move. The vaccuum of energy I had for this chance leaves an echoing, hollow pit. It's not a real good time to be me, at the moment. But that's only "at the moment."
This too shall pass.
Edit: Upon the readback, I discovered something odd. Why is it that I love the honesty and absence of facade in my clients, yet fear the same thing when it comes to a lover? Why can't I appreciate the same passion in My Her as I do in my clients and my friends?
You know--maybe I can. because if they love me, they'll love me. It won't matter how mad they get at me. It won't matter. As long as they respect me and love me, they won't say horrible things at me. And if they do, well then, that's my limit. It's a dealbreaker. But the anger--I can deal with it, can't I? Don't I?
Why yes.
Yes I do.
For pay.
So why wouldn't I do it in my personal life, for love?
HHhhhmmm....
In my NJ workplace, there's a girl--a woman--who I've mentioned before. She's a full-figured director of one of our programs that I've had the occasion to visit on work-related missions, and she's always been so flirtatious and effervescent with me that I love her company. She has freckles spinkled across her nose like flecks of cinnamon across the skin of a latte. She growing out her hair in locks. And she has polished apples for cheeks, which always seem in full blush because she always seems to be smiling.
Now, before anyone pitches in to tell me to go for it, let me just put out the disclaimer. I'm not single and alone fer nuthin'. I'm describing this crush so I can get it out of my system. Because this dear cherub of a woman has another side, and I've seen it too. With the same energy she gives her joy, she clouds over and expresses her displeasure temptestuously. This is the downside of passion. The fear I wrestle with. The passion in a woman ignites my own, but the fiery anger that comes with it incinerates me.
The holiday season is upon us and I invited myself to MFTD's parents for turkey (it was originally scheduled to be Prime Rib for some strange reason, but he informed me that his brothers, of which he is the oldest, revolted). Yes, I invited myself because last week I left a successful series of sessions and decided to follow some advice I gave, and went proactive on my holiday plans. Why B Lonely? Because I knew I had a standing invitation, as I believe I may also do with Childhood Bud, and Childhood Bud II, and their mom down in Atlanta. (Right? :-) ).
And everyone's so very wonderful for having these doors open to me. It's completely to their credit and the benefit will go straight to their souls. Charity and love. Nothing finer.
As for me? It's just kind of miserable and sad. Watching other people's families. Knowing that my own shortcomings may just affix me into this position forever. Watching holidays slide by with alarmingly accelerating frequency. Being 44 for the first time in my life and no longer being able to believe that I'm not really middle-aged, and that "age is just a number". Age might be, but my time on Earth is not. When I now say, "In my day, we never thought we'd live to see a Black president of the United States"--it's actually true. Along with the fact that there are touchscreen computers the size of your palm in existence. Back in "my day" the only computers that existed where the size of city blocks and there were maybe 8 in all the world. Until there wasn't.
And too, I'm feeling a little heavy-hearted about the job opportunity of yesterday not turning out to be a good move. The vaccuum of energy I had for this chance leaves an echoing, hollow pit. It's not a real good time to be me, at the moment. But that's only "at the moment."
This too shall pass.
Edit: Upon the readback, I discovered something odd. Why is it that I love the honesty and absence of facade in my clients, yet fear the same thing when it comes to a lover? Why can't I appreciate the same passion in My Her as I do in my clients and my friends?
You know--maybe I can. because if they love me, they'll love me. It won't matter how mad they get at me. It won't matter. As long as they respect me and love me, they won't say horrible things at me. And if they do, well then, that's my limit. It's a dealbreaker. But the anger--I can deal with it, can't I? Don't I?
Why yes.
Yes I do.
For pay.
So why wouldn't I do it in my personal life, for love?
HHhhhmmm....
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Okay, So Let's Talk
I didn't want to taint the news of Fringes & Q with my emo gushations, but I just have to give a likkle lyric at this particular moment. I guess I should start by acknowleging how rare it is that a couple meet through internet blogs, and fall in love, and turn it into a life together. Being that it's rare, most of the credit has to go to Q, no doubt. He's the guy who made the first moves through comments, then made the commitment to travel 650 miles every week to see Fringes. He's the one who stayed through after meeting two kids. He's the one who ignored whatever anyone might have said about him doing all this for a black girl. And for her credit, she's the one who trusted that his intentions where true. That his love was true. So this is completely and madly special.
Having said that, I want one! Wahhhh!
In wanting to identify with Dexter, the novel protagonist-cum-TV serial-killer-for-good, I wanted an out from this bizarre condition I have found myself in. Alone, not always lonely, and untapped in my forties. I wanted to be able to say, "I'm not bizarre, I was born this way. I'm autistic!" Then Karma, who also works in mental health, postulated that my condition may me due to PTSD, which is Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Which I can also accept, but in a "I'd really rather it be just pnuemonia, but if it's lung cancer then ok let's deal with it" kind of way.
Because PTSD means that it's a result of the man who molested me. And it makes sense that what I am and what I do would have resulted from a molestation. And whereas I can't remember everything he did to me, I do know it wasn't just once, and I do know that I liked it, but that I couldn't have been older than 6 and so what he did was a crime against me (and God, really). And that I was violated. And that it wasn't my fault any more than autism would be.
But yeah, my symptoms have always been fear-based. A little panicky, really. PTSD does fit in there. Fear of getting close, getting naked, letting her and/or him turn me on. Fear of bodily fluids (I admit it, I sometimes snap my head away from porn when mouths open up and tongues go in places, and liquids start to flow and get on people's faces and other parts. Sometimes. Not all times, but most times). When it became a reality that sex was going to be required of me by my peers in high school, I went running to a strict little church in Mahwah where I wasn't even supposed to hold hands too long with a date. Perfecto. Escape from the fears! Religious pious excuse to avoid, avoid, avoid!
And yes, my fear could have come from actually being gay and not really wanting to be with a chick, but I can't be successfully gay with the hang-ups I've got! EUCCHH! No way!! And I can never dismiss the strong possibility that I only have an attraction to guys because it was a guy who introduced me to sexual stimulation before puberty; not because I was born gay.
And I want to understand!! I want to know WTF?!! Do I go and earn Ned's comforting and craved-for pride in me and take on a gay identity? Do I defeat the effects of a criminal pervert son of a bitch who diddled with me, and resist same-sex urges? Do I just go with what I've got, disregard how I got it, and go find me a muscular stud? Do I stay nice and safe inside my bubble, and trust only myself as a lover? Or do I find a girl who will understand and who will be patient, and who will let me experiment sexually with her until I get it right and also allow me my hang-ups (like I don't think I'll be able to **zz on her face or in her mouth if she wants me to. Sorry. ICK).
I don't know. And I hate not knowing. But I might never have the answer. But I can't just stay here, can I? What a waste that would be. I'm a good-looking guy with a lot of love to give. I'm about to come correct with my finances and enter into a full time (equivalent) counseling career in New York City. And I'm a good guy. I mean no one any harm. Only good things. I only want to use my powers for good. I want to make someone's life better for loving me.
I don't want to die alone.
So where's my fringes?
Where's my Q?
Just asking.
You know?
Having said that, I want one! Wahhhh!
In wanting to identify with Dexter, the novel protagonist-cum-TV serial-killer-for-good, I wanted an out from this bizarre condition I have found myself in. Alone, not always lonely, and untapped in my forties. I wanted to be able to say, "I'm not bizarre, I was born this way. I'm autistic!" Then Karma, who also works in mental health, postulated that my condition may me due to PTSD, which is Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Which I can also accept, but in a "I'd really rather it be just pnuemonia, but if it's lung cancer then ok let's deal with it" kind of way.
Because PTSD means that it's a result of the man who molested me. And it makes sense that what I am and what I do would have resulted from a molestation. And whereas I can't remember everything he did to me, I do know it wasn't just once, and I do know that I liked it, but that I couldn't have been older than 6 and so what he did was a crime against me (and God, really). And that I was violated. And that it wasn't my fault any more than autism would be.
But yeah, my symptoms have always been fear-based. A little panicky, really. PTSD does fit in there. Fear of getting close, getting naked, letting her and/or him turn me on. Fear of bodily fluids (I admit it, I sometimes snap my head away from porn when mouths open up and tongues go in places, and liquids start to flow and get on people's faces and other parts. Sometimes. Not all times, but most times). When it became a reality that sex was going to be required of me by my peers in high school, I went running to a strict little church in Mahwah where I wasn't even supposed to hold hands too long with a date. Perfecto. Escape from the fears! Religious pious excuse to avoid, avoid, avoid!
And yes, my fear could have come from actually being gay and not really wanting to be with a chick, but I can't be successfully gay with the hang-ups I've got! EUCCHH! No way!! And I can never dismiss the strong possibility that I only have an attraction to guys because it was a guy who introduced me to sexual stimulation before puberty; not because I was born gay.
And I want to understand!! I want to know WTF?!! Do I go and earn Ned's comforting and craved-for pride in me and take on a gay identity? Do I defeat the effects of a criminal pervert son of a bitch who diddled with me, and resist same-sex urges? Do I just go with what I've got, disregard how I got it, and go find me a muscular stud? Do I stay nice and safe inside my bubble, and trust only myself as a lover? Or do I find a girl who will understand and who will be patient, and who will let me experiment sexually with her until I get it right and also allow me my hang-ups (like I don't think I'll be able to **zz on her face or in her mouth if she wants me to. Sorry. ICK).
I don't know. And I hate not knowing. But I might never have the answer. But I can't just stay here, can I? What a waste that would be. I'm a good-looking guy with a lot of love to give. I'm about to come correct with my finances and enter into a full time (equivalent) counseling career in New York City. And I'm a good guy. I mean no one any harm. Only good things. I only want to use my powers for good. I want to make someone's life better for loving me.
I don't want to die alone.
So where's my fringes?
Where's my Q?
Just asking.
You know?
Monday, November 10, 2008
O Crap! How'd I Miss Yesterday?!?
Reflections from November 9th, 2008
Well dammit. It's not as though I didn't have time to blog, because I very much did. I spent yesterday lazing around and producing audio of the adventurous kind. And then things turned melancholic for some reason or another, I'm not quite sure what.
I started out the day with a walk over the Broadway bridge into the Bronx where a Starbucks lay. I've seen it often enough but never drove to it. Yesterday, today and tomorrow I took off from work so yesterdy was my foray into "vacation," thus the walk. And perhaps after I'd ordered the latte is when things began getting a little less sunny. Even though the weather was beautiful.
I continue to roll the fact of the first black United States President around in my head, and I marvel that it's so historic and that it's happening in my lifetime. It's like one of those theories like "The First Martian Colony"--something that seems far off, but possible now. When it happens you realize someday is today.
In the same sense that "someday when I'm in my forties" is actually "today I'm in my forties." I started blogging when I was 38 or 39. I was moving to NYC for the first time and I was unmedicated. Worst Case Scenario Man was kicking my ass all over midJersey and I had just turned away a girl I was in love with, but was a catalyst to losing my confidence in my hetereosexuality. Yeah, that's what it was. She told me to stop talking about getting engaged until I could prove we'd be compatible sexually. I blogged about it, but I never did add in the last components of this. That 1) I was a virgin, which she didn't know, and so therefore pretty much terrified of the idea and 2) I was occasionally attracted to hot guys. I believed, perhaps naively, that since I loved this girl, and that I acknowledged within myself fully that she had the greatest rack I would likely be able to get my hands on in this life, and that her beauty otherwise was Ebony magazine-worthy, that I would be able to consummate my relationship with her should we be wed. And then all the church stuff that I'd been aspiring to also set me up to wait until marriage. So if she only could've waited with me, and wasn't as blunt as she could usually be, then she could've had me and I'd be married now with children. I probably wouldn't have been a blogger though. Yeah, life would have been pretty different. But would it have been happier?
And now, I'm 44. History is unfolding all around me. We have a black President-elect and pray God eventually President. (The forty-fourth President in the year that I turned 44.)
And life continues to plod on.
And I'm still waiting.
Well dammit. It's not as though I didn't have time to blog, because I very much did. I spent yesterday lazing around and producing audio of the adventurous kind. And then things turned melancholic for some reason or another, I'm not quite sure what.
I started out the day with a walk over the Broadway bridge into the Bronx where a Starbucks lay. I've seen it often enough but never drove to it. Yesterday, today and tomorrow I took off from work so yesterdy was my foray into "vacation," thus the walk. And perhaps after I'd ordered the latte is when things began getting a little less sunny. Even though the weather was beautiful.
I continue to roll the fact of the first black United States President around in my head, and I marvel that it's so historic and that it's happening in my lifetime. It's like one of those theories like "The First Martian Colony"--something that seems far off, but possible now. When it happens you realize someday is today.
In the same sense that "someday when I'm in my forties" is actually "today I'm in my forties." I started blogging when I was 38 or 39. I was moving to NYC for the first time and I was unmedicated. Worst Case Scenario Man was kicking my ass all over midJersey and I had just turned away a girl I was in love with, but was a catalyst to losing my confidence in my hetereosexuality. Yeah, that's what it was. She told me to stop talking about getting engaged until I could prove we'd be compatible sexually. I blogged about it, but I never did add in the last components of this. That 1) I was a virgin, which she didn't know, and so therefore pretty much terrified of the idea and 2) I was occasionally attracted to hot guys. I believed, perhaps naively, that since I loved this girl, and that I acknowledged within myself fully that she had the greatest rack I would likely be able to get my hands on in this life, and that her beauty otherwise was Ebony magazine-worthy, that I would be able to consummate my relationship with her should we be wed. And then all the church stuff that I'd been aspiring to also set me up to wait until marriage. So if she only could've waited with me, and wasn't as blunt as she could usually be, then she could've had me and I'd be married now with children. I probably wouldn't have been a blogger though. Yeah, life would have been pretty different. But would it have been happier?
And now, I'm 44. History is unfolding all around me. We have a black President-elect and pray God eventually President. (The forty-fourth President in the year that I turned 44.)
And life continues to plod on.
And I'm still waiting.
Friday, November 7, 2008
I Am A 10th Level Master Conjurer...
... and 3rd Level Focused Specialist! Beware my wrath!!
So I'm currently sitting at the boardroom table of my gaming buddy's workplace in Manhattan. To my left is the geek buddy who arranges the Central Park get-togethers, and his sweetheart fiancee. At the end of this month, because of emigration hangups, he's going to move to Germany since she cannot live here. And we will lose him. To her. Inevitably we always do. I'm a little mad at her, but a whole lot not. Because the connection it would take to cause a metropolitan professional in NYC (read; middle class wage earner who can afford a $2100 rent near Central Park) to pack up and leave it all behind should be pretty awesome. I can only envy him the love he must feel for her.
Across from me is the buddy who's workplace this is. He's been married a year now. Across and to the right is our friend who is meeting an internet date tonight and so he'll be cutting it short. Another woman taking one of us away. He's divorced and no doubt more lonely than he wants to tell us. To his left is a younger player who is also a New York City professional. To my far right is the Dungeon Master. He's the second oldest guy here. He's also an urban black man who lends flavor to the text at rare times with urban slang. Dungeons & Dragons, Yo.
I'm the first oldest one in this room. I've been spending a lot of years escaping my circumstances. I'm perfectly happy doing so, and thus my real life goes on eventless.
I'm in a limbo of sorts. (Yes, my terminology is borrowed. To you from whom I have borrowed this from, please attend to my analogy.) I was sequestered away from the fear of coping with a same-sex attraction. Now I'm coping. Yet it's still safer to stay inside this limbo. It'll be a challenge to come out and face my feelings. A challenge to sideline or press through or incorporate my attractions for beef as I attempt a relationship with fish. So I've always rathered to stay inside limbo. I've said as much before in these pages. I'd rather be alone and lonely than take a woman's trust and her life, and destroy it with my fluid sexuality.
To say nothing of the sheer challenge of just saying hello! And just staying interesting for her. And being able to negotiate through disagreements. And her calling me an idiot sometimes. And me falling asleep on top or her by accident after I gets mines. And performing a thousand other horribly human things that will make me feel like an utter failure and an undeveloped child, and a fool.
Yeah, I've rather stayed in limbo all this time. But I can't stay here forever. And I guess that's what I look to you guys for. To David A Price, for instance, who adores his wife and occasionally drops hints or two on how he pleases her. Wedding pictures that he's shared with me make him look like a bear protecting a maiden. I'm looking for how I'll do the same.
So for now, fear my Orb of Force! No Spell Resistance, beeyotches!
So I'm currently sitting at the boardroom table of my gaming buddy's workplace in Manhattan. To my left is the geek buddy who arranges the Central Park get-togethers, and his sweetheart fiancee. At the end of this month, because of emigration hangups, he's going to move to Germany since she cannot live here. And we will lose him. To her. Inevitably we always do. I'm a little mad at her, but a whole lot not. Because the connection it would take to cause a metropolitan professional in NYC (read; middle class wage earner who can afford a $2100 rent near Central Park) to pack up and leave it all behind should be pretty awesome. I can only envy him the love he must feel for her.
Across from me is the buddy who's workplace this is. He's been married a year now. Across and to the right is our friend who is meeting an internet date tonight and so he'll be cutting it short. Another woman taking one of us away. He's divorced and no doubt more lonely than he wants to tell us. To his left is a younger player who is also a New York City professional. To my far right is the Dungeon Master. He's the second oldest guy here. He's also an urban black man who lends flavor to the text at rare times with urban slang. Dungeons & Dragons, Yo.
I'm the first oldest one in this room. I've been spending a lot of years escaping my circumstances. I'm perfectly happy doing so, and thus my real life goes on eventless.
I'm in a limbo of sorts. (Yes, my terminology is borrowed. To you from whom I have borrowed this from, please attend to my analogy.) I was sequestered away from the fear of coping with a same-sex attraction. Now I'm coping. Yet it's still safer to stay inside this limbo. It'll be a challenge to come out and face my feelings. A challenge to sideline or press through or incorporate my attractions for beef as I attempt a relationship with fish. So I've always rathered to stay inside limbo. I've said as much before in these pages. I'd rather be alone and lonely than take a woman's trust and her life, and destroy it with my fluid sexuality.
To say nothing of the sheer challenge of just saying hello! And just staying interesting for her. And being able to negotiate through disagreements. And her calling me an idiot sometimes. And me falling asleep on top or her by accident after I gets mines. And performing a thousand other horribly human things that will make me feel like an utter failure and an undeveloped child, and a fool.
Yeah, I've rather stayed in limbo all this time. But I can't stay here forever. And I guess that's what I look to you guys for. To David A Price, for instance, who adores his wife and occasionally drops hints or two on how he pleases her. Wedding pictures that he's shared with me make him look like a bear protecting a maiden. I'm looking for how I'll do the same.
So for now, fear my Orb of Force! No Spell Resistance, beeyotches!
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