And this is exactly the way I'd always wished it would happen!
So today at the gym, I do what we always do. I'm getting my workout on, deciding what to do and what not to do, seeing what equipment is avaialable and what's not, noticing the astounding bodies and the not-so-much, knowing which set I belong to and being mad/sad/depressed/determined about it. And also what we do, brief eye contact and then possibly a very masculine head nod of acknowledgement, and keep it movin'. Because omg shoot, kill, and eat us right there on the spot if any of us dare be gay at the gym. So unless we're working out with a buddy (and I use the term loosely) we're all in our own little orbits of homophobia, saying nothing and dying to look sexy.
During, I saw a fella who I found attractive in a strange way. He had loose unkempt hair. He was medium build, no discernable paunch (unlike me)but no outstanding v-shape or awesome shoulders that I usually go for either. He had one of those interesting mouths, though. Lips thin and somewhat recessed, in an m-shape. Very white-guy-in-his-forties. Possibly Irish. Curlicues of wild chest hair poking up at the neckline. Not unlike the George that I used to live with three years ago. (Or is it four now?) Not unlike him at all. So let's call him "George II." I wound up doing shoulder shrugs next to his weight rack, where he was doing squats. Nary a word passed between us. I can only hope at this point that no one notices how much I look at them during any given gym session.
After I was done, I hastily changed back to my street clothes, not even stopping to shower. I had no one and nowhere to go so why bother? I was listening to a shuffle of Corinne Bailey Rae and it was affecting my mood again. The first lines of many of her songs can soooo send me to that place --
"Seems like everyone else has a love just for them ..." - Breathless
"Ohhhhhhh ... you're searching for something I know won't make you happy ... " - I'd Do It All Again
"I don't want to give you up, I don't want to hold you up..." -Closer
"So young ... for death ... we walk in shoes too big ..." - I Would Like To Call It Beauty
So I didn't wait around for a shower and I didn't do any aerobics on the elliptical. Just shrugged on pants, shirt, sweater, jacket, hat, scarf, sneakers, and I'm out the door.
Now, this gym is on the 15th floor of a Time Square hotel (one of its' best perks with BEAUTIFUL views of Hell's Kitchen and into the T-Square itself) so leaving it takes me to a bank of elevators. And who should be standing there waiting for an elevator? Why, George II of course! I'd missed when he stopped doing his squats and threw his clothes on, but it had to have been in a lockerroom apart from mine because I didn't see him. And trust me, I look. The lockerroom is the place where I get involuntary confirmation that I am, indeed, gay. Sorry, straight guys who just want to go get their workout on and get on with their day after a shower, but we gay guys are checkin yo shit out. I try not to stare, I promise. To be honest, I don't like you nude anyway. Your junk is ugly. No, I'm sorry, it really is. And your toes are often ghastly. But once you slip into your BVDs ... h'oh boy. And you be wearing them SEXY ones too. Oh no, not just tidy-whities anymore hath our Johnny Straight Guy, oh nooo. And then some of you have the nerve to have abs, and those interlocking rib-muscles?! And NORMAL clean feet with well-proportioned, trimmed nails on EVERY toe? You bastards.
Again, I'm trying not to stare. But wow. A glimpse says a lot.
Where was I?
Right! The elevators with George II! So these are highspeed elevators to service the 30 stories full of hotel tourists above us, who've shelled out good money to be here, and so accordingly, if you press the down button you better be ready to dash to one of the eight possible elevator doors that could open -- because it will not wait for you. And fortunately, when one did arrive, it did so near me, so in I went -- and I held the door for George II to catch up to it. Then I said as much to him by way of banter -- you know, about getting to the vator before it leaves. To which he answered 'It's a fitness test.' Which I laughed at because I thought the same thing about the hard-to-open lobby doors downstairs! And I said so aloud!
And then George II and I had a nice little stream of casual convo all the way down the elevator, down the escalators, through the lobby, out onto Broadway, and two blocks north until I departed to cross the street.
And we didn't talk about anything at all, really. Just about gyms and their opening, closing, the value of ours and the possible value of others. But his voice was sooooooo nice. Cool. Deep but clipped. Announcing every consonant and vowel. Like he could be a radio DJ. Again, very Middle-Aged White-Guy. Comfortable and safe like Ward Clever or Fred MacMurray. And apparently, comfortable with ME! So comfortable in fact that when I was ready to cross the street, he jut out a hand for that fraternal shake and announced his name! To wit I clasped in kind and gave him mine. So masculine!! So buddy!! Nice strong grip, but not trying to out-macho one another. Just Men being Men!
And then I thought DANG! I LIKED that!!! and went to my train.
So, his name is not "George". But neither's was the original George. And I'm not in LOVE or anything. George II had some manky teeth which caused his M-shaped lips to be as recessed as they were. But then again, my teeth are gappy, so who's perfect?
But he was the kind I like. Just a guy, you know? A guy who is open and friendly and ... a guy. An average guy. Who might have a interlocking rib-muscles under there. And a chest full of hair. And who might be gay.
So I'll end it with this -- the odds are, he's not gay. He's probably divorced and probably a sex addict. He's probably disorganized and maybe has some destructive addictions that he's trying to overcome. I'll probably never know why he'll accept me as a friend, but he will. And I'll probably wind up with a big inappropriate crush on him, and on it will go into nowheresville. You know ... that town at the junction of Despair Rd and Chronically Frustrated Life Ln?
Because hey. I'm nothing if not consistent.
And that's what happened today!
*curtsey*
Showing posts with label Guys. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Guys. Show all posts
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Saturday, November 27, 2010
"how things are"
Came back a few minutes ago from My Con Buddy's invite to run out and meet him for a bite to eat. He's the guy I drove down to NC with, and went with him to join a gym, and we've done a classic movie, and attended a podcast recording event, and who I told everything in my history to except me being gay. ("Con" as in "comic convention", not as in "he's served time in prison"). He's (one of) the handsome budd(ies) I have that I hope somehow are as gay as me and are hiding it like I am, and are waiting for me to say the right thing before they'll take me in their arms.
Last week we went out to see a concert. He had an extra ticket because he wanted to invite this girl at work and she became unavailable. So, yeah, he's still hetereo. No indie flick, "best-friend comes out and reveals his true love for the hero" ending to this story. But pre-show, while we were eating bagels in the window of a Williamsburg deli (and yes, I can't lie--it was as cool as it sounds) who walks by on the street except none other than My First Man Date.
Mind you, I haven't spoken to him since he reached out to me in my silence. But there he went on by. Far as I know, he could have been going home--I never knew his actual address, although I do remember his neighborhood, and I didn't mark it as being near Williamsburg. But yeah, there he went. And there I sat with my straight friend, My Con Buddy, who I haven't been able to tell that I'm gay to. And I waited for the panic attack to set in. And oddly, it didn't.
And I thought, not for the first time, that if there's a God, He's writing my life like we write cable drama. Because WHAT?! REALLY?! And my next thought was, what if My First Man Date saw me sitting there with my handsome friend? Well, of course he'd think I was on another date. And he'd want to be introduced, if for no other reason than to verify that I was doing well and getting on with my dating life after it not working out with him (because honestly, My First Man Date is THAT nice--albeit also being a little horndog). And what would I then say to My Con Buddy, seeing an "obvious" gay man greet me warmly and possibly take for granted that I'm on another date with a dude? Well, I'd have to come out, wouldn't I? And what if I did? Would I lose My Con Buddy? And if I did, shouldn't I Cee-Lo Green his ass to the curb?
Hey, if it was that easy, I'd be out of the closet.
One thing My Con Buddy hasn't done point blank is ask me about my taste in women. Of course, I'VE done the asking of his taste, for my own curiosity sake. He either already highly supects I'm for the dudes and doesn't want it confirmed, or he doesn't really care and would prefer not to know anyway. I can't think of a third alternative. Either way, I don't feel like it's a good idea to reveal as I've done with some of my married geek buddies. I figure, I suppose, that since they're married, they could feel less threatened by me (although I know in my heart of hearts that I wanted them to confess their lust for me despite their statusi). The married ones accept me. I dunno if the single ones hunting ladies would accept me the same way. ESPECIALLY if they might be a little gay themselves but want it even less than I do.
So all this is to say that the "how things are" of my life are not so good. I'm still repressed and afraid. I'm still frustrated and ashamed (evidently). And although I'm doing fun things, thanks to My Con Buddy, I'm lonely. (And I miss Ned).
Wish I had better news, but this misery is comfortable and it seems to be the destination of my choice. Even when I considered calling My First Man Date to tell him I saw him in Williamsburg, I opted out of that too. I just want it all to go away. But it doesn't. So I do.
Last week we went out to see a concert. He had an extra ticket because he wanted to invite this girl at work and she became unavailable. So, yeah, he's still hetereo. No indie flick, "best-friend comes out and reveals his true love for the hero" ending to this story. But pre-show, while we were eating bagels in the window of a Williamsburg deli (and yes, I can't lie--it was as cool as it sounds) who walks by on the street except none other than My First Man Date.
Mind you, I haven't spoken to him since he reached out to me in my silence. But there he went on by. Far as I know, he could have been going home--I never knew his actual address, although I do remember his neighborhood, and I didn't mark it as being near Williamsburg. But yeah, there he went. And there I sat with my straight friend, My Con Buddy, who I haven't been able to tell that I'm gay to. And I waited for the panic attack to set in. And oddly, it didn't.
And I thought, not for the first time, that if there's a God, He's writing my life like we write cable drama. Because WHAT?! REALLY?! And my next thought was, what if My First Man Date saw me sitting there with my handsome friend? Well, of course he'd think I was on another date. And he'd want to be introduced, if for no other reason than to verify that I was doing well and getting on with my dating life after it not working out with him (because honestly, My First Man Date is THAT nice--albeit also being a little horndog). And what would I then say to My Con Buddy, seeing an "obvious" gay man greet me warmly and possibly take for granted that I'm on another date with a dude? Well, I'd have to come out, wouldn't I? And what if I did? Would I lose My Con Buddy? And if I did, shouldn't I Cee-Lo Green his ass to the curb?
Hey, if it was that easy, I'd be out of the closet.
One thing My Con Buddy hasn't done point blank is ask me about my taste in women. Of course, I'VE done the asking of his taste, for my own curiosity sake. He either already highly supects I'm for the dudes and doesn't want it confirmed, or he doesn't really care and would prefer not to know anyway. I can't think of a third alternative. Either way, I don't feel like it's a good idea to reveal as I've done with some of my married geek buddies. I figure, I suppose, that since they're married, they could feel less threatened by me (although I know in my heart of hearts that I wanted them to confess their lust for me despite their statusi). The married ones accept me. I dunno if the single ones hunting ladies would accept me the same way. ESPECIALLY if they might be a little gay themselves but want it even less than I do.
So all this is to say that the "how things are" of my life are not so good. I'm still repressed and afraid. I'm still frustrated and ashamed (evidently). And although I'm doing fun things, thanks to My Con Buddy, I'm lonely. (And I miss Ned).
Wish I had better news, but this misery is comfortable and it seems to be the destination of my choice. Even when I considered calling My First Man Date to tell him I saw him in Williamsburg, I opted out of that too. I just want it all to go away. But it doesn't. So I do.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Monosexual
So I can blog again now that I haven't caused NYC's 2nd gay-related suicide leap. I know. That's not funny. But hey. I'm not laughing at, but with. I'm just as gay as they are and I feel the same type of isolation and fear as they do. All those "It Gets Better" messages apply to me even though I'm 46-plus-two-weeks old. What keeps me from suicide is a fear of the unknown and a suspicion that yeah--it will get better.
I mean hey, it got better for My First Man Date, anyways. After our last date he was able to find a guy who he likes a lot, and who likes him a lot. He even said that he waited until their fourth date to get busy, and he learned that from me! So folks, see? Instead of driving him to the point of suicide by depriving him of my gorgeous self, I helped him into a relationship that he's happier with than he would have been with me. My Hero Friend's advice was spot on.
Isn't that great?
Yup. That's great.
Great.
So.
I'm currently blogging between doing wash and the supervision that my Part-Time Gig demands of me (they want me to write someone up) and I ran into Hunky Married HeteroDad Neighbor in the laundry as I usually do when I do the wash. A head taller than me, wide shoulders, smiling eyes, always having one of his two kids in tow, friendly and responsive with them, thus far has been in various states of undress--just a real day-off casual working man's Ward Cleaver.
And I think to myself, "How did I get here?"
It seems like it's not that I'm gay--it's like I'm a woman. I don't want a gay man...I want a man.
Problem is, I'm not blessed with the estrogen that makes women soft, receptive, accepting, and supportive (well, wait--I can do supportive real well actually). But I'm stuck on stupid. I don't want just any man, be he pudgy, skinny or whatever. I want a bruiser. I want a roughneck. Gruff and rumbly. I only want one type of man. A physical type. And these are the times when I can easily just really hate myself.
Still, I'm not diving off of any bridge and letting my body be tweeted about by my
Inwood neighbors as it washes ashore. I want more for myself and my life--it just feels like I'm not able to get any of it.
It's like I'm not a homosexual--I'm a monosexual.
PostScript;
I was alerted to this article. I need to be this guy. Couldn't I still please have a wife?
I mean hey, it got better for My First Man Date, anyways. After our last date he was able to find a guy who he likes a lot, and who likes him a lot. He even said that he waited until their fourth date to get busy, and he learned that from me! So folks, see? Instead of driving him to the point of suicide by depriving him of my gorgeous self, I helped him into a relationship that he's happier with than he would have been with me. My Hero Friend's advice was spot on.
Isn't that great?
Yup. That's great.
Great.
So.
I'm currently blogging between doing wash and the supervision that my Part-Time Gig demands of me (they want me to write someone up) and I ran into Hunky Married HeteroDad Neighbor in the laundry as I usually do when I do the wash. A head taller than me, wide shoulders, smiling eyes, always having one of his two kids in tow, friendly and responsive with them, thus far has been in various states of undress--just a real day-off casual working man's Ward Cleaver.
And I think to myself, "How did I get here?"
It seems like it's not that I'm gay--it's like I'm a woman. I don't want a gay man...I want a man.
Problem is, I'm not blessed with the estrogen that makes women soft, receptive, accepting, and supportive (well, wait--I can do supportive real well actually). But I'm stuck on stupid. I don't want just any man, be he pudgy, skinny or whatever. I want a bruiser. I want a roughneck. Gruff and rumbly. I only want one type of man. A physical type. And these are the times when I can easily just really hate myself.
Still, I'm not diving off of any bridge and letting my body be tweeted about by my
Inwood neighbors as it washes ashore. I want more for myself and my life--it just feels like I'm not able to get any of it.
It's like I'm not a homosexual--I'm a monosexual.
PostScript;
I was alerted to this article. I need to be this guy. Couldn't I still please have a wife?
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Freedom FAIL
So last night I reunited with my old D&D group. Since I had been stepping over to Grim's place a few times I felt ready to make a whole re-entry, being that Grim was the one I had the problem with to begin with but now I had conquered that.
(To recap for those playing at home; Grim both pissed me off and I have a mad crush on him at the same time. I left the group because of both reasons. During my travels one day, I saw him driving and forgot all the anger and only missed him. Called him up and have since been to his house three times. Told him I was gay, and he accepted it with no fanfare nor calamitous disaster.)
So yesterday, on the day I chose to return to the group, Grim took the stairs out of the Hosting Girl's pool. This is a yearly ritual in which Grim takes off his shirt. This year I got a look. Several looks, to be honest.
Grim is so fine. omg is he so, so fine. He is the closest real-life equivalent to Jason Statham I have ever had the fortune of being friends with.
What's funny is, Hero Cop was also there and he's looking good too. He's maintained his weight loss and is as full of affection and enthusiasm as a puppy. He's eating right, working out, and is dying for appreciation. Which I give in copious amounts. So without a moment's hesitation, at the slightest encouragement, Hero Cop yanked his shirt off too (nowhere near the pool, I might add) to show me and the rest of us his progress. Clearly this was something the others hadn't allowed him to do during my absence. Well ... Hero Cop's stomach was flat. He is a full 30 lbs lighter and about 3 inches shorter than I am. BUT. There was no shape. No tone to him. He looked like a compressed man. Like remember those bodywraps people used to get? He looked freshly unwrapped. Things were held in, but I saw no muscle tone, except in his arms. Triceps, to be precise. I love my lil dude, but he's no Grim.
Anyway, I say all this as a preamble to what, exactly? That I didn't tell them all about my being teh gay. I just ... I couldn't. The same fear and pressure in my belly remained there through the night. Every time I considered it. Grim was able to comport himself as though he didn't know or care what I was, and that made it easier for me to do what I've always done. Pretend like I didn't know or care either.
And the moral of this story is, I'm aware that this is the way I'd rather live my life. This is my default position. This is what I've been doing for 4 decades and despite all my big talk, or maybe in the light of my kissless date with a kind and cute gay man, I know how safe it feels in this closet of mine and I know I want to stay in it.
I mean, I do know that. For the last couple of weeks, I've been wanting to change that but for the last couple of days, with increasing intensity, I have not wanted to. Very not.
Today it feels like Freedom FAIL. So much so that I want to cancel my date for Tuesday and pretend none of this ever happened.
And that's what's going on.
(To recap for those playing at home; Grim both pissed me off and I have a mad crush on him at the same time. I left the group because of both reasons. During my travels one day, I saw him driving and forgot all the anger and only missed him. Called him up and have since been to his house three times. Told him I was gay, and he accepted it with no fanfare nor calamitous disaster.)
So yesterday, on the day I chose to return to the group, Grim took the stairs out of the Hosting Girl's pool. This is a yearly ritual in which Grim takes off his shirt. This year I got a look. Several looks, to be honest.
Grim is so fine. omg is he so, so fine. He is the closest real-life equivalent to Jason Statham I have ever had the fortune of being friends with.
What's funny is, Hero Cop was also there and he's looking good too. He's maintained his weight loss and is as full of affection and enthusiasm as a puppy. He's eating right, working out, and is dying for appreciation. Which I give in copious amounts. So without a moment's hesitation, at the slightest encouragement, Hero Cop yanked his shirt off too (nowhere near the pool, I might add) to show me and the rest of us his progress. Clearly this was something the others hadn't allowed him to do during my absence. Well ... Hero Cop's stomach was flat. He is a full 30 lbs lighter and about 3 inches shorter than I am. BUT. There was no shape. No tone to him. He looked like a compressed man. Like remember those bodywraps people used to get? He looked freshly unwrapped. Things were held in, but I saw no muscle tone, except in his arms. Triceps, to be precise. I love my lil dude, but he's no Grim.
Anyway, I say all this as a preamble to what, exactly? That I didn't tell them all about my being teh gay. I just ... I couldn't. The same fear and pressure in my belly remained there through the night. Every time I considered it. Grim was able to comport himself as though he didn't know or care what I was, and that made it easier for me to do what I've always done. Pretend like I didn't know or care either.
And the moral of this story is, I'm aware that this is the way I'd rather live my life. This is my default position. This is what I've been doing for 4 decades and despite all my big talk, or maybe in the light of my kissless date with a kind and cute gay man, I know how safe it feels in this closet of mine and I know I want to stay in it.
I mean, I do know that. For the last couple of weeks, I've been wanting to change that but for the last couple of days, with increasing intensity, I have not wanted to. Very not.
Today it feels like Freedom FAIL. So much so that I want to cancel my date for Tuesday and pretend none of this ever happened.
And that's what's going on.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Sh*t Just Got Real
Actually real.
My nibble at FindFred turned into an interested tug.
To begin, his pictures were cleared by the Admins.
They were nice. Blond, curly-headed moustached guy with blonde eyebrows, and a smile that looks like he's up to something. He's thinnish, but has some shape to him. He takes pics of himself in the gym, at the beach, out on vacation. He's just hit his fifties but doesn't look a day over 45. His bare chest is fuzzy with coppery hair. No tattoos. And he's my height.
So I responded to his "Where in Manhattan do you live?" with a
"Why, have you seen me around? ;-)"
to which he has responded;
"No, but I'd like to."
Now. This means a few things.
1) He knows I'm a black dude.
2) He's attracted to me.
3) He wants to do stuff with me.
4) He will accept my interest in him.
And I'm sitting here thinking how much I want to do this. How my heart is speeded up right now thinking about how this could go down. I look again at his pictures and I'm thinking he looks better and better. Rugged-like. Right now, he looks like the best thing in the world.
He looks like hope. Like, yeah, he's someone who could like me the way I want to be liked. And he's someone I could like the way I've always wanted to.
I think of all the boyfriends of my girlfriends, and how I'd look at them and get this little heartspeed thing going. Wishing that I could see a little more of them--and then going to Gym and getting that wish fulfilled in the lockerroom, only to know that they'd beat the living shit out of me they knew how I felt. I think of how much I hated wanting what I wanted, and how locked-in I was. I remember how I'd quickly run away from it and try doing life the expected, "normal" way. Yeah. Ran all the way to church and hid under Jesus' skirt.
But 30 years later, here I still am. I traded the hem of Jesus' garment for the internet. I hide behind my side of the screen. I watch and I do not do.
And now I'm standing on the precipice of something real. Maybe. Something to change the way I live the rest of my life. Now I am entering into a flirtation with a man who actually knows I'm flirting, and is flirting back.
Stop.
I've never done this before. I've flirted with straight guys. I've been entertained by those who most likely think I'm playing bantery games with their masculinity. But I've never done this with someone ready to take it somewhere.
And I am really thrilled right now.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Yeah.
So.
Wow.
Okay.
Okay.
I'm going to talk to him. I'm going to find out more about him, I hope. I may just meet him. I might just kiss him. Perhaps I'll [censored] him. Or maybe I'll get to hug him.
You know what?
I would like to hug him.
Hug him for just being there and talking to me. For calling me handsome, and meaning it the way I want someone to mean it. The way I've always wanted a man to mean it.
Yeah, for right now. That's what I want. That would be just amazing.
My nibble at FindFred turned into an interested tug.
To begin, his pictures were cleared by the Admins.
They were nice. Blond, curly-headed moustached guy with blonde eyebrows, and a smile that looks like he's up to something. He's thinnish, but has some shape to him. He takes pics of himself in the gym, at the beach, out on vacation. He's just hit his fifties but doesn't look a day over 45. His bare chest is fuzzy with coppery hair. No tattoos. And he's my height.
So I responded to his "Where in Manhattan do you live?" with a
"Why, have you seen me around? ;-)"
to which he has responded;
"No, but I'd like to."
Now. This means a few things.
1) He knows I'm a black dude.
2) He's attracted to me.
3) He wants to do stuff with me.
4) He will accept my interest in him.
And I'm sitting here thinking how much I want to do this. How my heart is speeded up right now thinking about how this could go down. I look again at his pictures and I'm thinking he looks better and better. Rugged-like. Right now, he looks like the best thing in the world.
He looks like hope. Like, yeah, he's someone who could like me the way I want to be liked. And he's someone I could like the way I've always wanted to.
I think of all the boyfriends of my girlfriends, and how I'd look at them and get this little heartspeed thing going. Wishing that I could see a little more of them--and then going to Gym and getting that wish fulfilled in the lockerroom, only to know that they'd beat the living shit out of me they knew how I felt. I think of how much I hated wanting what I wanted, and how locked-in I was. I remember how I'd quickly run away from it and try doing life the expected, "normal" way. Yeah. Ran all the way to church and hid under Jesus' skirt.
But 30 years later, here I still am. I traded the hem of Jesus' garment for the internet. I hide behind my side of the screen. I watch and I do not do.
And now I'm standing on the precipice of something real. Maybe. Something to change the way I live the rest of my life. Now I am entering into a flirtation with a man who actually knows I'm flirting, and is flirting back.
Stop.
I've never done this before. I've flirted with straight guys. I've been entertained by those who most likely think I'm playing bantery games with their masculinity. But I've never done this with someone ready to take it somewhere.
And I am really thrilled right now.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Yeah.
So.
Wow.
Okay.
Okay.
I'm going to talk to him. I'm going to find out more about him, I hope. I may just meet him. I might just kiss him. Perhaps I'll [censored] him. Or maybe I'll get to hug him.
You know what?
I would like to hug him.
Hug him for just being there and talking to me. For calling me handsome, and meaning it the way I want someone to mean it. The way I've always wanted a man to mean it.
Yeah, for right now. That's what I want. That would be just amazing.
Friday, August 20, 2010
The One I Haven't Blogged About
So there's this gay comic fan and podcaster who I've gone out with a few times, just me and him. And it isn't Former Pastor, although he and this guy were friends way before I slipped into the cypher. They may even have History. I once saw a frustrated knowing glance that Former Pastor shared with a gay third-party about the guy in question. But Former Pastor moved back home down south. He ain't here no more.
Now. Let's call the guy in question "Eligible." Because, you know actually, he is. And each time we've met up for a movie, there's been ... You know. A Thing. Attraction. Or not an attraction actually, but more like our radars pinging off one another. It's like we're sizing each other up. No pun intended.
He's the kind of gay that I can see myself being. Folks know but it's just understood, not bandied about. Eligible's conversation is about Eco-friendly conservationism and comic books and civic awareness and his interests and stuff. No massive declarations or drawing of lines in the sand. The only reason to believe he's gay is because his co-host throws out a joke about it every once in a while and he'll great-humoredly catch the lob. In fact, his contribution actually dignifies his co-host's ham-handed attempts at the "gee isn't it fun to make fun of teh gay?"-humor. Think 'The Odd Couple' except Felix is gay and Oscar is a bartender who loves comics and fame.
So knowing Eligible was this bachelor, gay, subtle guy, I fired my retroes and allowed my craft to dip into his planetary orbit. When I went to my first social party (whereupon I denied my sexuality, posted pictures here at the blog, and tried living a life that I'm not destined for), it was Eligible's cool-ass Harlem pad w/a backyard hosting the party. And when the Geeks of New York would gather for events, I would hope he'd show up--glad and gravitating himward when he did.
And because he has shared many a kee-kee with me as we'd huddle in our theatre seats, I think he digs me too. It's like we're both waiting for the right signal from each other.
Except I have one thing (okay, LOTS of things) holding me back. He doesn't look like this;
Except he kind of does have that round head with receding hairline that I like. And he's a slim guy, but he said he's not packin' a sixpack under those urban casual clothes of his. (Yes I HAVE asked. I toldja ... the radar be pingin'!)
So. Here's the thing. To try a relationship with him would mean two very major MAJOR things.
1) Houston we have liftoff. Dude is a public geek figure. I arrive somewhere on his arm, or he on mine, and it's DONE. No turning back. Alan. Is. Teh. GAY. And ERRRRRRRBODY gunna know it.
2) He might never have that sexy-sexy that I crave. If I'm going to DO this, I want it to be GOOD. I want it "all." And if there's an abundance of anything, it's muscly gay men. Don't believe me, just walk along 23rd St in Chelsea for a few avenues. How that happened, I don't know, but Chelsea has become Teh Beefy Gay District. WOOF!
I got distracted.
Anyway, I want one of those. Eligible is eligible, pleasant, intelligent, successful generous, erudite, and a geek. He has a lot of qualities I like. But he doesn't stoke the fire. I find that with him, I'm just curious. I would share a kiss with him, if only to see what it's like to kiss an actual guy.
So yeah. That happened. If anything comes of it (the puns refuse to stop) I'll be sure to blog it.
Now. Let's call the guy in question "Eligible." Because, you know actually, he is. And each time we've met up for a movie, there's been ... You know. A Thing. Attraction. Or not an attraction actually, but more like our radars pinging off one another. It's like we're sizing each other up. No pun intended.
He's the kind of gay that I can see myself being. Folks know but it's just understood, not bandied about. Eligible's conversation is about Eco-friendly conservationism and comic books and civic awareness and his interests and stuff. No massive declarations or drawing of lines in the sand. The only reason to believe he's gay is because his co-host throws out a joke about it every once in a while and he'll great-humoredly catch the lob. In fact, his contribution actually dignifies his co-host's ham-handed attempts at the "gee isn't it fun to make fun of teh gay?"-humor. Think 'The Odd Couple' except Felix is gay and Oscar is a bartender who loves comics and fame.
So knowing Eligible was this bachelor, gay, subtle guy, I fired my retroes and allowed my craft to dip into his planetary orbit. When I went to my first social party (whereupon I denied my sexuality, posted pictures here at the blog, and tried living a life that I'm not destined for), it was Eligible's cool-ass Harlem pad w/a backyard hosting the party. And when the Geeks of New York would gather for events, I would hope he'd show up--glad and gravitating himward when he did.
And because he has shared many a kee-kee with me as we'd huddle in our theatre seats, I think he digs me too. It's like we're both waiting for the right signal from each other.
Except I have one thing (okay, LOTS of things) holding me back. He doesn't look like this;
Except he kind of does have that round head with receding hairline that I like. And he's a slim guy, but he said he's not packin' a sixpack under those urban casual clothes of his. (Yes I HAVE asked. I toldja ... the radar be pingin'!)
So. Here's the thing. To try a relationship with him would mean two very major MAJOR things.
1) Houston we have liftoff. Dude is a public geek figure. I arrive somewhere on his arm, or he on mine, and it's DONE. No turning back. Alan. Is. Teh. GAY. And ERRRRRRRBODY gunna know it.
2) He might never have that sexy-sexy that I crave. If I'm going to DO this, I want it to be GOOD. I want it "all." And if there's an abundance of anything, it's muscly gay men. Don't believe me, just walk along 23rd St in Chelsea for a few avenues. How that happened, I don't know, but Chelsea has become Teh Beefy Gay District. WOOF!
I got distracted.
Anyway, I want one of those. Eligible is eligible, pleasant, intelligent, successful generous, erudite, and a geek. He has a lot of qualities I like. But he doesn't stoke the fire. I find that with him, I'm just curious. I would share a kiss with him, if only to see what it's like to kiss an actual guy.
So yeah. That happened. If anything comes of it (the puns refuse to stop) I'll be sure to blog it.
Monday, July 5, 2010
I Could Use Some Advice
So Dr. Something-Or-Other has still not responded, and perhaps I need to stop expecting he will. But the bloke with the hot body, who I wrote to the Doc about, I've found in the Doc's Facebook pages. Hot Body is as closed off there as he is at the "porn" site where I first found him (porn in quotes because while many others are showing off everything, Hot Body is only showing off his ... well ... hot body.)
Clearly what I've done is the act of cyberstalking. Is that bad?
I want to see this man walk and hear him talk. I want more than these tantalizing pics.
So here's the advice I need, should I FB message this guy? And if so, what could I possibly say?
I'm obsessed again. That much is clear. Would it be best if I get myself over this?
Clearly what I've done is the act of cyberstalking. Is that bad?
I want to see this man walk and hear him talk. I want more than these tantalizing pics.
So here's the advice I need, should I FB message this guy? And if so, what could I possibly say?
I'm obsessed again. That much is clear. Would it be best if I get myself over this?
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
(Untitled)
In a bloggy mood this AM. It should be illegal to post pictures of yourself on the internet if you're male and you have muscle. Or are hunky in any sort of way. At all.
I do think I'm recovering nicely from a whirlwind crush I achieved a few days ago. I got turned onto a comicbook/comedy troupe last week by a fellow fan, and lo and behold, they had a kinetic manhunk in their ranks. Made me laugh and made me lust. So what do I do? Well, I hit 'im up, of course! I posted on their YouTube, friended them on Facebook, Tweeted them with praise. And who of the four should respond immediately? Why, Hunkalicious of course! Letting me into his Facebook world helped not at all. "Single" declareth he! As I browsed his camping pics and wrestling shows attendance, we traded messages "Have you done this?" "Where do you live?" "Did you read that?" "What'd you like best?" kind of stuff. All the while I'm noticing his (as well as his troupemates) involvement in a big church. Pics of song services begin to unearth. Hunkalicious on a stage with a mic in one hand and the other stretched up to the sky in prayer.
Hunkalicious' Facebook preference is "Women" and these boys are ministers in a mega church. And although he's the only single one in the group, and the best looking, and the hunkiest, he's involved in ministry. That means that even if he harbors a secret love for the well-figured man--he's buried himself under the protective cocoon of Godliness. At my most grandiose, I know that to court him any further would be (another) big letdown for me.
So, here's the deal--if you can avoid being gay, I highly recommend that course of action at any cost (Yeah, right).
It's absolutely no fun getting these unbidden crushes when you least expect them, as they have approximately 0.0034% chance of turning into anything. And NO it is not just like hetereo crushes. No it is NOT. Because a guy can find a girl attractive and can expect a reasonable chance of chatting her up. It would be a surprise if he discovers she's "Single" but interested in "Women." But this is what it's like all the time for the gay single man. Guys befriending guys is common and expected, without the baggage of sex-attraction. Poor single straight guy just wants a friend. WHY did it have to be with THIS guy, preying on him with unwanted sexual advances that skeeve him the ufck out? He didn't ask for that. He was just being friendly.
Not to mention that Facebook puts all your business out there in front of all your "friends."
My safest fantasy scenario is that any of the single, good looking guyfriends on my Facebook chat with me, and I with them, and somehow someway (through osmosis I guess?) he or I approach the topic of why I'm single at my age, I tell him in a PM, and he says, "Oh. Hmm. That's funny. So am I!" Then we start communication on another level "What's it like for you?" "Isn't it difficult to see all our friends married, having kids, etc etc?" "How many gay relationships have you had?" "You neither?! Wow, you're exactly like me!" Hilarity ensues.
I suppose that could still happen with Hunkalicious, but the man is ensconced in a church. Publicly ensconced. Unless their church is so open-minded as to allow samesex marriage within the ministry -- I'd be setting myself up for failure. Or something illicit and potentially disastrous. Have you ever seen a church line up to excommunicate a member for moral indiscretion? I have. Participated in fact. Sick and tragic. Talk about moral failure--WE committed it that night, regardless of what that member had done.
And then of course, there's the fact that he's 12 hrs away from here.
Oh, speaking of that, Ned, I missed you during my trip to Charlotte! I guess there was a lot going on for both of us? I was running with two groups this time instead of just the one group you met last year.
Anyway, so that's what's going on. I'll probably still head down that road with Hunkalicious in conversation ... I feel it. No. Stop it, Me. He said he's interested in "Women" on his Facebook. It doesn't matter if his church supports samesexness. He doesn't. Let it go. Stop it.
So much fun to be me. Eat your hearts out. :-/
I do think I'm recovering nicely from a whirlwind crush I achieved a few days ago. I got turned onto a comicbook/comedy troupe last week by a fellow fan, and lo and behold, they had a kinetic manhunk in their ranks. Made me laugh and made me lust. So what do I do? Well, I hit 'im up, of course! I posted on their YouTube, friended them on Facebook, Tweeted them with praise. And who of the four should respond immediately? Why, Hunkalicious of course! Letting me into his Facebook world helped not at all. "Single" declareth he! As I browsed his camping pics and wrestling shows attendance, we traded messages "Have you done this?" "Where do you live?" "Did you read that?" "What'd you like best?" kind of stuff. All the while I'm noticing his (as well as his troupemates) involvement in a big church. Pics of song services begin to unearth. Hunkalicious on a stage with a mic in one hand and the other stretched up to the sky in prayer.
Hunkalicious' Facebook preference is "Women" and these boys are ministers in a mega church. And although he's the only single one in the group, and the best looking, and the hunkiest, he's involved in ministry. That means that even if he harbors a secret love for the well-figured man--he's buried himself under the protective cocoon of Godliness. At my most grandiose, I know that to court him any further would be (another) big letdown for me.
So, here's the deal--if you can avoid being gay, I highly recommend that course of action at any cost (Yeah, right).
It's absolutely no fun getting these unbidden crushes when you least expect them, as they have approximately 0.0034% chance of turning into anything. And NO it is not just like hetereo crushes. No it is NOT. Because a guy can find a girl attractive and can expect a reasonable chance of chatting her up. It would be a surprise if he discovers she's "Single" but interested in "Women." But this is what it's like all the time for the gay single man. Guys befriending guys is common and expected, without the baggage of sex-attraction. Poor single straight guy just wants a friend. WHY did it have to be with THIS guy, preying on him with unwanted sexual advances that skeeve him the ufck out? He didn't ask for that. He was just being friendly.
Not to mention that Facebook puts all your business out there in front of all your "friends."
My safest fantasy scenario is that any of the single, good looking guyfriends on my Facebook chat with me, and I with them, and somehow someway (through osmosis I guess?) he or I approach the topic of why I'm single at my age, I tell him in a PM, and he says, "Oh. Hmm. That's funny. So am I!" Then we start communication on another level "What's it like for you?" "Isn't it difficult to see all our friends married, having kids, etc etc?" "How many gay relationships have you had?" "You neither?! Wow, you're exactly like me!" Hilarity ensues.
I suppose that could still happen with Hunkalicious, but the man is ensconced in a church. Publicly ensconced. Unless their church is so open-minded as to allow samesex marriage within the ministry -- I'd be setting myself up for failure. Or something illicit and potentially disastrous. Have you ever seen a church line up to excommunicate a member for moral indiscretion? I have. Participated in fact. Sick and tragic. Talk about moral failure--WE committed it that night, regardless of what that member had done.
And then of course, there's the fact that he's 12 hrs away from here.
Oh, speaking of that, Ned, I missed you during my trip to Charlotte! I guess there was a lot going on for both of us? I was running with two groups this time instead of just the one group you met last year.
Anyway, so that's what's going on. I'll probably still head down that road with Hunkalicious in conversation ... I feel it. No. Stop it, Me. He said he's interested in "Women" on his Facebook. It doesn't matter if his church supports samesexness. He doesn't. Let it go. Stop it.
So much fun to be me. Eat your hearts out. :-/
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
This Homo Life, Pt 2
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.
Yeah, I'm settled. Con Buddy loves the ladies and I'm just where I always have been--on the outside looking in.
Whatevs.
Friday, April 9, 2010
This Homo Life
Did I already use that blogpost title once? But anyway. So the bloke I've blogged about once, we'll call him Con Buddy--not because he's been to prison, but because he's great to buddy up with at a comics convention--is getting closer with me in terms of friendship. Handsome Italian guy who has made offers of companionship since the day he first said hello at my first Geektogether lo these two or so years ago.
Of course, his offers have mostly concerned conventions. He booked us in the same hotel room down to the next con, and we're driving down together, and then the plans evolved to include others in on the trip and the hotel room.
Then lately, at the start of the year he wanted me to come with him to Yoga. (Didn't work out because he said he'd hurt his back, but I was going to go, dang it. Was going to show my feet and everything.) Then he wanted to meet up with more geeks when I did, here and abouts in the city. "Don't forget me!" said he. Then last week he wanted me to take him to a gym for a trial membership since he knows I go. Which I did, and afterwards we went out to eat. Tomorrow, we're going out to a small and regular comicbook social venue that I've wanted to attend for ages.
So lemme ask you...in the mind of the average man, this is just what friendship between dudes is supoosed to be like, right? We laugh, we have things in common, we're physically butchy, we cuss, and we talk about girls.
*skkrrrrxx*
Oh yeah, that's right did I mention that part? This is something we men seem to need to do. Talk about girls. Even when, as in my case, we're not actually sexually all that interested in them. So in the mind of my Con Buddy, I'm a single straight guy who makes a good and available friend.
And in MY mind, he's a single straight guy who is where I was when I was his age (just touching 40). He's had girlfriends like I have, (only in his case lived with one of them, and has had sex with more than one of them), and now has drifted back into singlehood by his own choice.
So of course, in my mind I've thought and hoped more than a little that all his overtures for friendship have been because he's attracted to me but doesn't want to be gay, but is just obeying his libido and not piling recriminations on himself. I want to believe he's going with his flow because life is too short, plus he's not learned how to live in the shadow of self-condemnation and fear religious judgment.
But.
Even if all that were true, I rediscovered the other day just how fearful I am of This Homo Life. Even with all the above hopes and beliefs about Con Buddy fully in place, when I had the opportunity to come out to him over dinner, after the gym, I didn't do it. It's not for lack of ability--I had the same conversation going with him that I had had with my Podcast Mancrush(es) when I came out to them. I knew what conversational road to go down in order to lead to the Homo Destination. But with Con Buddy, I breezed right past my stop.
Why did I do that? And, you might ask, why do I not plan to revisit that stop at all? I accept that he could be just like me; attracted and looking to be swept off his feet with his first passionate butch-kiss but has never had any homosexual relationships and doesn't really want to cross that line into that world and that identification. Which, since I've chosen that same path for myself, I respect. But if there's ever any chance to even briefly experiment, much less have a full-on same sex romantic relationship, he would be the guy to try it with.
Yet, I just can't. It's like bungee-jumping (do they still do that anymore?) If the cord breaks, I'm dead. Dead dead dead. And I've done just fine without it. And people who have tried it say it's a rush, and life-affirming and yadda yadda yadda. But the shit is scary.
So I'm content to just have a friend to do stuff with and go places with instead of being alone all the time. Even if I think he's handsome, I don't need to be kissed (wants aside). It feels safer just to have the human connection without complicating it with The Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name. I mean, hell, straight guys do it all the time, don't they? Why can't I?
And that's what's going on.
Of course, his offers have mostly concerned conventions. He booked us in the same hotel room down to the next con, and we're driving down together, and then the plans evolved to include others in on the trip and the hotel room.
Then lately, at the start of the year he wanted me to come with him to Yoga. (Didn't work out because he said he'd hurt his back, but I was going to go, dang it. Was going to show my feet and everything.) Then he wanted to meet up with more geeks when I did, here and abouts in the city. "Don't forget me!" said he. Then last week he wanted me to take him to a gym for a trial membership since he knows I go. Which I did, and afterwards we went out to eat. Tomorrow, we're going out to a small and regular comicbook social venue that I've wanted to attend for ages.
So lemme ask you...in the mind of the average man, this is just what friendship between dudes is supoosed to be like, right? We laugh, we have things in common, we're physically butchy, we cuss, and we talk about girls.
*skkrrrrxx*
Oh yeah, that's right did I mention that part? This is something we men seem to need to do. Talk about girls. Even when, as in my case, we're not actually sexually all that interested in them. So in the mind of my Con Buddy, I'm a single straight guy who makes a good and available friend.
And in MY mind, he's a single straight guy who is where I was when I was his age (just touching 40). He's had girlfriends like I have, (only in his case lived with one of them, and has had sex with more than one of them), and now has drifted back into singlehood by his own choice.
So of course, in my mind I've thought and hoped more than a little that all his overtures for friendship have been because he's attracted to me but doesn't want to be gay, but is just obeying his libido and not piling recriminations on himself. I want to believe he's going with his flow because life is too short, plus he's not learned how to live in the shadow of self-condemnation and fear religious judgment.
But.
Even if all that were true, I rediscovered the other day just how fearful I am of This Homo Life. Even with all the above hopes and beliefs about Con Buddy fully in place, when I had the opportunity to come out to him over dinner, after the gym, I didn't do it. It's not for lack of ability--I had the same conversation going with him that I had had with my Podcast Mancrush(es) when I came out to them. I knew what conversational road to go down in order to lead to the Homo Destination. But with Con Buddy, I breezed right past my stop.
Why did I do that? And, you might ask, why do I not plan to revisit that stop at all? I accept that he could be just like me; attracted and looking to be swept off his feet with his first passionate butch-kiss but has never had any homosexual relationships and doesn't really want to cross that line into that world and that identification. Which, since I've chosen that same path for myself, I respect. But if there's ever any chance to even briefly experiment, much less have a full-on same sex romantic relationship, he would be the guy to try it with.
Yet, I just can't. It's like bungee-jumping (do they still do that anymore?) If the cord breaks, I'm dead. Dead dead dead. And I've done just fine without it. And people who have tried it say it's a rush, and life-affirming and yadda yadda yadda. But the shit is scary.
So I'm content to just have a friend to do stuff with and go places with instead of being alone all the time. Even if I think he's handsome, I don't need to be kissed (wants aside). It feels safer just to have the human connection without complicating it with The Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name. I mean, hell, straight guys do it all the time, don't they? Why can't I?
And that's what's going on.
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.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Being Human
So, I haven't read Ned's blog since "Food Lion", which was about like two weeks ago. A little more. So I go over there today in consolation of not being able to chat with him at the moment, and I discover that he posted about dreams and the interconnectedness of dreamstate phenomena, etc. and then I stopped reading because his post was on the 26th and my post about my Hetereo Dreams was on the 27th. (Please refer to the fact that I hadn't read his blog for 2 plus weeks.) So I'm hoping that the time stamps are somehow jacked, either on his end or mine, because otherwise, right after he posted about dreams and the other-realm quality of them leading to ESP and stuff--I was moved, 700 miles away, to post about MY dream. And you can check the history of both our blogs. Do we post much about dreams at all?
So how weird is life?
Right. I'll tell you how weird.
So every once in a Wolf Moon a television show or a movie will breeze along and drown me in overidentification. Once it was the movie "Sideways," back when I lived with George, and once (way back) it was the TV series "Family Ties" when I realized I was the ghetto version of Alex P Keaton.
Haha. I'm so punny.
So the newest sensation is a TV show called "Being Human". It's a gritty treatise that starts with the tagline "So this werewolf, vampire, and ghost all live in this house..." What it's REALLY about is how hard it is to fit into society when you're not like them. At all. The vampire (who is a hot hairy little number that I'd think was more suited to be the werewolf) has stopped drinking blood and is running parlay between the vamps who still do. The werewolf (who is a right nerd--not geek though, mind you) infected his girlfriend last season and he's trying to life with the consequences of that--and so is she). And the ghost is trying to forget that she's dead and attempted in the first episode to have a job at a pub, get a boyfriend, and stuff and t'ing.
In great dramatic fashion, it all goes slightly sideways. It's a great show.
So I watched the second episode today, at the break of dawn because that's my sleeping schedule nowadays, and I realized how much I have in common with their theme.
Just two days ago I met up with two of my podcast mancrushes for a dinner of laughs and comicbook chatting goodness. Geeks Afire! We are SO not yer granddad's geeks anymore. Or at least, THEY aren't. And to the one, I had already personal messaged my confession of homoness, but on Friday I "came out" to the other. Which makes now 3 altogether out of this community of maybe 50 comicbook geeks.
And it was funny, but my new confidant, who was as cool with it as I'd hope he would be (having had a gay uncle in a 25yr-long relationship until his death, and being an atheist, and believing its purely biological, and realizing one of his three sons could be gay by sheer dint of the odds, and expressed that he and his wife would be perfectly fine with that) said to me pretty quickly "So are you dating?" This was after the rundown of how I "got here" and how I tried so long to fit in with religion and with girlfriend after girlfriend.
So, already feeling vulnerable and skittish, with the guts laid open like that on our 13 dollar burger plates, which he paid for btw, I told him what I was really thinking at that moment and...well generally feel actually. No I'm not dating. I doubt if I ever want to date. And he said, "Don't tell me something stupid like you're 'going to be celibate for the rest of your life'?"
And I thought, God, why do I have to be the one in this position right now?
And this morning I watched "Being Human" and saw these vampires, werewolves, and ghosts struggle for normalcy, and fail and fail and fail and I think again to myself--"I am so kidding myself. I will never be normal. I have never been normal. It won't ever be easy. I have never had it easy."
And at times like these, I feel the greatest despair. The most hopeless. The most prone to curl up somewhere and just fade away.
And really, that's all I wanted to say about that today.
Oh, and that I've lost 16 lbs since Jan 5th. Trying to get comparatively sexy in order to enter into the homosexual dating life that I'll never really do.
And so it goes.
So how weird is life?
Right. I'll tell you how weird.
So every once in a Wolf Moon a television show or a movie will breeze along and drown me in overidentification. Once it was the movie "Sideways," back when I lived with George, and once (way back) it was the TV series "Family Ties" when I realized I was the ghetto version of Alex P Keaton.
Haha. I'm so punny.
So the newest sensation is a TV show called "Being Human". It's a gritty treatise that starts with the tagline "So this werewolf, vampire, and ghost all live in this house..." What it's REALLY about is how hard it is to fit into society when you're not like them. At all. The vampire (who is a hot hairy little number that I'd think was more suited to be the werewolf) has stopped drinking blood and is running parlay between the vamps who still do. The werewolf (who is a right nerd--not geek though, mind you) infected his girlfriend last season and he's trying to life with the consequences of that--and so is she). And the ghost is trying to forget that she's dead and attempted in the first episode to have a job at a pub, get a boyfriend, and stuff and t'ing.
In great dramatic fashion, it all goes slightly sideways. It's a great show.
So I watched the second episode today, at the break of dawn because that's my sleeping schedule nowadays, and I realized how much I have in common with their theme.
Just two days ago I met up with two of my podcast mancrushes for a dinner of laughs and comicbook chatting goodness. Geeks Afire! We are SO not yer granddad's geeks anymore. Or at least, THEY aren't. And to the one, I had already personal messaged my confession of homoness, but on Friday I "came out" to the other. Which makes now 3 altogether out of this community of maybe 50 comicbook geeks.
And it was funny, but my new confidant, who was as cool with it as I'd hope he would be (having had a gay uncle in a 25yr-long relationship until his death, and being an atheist, and believing its purely biological, and realizing one of his three sons could be gay by sheer dint of the odds, and expressed that he and his wife would be perfectly fine with that) said to me pretty quickly "So are you dating?" This was after the rundown of how I "got here" and how I tried so long to fit in with religion and with girlfriend after girlfriend.
So, already feeling vulnerable and skittish, with the guts laid open like that on our 13 dollar burger plates, which he paid for btw, I told him what I was really thinking at that moment and...well generally feel actually. No I'm not dating. I doubt if I ever want to date. And he said, "Don't tell me something stupid like you're 'going to be celibate for the rest of your life'?"
And I thought, God, why do I have to be the one in this position right now?
And this morning I watched "Being Human" and saw these vampires, werewolves, and ghosts struggle for normalcy, and fail and fail and fail and I think again to myself--"I am so kidding myself. I will never be normal. I have never been normal. It won't ever be easy. I have never had it easy."
And at times like these, I feel the greatest despair. The most hopeless. The most prone to curl up somewhere and just fade away.
And really, that's all I wanted to say about that today.
Oh, and that I've lost 16 lbs since Jan 5th. Trying to get comparatively sexy in order to enter into the homosexual dating life that I'll never really do.
And so it goes.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
The Week To Come
So a few days ago, or maybe a few weeks ago (hello speeding train that is my life), I was made aware of ANOTHER small indie comics convention to take place next weekend. In the outer boroughs. That seems to be the kind of venue that Hunky Comics Geek might show up at, since that's what he did at the last two that I attended.
So guess what I'm doing next weekend? And guess why?
Again, I'm going to find out what's what. If he's arrow-straight I'll have very nothing to lose, except the potential to see him barechested. And even so, I still could if we became friends. Straight guys--well okay, GUYS--find some of the strangest reasons to strip their shirts off when they have something they're proud to show off. And if anyone has a reason to show it off, Hunky Comics Geek doth possess it.
What I am aware of is that I'm setting myself up for that familiar ol' heartache of unrequited lust. I'm not sure how else to interpret those long, on-the-edge-of-approach looks from him, but given humans, there could be dozens of alternative reasons.
I could look exactly like an old Army buddy of his.
He might have seen me at a previous convention when I was working the booth for My Hero, and given his build, he also is aiming towards being A Hero.
He could be a Blackophile, one of the rare breed of white folks who attribute the Black Man all these powers of unspoken cool and prowess, sight unseen. I do know a few guys who are this way and since I enjoy fulfilling a few myths AND I'm an Anglophile, we get along fine, no matter the fact that out of Black types, I'm WAY more Carlton than Fresh Prince.
But whatever the reason for the previous eyelocks, I have to know. His handsomeness & potential haunts me.
And in addition, let me put this out here too; if he's straight, then I'm putting myself in the same position position I've been in for ... well ... since I broke puberty at the hands of a pedophile at the tender age of 6. Pretty gross, right? So the fact remains that if he IS gay, and DOES want me--there's no guarantee that I'll capitulate. I've considered over and over again, and the evidence is in, that I'm just not ever going to be sexually active with a consenting adult, male or female. Too repressed/haunted/scarred to be with a dude and not turned on enough to be with a lady.
I have waves of time when I'm okay with that. It's my comfort zone and intellectualism is my defense mechanism, with a liberal dose of compartmentalization. I have my comics for rollicking fun, the internet for my online conversations, I live in NYC for my culutural infusion of cool, and the audioworks that I love. My career is about to get ALL the way on track, I'm about to get a job that keeps me in NYC and frees me up to pursue the PhD, and I didn't die of a massive coronary at 36 like my friend did the week before Thanksgiving.
I said I wasn't happy before, but right now, with the future looking a little brighter...well I'm not UNhappy right now. So if Hunky Comic Geek wants me ... in THAT way ... there's no guarantee of a happy ending. Pun intended. Or if he DOESN'T want me. It's all just another chapter in This Redeemable Life.
With many more to come!
NO pun intended.
So guess what I'm doing next weekend? And guess why?
Again, I'm going to find out what's what. If he's arrow-straight I'll have very nothing to lose, except the potential to see him barechested. And even so, I still could if we became friends. Straight guys--well okay, GUYS--find some of the strangest reasons to strip their shirts off when they have something they're proud to show off. And if anyone has a reason to show it off, Hunky Comics Geek doth possess it.
What I am aware of is that I'm setting myself up for that familiar ol' heartache of unrequited lust. I'm not sure how else to interpret those long, on-the-edge-of-approach looks from him, but given humans, there could be dozens of alternative reasons.
I could look exactly like an old Army buddy of his.
He might have seen me at a previous convention when I was working the booth for My Hero, and given his build, he also is aiming towards being A Hero.
He could be a Blackophile, one of the rare breed of white folks who attribute the Black Man all these powers of unspoken cool and prowess, sight unseen. I do know a few guys who are this way and since I enjoy fulfilling a few myths AND I'm an Anglophile, we get along fine, no matter the fact that out of Black types, I'm WAY more Carlton than Fresh Prince.
But whatever the reason for the previous eyelocks, I have to know. His handsomeness & potential haunts me.
And in addition, let me put this out here too; if he's straight, then I'm putting myself in the same position position I've been in for ... well ... since I broke puberty at the hands of a pedophile at the tender age of 6. Pretty gross, right? So the fact remains that if he IS gay, and DOES want me--there's no guarantee that I'll capitulate. I've considered over and over again, and the evidence is in, that I'm just not ever going to be sexually active with a consenting adult, male or female. Too repressed/haunted/scarred to be with a dude and not turned on enough to be with a lady.
I have waves of time when I'm okay with that. It's my comfort zone and intellectualism is my defense mechanism, with a liberal dose of compartmentalization. I have my comics for rollicking fun, the internet for my online conversations, I live in NYC for my culutural infusion of cool, and the audioworks that I love. My career is about to get ALL the way on track, I'm about to get a job that keeps me in NYC and frees me up to pursue the PhD, and I didn't die of a massive coronary at 36 like my friend did the week before Thanksgiving.
I said I wasn't happy before, but right now, with the future looking a little brighter...well I'm not UNhappy right now. So if Hunky Comic Geek wants me ... in THAT way ... there's no guarantee of a happy ending. Pun intended. Or if he DOESN'T want me. It's all just another chapter in This Redeemable Life.
With many more to come!
NO pun intended.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
In Other News
I haven't had a crying jag in WEEKS! I used to about every week or so, on the way to work when I have to go down to Edison. Just a miasma of sadness sitting in my chest until it runs over. Of course I'd help it along with "Home" from The Wiz or "Be A Lion" from the same.
Yesterday on the street a fella was walking towards me, fitting my ideal description. Bald, built, and ringless. I made eyecontact and I allowed myself to smile--I allow my face to show what I'm feeling. And may I say I do this a lot anymore. I'm already looking, so if they see me looking, why not send them a smile? I'm not trying to hurt them and my intentions are pure. I like what I see, that's all. So I smile and then I re-occupy myself with whatever I was doing before I looked. Well, this guy yesterday returned eyecontact and the smile. And then zoom, we went past each other and it was over.
So now that I'm all gay and whatnot, how does it go to the next step? What does one man say to another man without the slightest idea (okay, there is the SLIGHTEST idea) that the other is available and interested?
Last night I wrote an email to a gay feller who I though was hot. I found him on a site that advertises such things. He lives in New York City. And I asked him the same question. We'll see if he cares one way or the other. He probably gets dozens of e-mails, and surely most of them hot guys do. But Since he put his stuff on the web for attention and solicitation, I figured I'd give it a shot. Maybe an intelligent conversation can be found out there? Maybe I can find a Gay Ned who looks like Jason Statham, lol!
So yeah, I'm not whining about it anymore. I'm doing something about it. I'm going to see what's up.
Yesterday on the street a fella was walking towards me, fitting my ideal description. Bald, built, and ringless. I made eyecontact and I allowed myself to smile--I allow my face to show what I'm feeling. And may I say I do this a lot anymore. I'm already looking, so if they see me looking, why not send them a smile? I'm not trying to hurt them and my intentions are pure. I like what I see, that's all. So I smile and then I re-occupy myself with whatever I was doing before I looked. Well, this guy yesterday returned eyecontact and the smile. And then zoom, we went past each other and it was over.
So now that I'm all gay and whatnot, how does it go to the next step? What does one man say to another man without the slightest idea (okay, there is the SLIGHTEST idea) that the other is available and interested?
Last night I wrote an email to a gay feller who I though was hot. I found him on a site that advertises such things. He lives in New York City. And I asked him the same question. We'll see if he cares one way or the other. He probably gets dozens of e-mails, and surely most of them hot guys do. But Since he put his stuff on the web for attention and solicitation, I figured I'd give it a shot. Maybe an intelligent conversation can be found out there? Maybe I can find a Gay Ned who looks like Jason Statham, lol!
So yeah, I'm not whining about it anymore. I'm doing something about it. I'm going to see what's up.
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.
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?
Sunday, May 4, 2008
So Much For Normal...
T-Minus three hours and 45 minutes. And counting.
When I told My Hero about this date, I told him the circumstances and he gave me an AWESOME idea, which reminded me why he's My Hero. So here are pics of what I'm bringing to the date.
This is based of the following;
1) My geek side that I can/will not hide
2) She asked to meet up based on my asking her to show me the pics of her trip
3) This is the standard uniform of Xavier's Academy where dwelleth mutants;
So now I'm excited, if only to see this girl's expression when I show it to her. Even if she bursts out laughing, I feel great about how good this idea was, and that I made a nice picture again after years of not drawing. In Geekdom, there is comfort.
Minutes ago, my boss called me to tell me that a client in my day job passed away this morning. This client was a guy who was in an activity I was involved in called "The Couples Group." Don't think the irony was lost on me. Many a time I headed towards the meeting thinking, "WTF am I doing?" The client always came with his girlfriend, if not wife (I was never too sure, but they were that old and that close). They both rode wheelchairs and had a hard time speaking due to their disabilities. There wasn't much they could do physically, but they could express their devotion to one another. He was the most vocal one of the group and he made the best sense. He'd say things to the others that I couldn't say because he was in a relationship and I wasn't. Of course, I wouldn't tell anyone this because I was one of the group facilitators, but I often looked at him and thought, "Dude. If with all your challenges, you could find love and keep it, then surely I should try."
Now he's passed away and here I am trying. Dennis, this one's for you my friend.
PS; When I cut it out and laminate it, it becomes a bookmark.
When I told My Hero about this date, I told him the circumstances and he gave me an AWESOME idea, which reminded me why he's My Hero. So here are pics of what I'm bringing to the date.
This is based of the following;
1) My geek side that I can/will not hide
2) She asked to meet up based on my asking her to show me the pics of her trip
3) This is the standard uniform of Xavier's Academy where dwelleth mutants;
So now I'm excited, if only to see this girl's expression when I show it to her. Even if she bursts out laughing, I feel great about how good this idea was, and that I made a nice picture again after years of not drawing. In Geekdom, there is comfort.
Minutes ago, my boss called me to tell me that a client in my day job passed away this morning. This client was a guy who was in an activity I was involved in called "The Couples Group." Don't think the irony was lost on me. Many a time I headed towards the meeting thinking, "WTF am I doing?" The client always came with his girlfriend, if not wife (I was never too sure, but they were that old and that close). They both rode wheelchairs and had a hard time speaking due to their disabilities. There wasn't much they could do physically, but they could express their devotion to one another. He was the most vocal one of the group and he made the best sense. He'd say things to the others that I couldn't say because he was in a relationship and I wasn't. Of course, I wouldn't tell anyone this because I was one of the group facilitators, but I often looked at him and thought, "Dude. If with all your challenges, you could find love and keep it, then surely I should try."
Now he's passed away and here I am trying. Dennis, this one's for you my friend.
PS; When I cut it out and laminate it, it becomes a bookmark.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Got Me A New Toy Today--
--so I decided to give another crack at it.
In doing so I discovered the following--
1) Good lighting helps wonders.
2) Sucking in the gut and twisting the body gives you that "come-get-some" stance.
3) I'm only 5% as confident as I look in the picture. These three were the best out of, literally, about 50.
Now, if I lose 15 more lbs, I won't have to suck in the gut as much, if at all. I want to be able to actually take off the shirt and look as good as I think I do here. I think if I think I look good, then others will think so too. It'll be a matter of self-confidence, not actual physical attributes. Yet, I feel like I must have certain physical attributes to look good.
I'm fully aware this is my somewhat shallow opinion. But it's my preference. Guys with guts, and eight-hundred other different attributes that don't alert my inner gay man get girlfriends, wives, and sometimes both, all the time. So I know it isn't a universal that a man must look the way I want to look in order to be successfully paired with The Love Of His Life.
But while I'm waiting to find Her -- I might as well stick to it.
But, in other related news--I've decided that Saturday and Sunday are my allowed days for sweets. I decided that at 1:30 AM Saturday morning when coming home from the Friday D&D game in midtown Manhattan. So much for obsessive ... :-)
And on, on and on, and on and on...
In doing so I discovered the following--
1) Good lighting helps wonders.
2) Sucking in the gut and twisting the body gives you that "come-get-some" stance.
3) I'm only 5% as confident as I look in the picture. These three were the best out of, literally, about 50.
Now, if I lose 15 more lbs, I won't have to suck in the gut as much, if at all. I want to be able to actually take off the shirt and look as good as I think I do here. I think if I think I look good, then others will think so too. It'll be a matter of self-confidence, not actual physical attributes. Yet, I feel like I must have certain physical attributes to look good.
I'm fully aware this is my somewhat shallow opinion. But it's my preference. Guys with guts, and eight-hundred other different attributes that don't alert my inner gay man get girlfriends, wives, and sometimes both, all the time. So I know it isn't a universal that a man must look the way I want to look in order to be successfully paired with The Love Of His Life.
But while I'm waiting to find Her -- I might as well stick to it.
But, in other related news--I've decided that Saturday and Sunday are my allowed days for sweets. I decided that at 1:30 AM Saturday morning when coming home from the Friday D&D game in midtown Manhattan. So much for obsessive ... :-)
And on, on and on, and on and on...
Sunday, October 21, 2007
I've Eaten My Last Choclate Chip Cookie Today
...because I'm tired of looking at these body-perfect men and feeling like a troll. I'm on my way to the body I want to have, but I keep sabotaging myself with sweets. I'd gotten up to 212 lbs. when I worked at Starbucks, due to the sweets I'd scarfed, and I got down to 185 last year by cutting them all out.
Time to do it again. And this time keep it off. (I've only gotten back up to 190, but still---)
Today I went out to Central Park for a jog after yesterday's debauchery. Yes, yesterday I ate like a condemned man. I dunno what was pushing me, but I had ColdStone ice cream in the morning and Mrs. Fields cookies last night. I had gone out twice yesterday into my city. I had finally got the courage to climb the stairs to the karaoke place at St. Mark's only to find that someone was being lazy and hadn't opened the joint up on time. So I had pizza instead. Then ice cream.
Last night on the way back from Mrs Fields (yes, when I binge, I actually take the train down to 42nd St Port Authority and get the cookies. It's the only one on Manhattan that is open after 10:00 on a Saturday night.) And then I went to Dallas BBQ up a little ways on 42nd, and got some pulled pork. I was out of my head with binge. The New Employee is driving me to eat, it must be.
Interestingly enough, I was wearing my new jeans, a GAP sweater v-neck, no undershirt, and a suede suit jacket. I have finally gotten a 'professional' haircut last week as well. So I'm looking a'ight last night, right? Then while waiting for my pork, a trio of nighthopping girls stood before me. One girl was rail-thin, but wearing a black corset. Her skin was the color of burnished wood. While they discussed whether they would eat at the restaurant, or go locate the Friday's nearby, the rail-thin girl looks at me. Then she smiled a little bit. And I smiled back. I mean, I smiled as though I was working at the B&N cafe. I smiled with confidence. She was checking me out. And I was checking her out too. Then they left. And my pork came. And that was that.
But can I tell you that it felt good to hold my own, as a man, in today's meat market?
Anyway, on the way back, with BBQ on my lap, the A trains went crazy on me. At 155th St, the first one decided, via train operator, that 168th would be its' last stop. But my last stop was 207th! It was 1:00 AM at this point. So it dumped us onto the platform at 168th with the promise that another A train was going to come and take us to 207th shortly.
For 1 AM, there sure were a lot of abandoned people on that platform. I had been eyeing a couple who had gotten onboard way back at 42nd street, where I had. The woman was in her twenties and she had an ample, Botticelli figure. A little less than that. Her dude was a thinnish guy--nothing special to rouse the homo in me. She had a nice cleavage hiding away between the wide lapels of a knit sweater. Her blond streaked hair was tucked up in a bun and her lavish eyes were hidden behind a schoolmarm's glasses. Then just like a schoolmarm, she took two books out of her bag, one for herself and one for her man. She then took out a pair of glasses for her man to use as well. And for one hundred and twenty-six blocks they read their perspective books in silence. I watched and I watched as they read. I had to consciously turn my head because I felt obsessed.
There had been something in that amazing gesture. She carries his glasses and his book. They have their routine. "We get on the subway, and we ride for a long time," I could imagine her saying, "So I bring along our books to read, and I have to hold on to his glasses or else he'll forget them."
To me, that's love.
She seemed gentle and nurturing. She had even buried her cleavage at one point, tucking her sweater closed. After a while, they both grew sleepy, so she put away their books and his glasses, tucked her arm under his, and nestled her head on his shoulder to nap away the remainder of the trip. He too, cradled her head with his own.
Love... until the A train kicked us off at 168th!
The train that came to complete our journey was not "shortly". It took fifteen minutes to show up. And then it had the nerve to take us only one stop up the line before that operator told us it had to wait for track construction and a southbound train to pass on the remaining track.
After the fourth such announcement in the next fifteen minutes, I bolted. The operator was lying to me.
I've discovered that I hate being lied to. So much so that I couldn't sit another minute, listening to the excuses. There was no southbound train arriving to let us go forward, or else it would have come. The operator was feeding us tales to keep us calm. It backfired. I launched out of the subway with a stream of under-my-breath curses. I could have sat there longer, or even have taken a nap, seeing how late it was and how many cookies I had eaten already, if only that idiot would not have lied to me. So I got mad and went up into the night.
And there was The Schoolmarm and Her Guy! They had left the train below too! Only, whereas they caught a cab--I walked 46 blocks home. Next time, I need to remember that the buses stop running after 1 AM, and that I hate giving unnecessary money to cabs more than I hate lying train conductors.
I ate my BBQ on the way.
So today, I knew I had to go to The Park and jog. And soon as I get there, on this beautiful, amazing, 71 degree, cloudless day--here comes Underwear Model Man jogging shirtless toward me. There were hundreds of others around too, and dozens of other joggers, but this guy became the center of the universe for the seconds it took to get out of my range of vision. I don't really know if he models underwear, but he had the physique and good looks for it.
What gets me is the very real possibility that he isn't a model. That he's just some white guy with crazy good looks who maybe works in some bank or some law firm, who takes care of himself, goes out to beer with the guys after work (Miller Lite, of course), and has some boringly normal girlfriend that he lives with. That he's just a normal Joe with good genetics that he enhances by jogging, taking care of himself, and doesn't freaking binge eats Mrs. Field's freakin' cookies at 1 AM in the morning!!! There are so many of these Joes.
And that's why I've eaten my last cookie--I'm a Joe, too, dammit! It's time for my turn to jog with no shirt on!!
Time to do it again. And this time keep it off. (I've only gotten back up to 190, but still---)
Today I went out to Central Park for a jog after yesterday's debauchery. Yes, yesterday I ate like a condemned man. I dunno what was pushing me, but I had ColdStone ice cream in the morning and Mrs. Fields cookies last night. I had gone out twice yesterday into my city. I had finally got the courage to climb the stairs to the karaoke place at St. Mark's only to find that someone was being lazy and hadn't opened the joint up on time. So I had pizza instead. Then ice cream.
Last night on the way back from Mrs Fields (yes, when I binge, I actually take the train down to 42nd St Port Authority and get the cookies. It's the only one on Manhattan that is open after 10:00 on a Saturday night.) And then I went to Dallas BBQ up a little ways on 42nd, and got some pulled pork. I was out of my head with binge. The New Employee is driving me to eat, it must be.
Interestingly enough, I was wearing my new jeans, a GAP sweater v-neck, no undershirt, and a suede suit jacket. I have finally gotten a 'professional' haircut last week as well. So I'm looking a'ight last night, right? Then while waiting for my pork, a trio of nighthopping girls stood before me. One girl was rail-thin, but wearing a black corset. Her skin was the color of burnished wood. While they discussed whether they would eat at the restaurant, or go locate the Friday's nearby, the rail-thin girl looks at me. Then she smiled a little bit. And I smiled back. I mean, I smiled as though I was working at the B&N cafe. I smiled with confidence. She was checking me out. And I was checking her out too. Then they left. And my pork came. And that was that.
But can I tell you that it felt good to hold my own, as a man, in today's meat market?
Anyway, on the way back, with BBQ on my lap, the A trains went crazy on me. At 155th St, the first one decided, via train operator, that 168th would be its' last stop. But my last stop was 207th! It was 1:00 AM at this point. So it dumped us onto the platform at 168th with the promise that another A train was going to come and take us to 207th shortly.
For 1 AM, there sure were a lot of abandoned people on that platform. I had been eyeing a couple who had gotten onboard way back at 42nd street, where I had. The woman was in her twenties and she had an ample, Botticelli figure. A little less than that. Her dude was a thinnish guy--nothing special to rouse the homo in me. She had a nice cleavage hiding away between the wide lapels of a knit sweater. Her blond streaked hair was tucked up in a bun and her lavish eyes were hidden behind a schoolmarm's glasses. Then just like a schoolmarm, she took two books out of her bag, one for herself and one for her man. She then took out a pair of glasses for her man to use as well. And for one hundred and twenty-six blocks they read their perspective books in silence. I watched and I watched as they read. I had to consciously turn my head because I felt obsessed.
There had been something in that amazing gesture. She carries his glasses and his book. They have their routine. "We get on the subway, and we ride for a long time," I could imagine her saying, "So I bring along our books to read, and I have to hold on to his glasses or else he'll forget them."
To me, that's love.
She seemed gentle and nurturing. She had even buried her cleavage at one point, tucking her sweater closed. After a while, they both grew sleepy, so she put away their books and his glasses, tucked her arm under his, and nestled her head on his shoulder to nap away the remainder of the trip. He too, cradled her head with his own.
Love... until the A train kicked us off at 168th!
The train that came to complete our journey was not "shortly". It took fifteen minutes to show up. And then it had the nerve to take us only one stop up the line before that operator told us it had to wait for track construction and a southbound train to pass on the remaining track.
After the fourth such announcement in the next fifteen minutes, I bolted. The operator was lying to me.
I've discovered that I hate being lied to. So much so that I couldn't sit another minute, listening to the excuses. There was no southbound train arriving to let us go forward, or else it would have come. The operator was feeding us tales to keep us calm. It backfired. I launched out of the subway with a stream of under-my-breath curses. I could have sat there longer, or even have taken a nap, seeing how late it was and how many cookies I had eaten already, if only that idiot would not have lied to me. So I got mad and went up into the night.
And there was The Schoolmarm and Her Guy! They had left the train below too! Only, whereas they caught a cab--I walked 46 blocks home. Next time, I need to remember that the buses stop running after 1 AM, and that I hate giving unnecessary money to cabs more than I hate lying train conductors.
I ate my BBQ on the way.
So today, I knew I had to go to The Park and jog. And soon as I get there, on this beautiful, amazing, 71 degree, cloudless day--here comes Underwear Model Man jogging shirtless toward me. There were hundreds of others around too, and dozens of other joggers, but this guy became the center of the universe for the seconds it took to get out of my range of vision. I don't really know if he models underwear, but he had the physique and good looks for it.
What gets me is the very real possibility that he isn't a model. That he's just some white guy with crazy good looks who maybe works in some bank or some law firm, who takes care of himself, goes out to beer with the guys after work (Miller Lite, of course), and has some boringly normal girlfriend that he lives with. That he's just a normal Joe with good genetics that he enhances by jogging, taking care of himself, and doesn't freaking binge eats Mrs. Field's freakin' cookies at 1 AM in the morning!!! There are so many of these Joes.
And that's why I've eaten my last cookie--I'm a Joe, too, dammit! It's time for my turn to jog with no shirt on!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)