Wow. Is It EVERYONE At Pixar??

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fish Out Of Water

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was the day I renamed my blog.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Officially Kicked The 4th's ASS Today!

I mean I had a GREAT day!

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


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



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

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

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

Let's see what happens tomorrow!

All The Sweet Green Icing

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



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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


See you tomorrow.

The Art of Being Alone

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

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

This is both my safety net and my bigger hindrance.

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

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

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

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

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

Still Mad

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

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

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

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

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

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum

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

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

Well, I've made some changes too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's my personal business.

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

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

So fuck them.

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

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

And I'm dealing.

And I will win.

One day.