Hello all,
I know living at home must seem like a glamorous care free thing, and....it's not so bad. The only thing I really miss is my alone time(clearly that's not the only thing, but you understand). Every morning after I get dressed in the bathroom after my shower while I'm putting on my socks I have a seat on the toilet lid and put on my socks. It is at this time that I can pretend that I have a place of my own and I collect my thoughts. Yes, wearing my superstore garb and for only about 3 min I think of where I'm going in my life, how I fucked up a lil' here and there; that and how the toilet is sinking into the floor behind it and those stains on the carpet are coming from the cracks beneath it. It's a little gross the more I think about it, but at 7 am I have bigger worries, so I just enjoy the quiet.
More to come I promise, seriously, probably. I'm applying for grad schools and trying to lead a proactive life so inevitably I'll procrastinate and and shoot myself in the foot by wasting time writing on my blog instead of being productive.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
Gay Camping
Hello all,
A few weeks ago I was invited to go camping with my friend Mr. C. As you know, I am no camper, I was raised in a farming family of sorts, but as an adult I hate the sun, heat, bugs, being dirty/smelly, eating crappy food, pretending to like neighbors, being out doors in general, and all things encompassing the concept of “roughing it”. He said that I could only come for the after noon and evening, they had a pool, he would feed me well, pay for my gas, and did I mention that it was gay camping? I was there in 2 shakes of a lamb’s tail.
Gay camping? Gay camping. I wasn’t entirely sure what this all entailed but as far as I could imagine it would involve fun pool games (me wearing spf 100+, but I’ve been working out so I want to reap the fruits of my loom), doing impressions of Patti LuPone in Gypsy, and romantic mishaps with smoores. That is totally up my alley.
How wrong I was.
First of all, you think you might know where B.F.E. is, but I assure you that you have no idea until you find out where a Midwestern state hides a gay campground. I was an hour late and had to stop by some shack in a tight T-shirt and swim trunks to ask some hill jack where the gay campground was. He was very polite though, my beef is not with him.
I finally found the place, the name of the campground was nowhere in sight but there was a sign “Four Seasons” which was not the name of the camp. I asked Mr. C and the check in man, Bill, if this campground was also called the Four Seasons. They both said no stating that the sign is just there and a reference point. I said, “Don’t you think that it might be a good idea to properly advertise your campgrounds and put appropriate signage on the roads?” They both said no and I fell a little deeper down the rabbit hole.
When you check in you get a set of rules:
1. There are designated areas for public nudity and please be respectful of those participating.
2. There are designated areas for adventurous sexual conduct and please be respectful of those participating.
3. No women allowed.
4. The front gates lock at 10.
5. Leave your attitude and drama at the door.
Ok. I understand. I’m a gay male, an ADULT gay male; exploring certain venues of adult sexual behavior is perfectly natural. I’ve seen the movies, I know how this works. Play it cool and it’ll be an interesting and informative afternoon…..and I might even get some.
I did not.
After I dropped off my things at the campsite, I was given the grand tour. On the driveway into the pool there was an old jacuzzi that had been turned into a planter with a fern that was struggling for life in it; that was where any charm that could possibly exist at this place ended. Next came the pool, that I’m sure in the brochure looks enormous, in real life was a small size originally and from what I gather the campgrounds was low on money, so where the pool should start off the deck there was 4 ft of cement and then finally the pool started. More than 10 strangers or so in there would be VERY uncomfortable.
We walked around and said hello to all of out fellow campers. Mr. C told me that everyone is always so nice and inviting here and especially at this time of the year which was Christmas in July. So as we popped into the tableaus of our neighboring gay men and I realized that there was a trend evolving here. Big, hairy, old. Each person, other than me, had one if not all of these attributes. The naked people by the pool, the men by the campfire, everyone. Big, hairy, old. God damn it!
Also, the more people we talked to I realized that everyone was not as inviting as what Mr. C had said, the truth of the matter was; he would pop into everyone’s day and ask them inane questions and force his answers on them. I could identify with their conflict. I had been duped into a horrid gay frolic with this clown and now I was in for the whole day.
After the initial shock of the inhabitants wore off we continued on our tour. We went to a place called the “Chicken Coop” which, believe it or not, used to be an actual chicken coop and is now home to a mid size TV playing a 70’s porno on loop and a leather sling affixed to the ceiling. There are also chairs circling these 2 main events encouraging a group effort when needed.
Up next was “Squalor Hallow”, which they pronounced “Haller”. It is a nook covered completely in trees so that any shady acts are apropos. In the back corner of the hallow is a 7ft tall picket fence circling a picnic table that is missing one side of its bench. This is called “Fort Dicks”, friends and strangers alike go there for orgies, threesomes, and new encounters. The muddy ground was patted down by feet and lube and I threw up a little in my mouth.
The tour was concluded with a walk around the pond-there is a short path and a long path, both of which included various coves and nooks to stop off and have sex with a soul mate you met 3 min prior. On the way back to our campsite we walked past the luxury campers and RVs inhabited by older gay couples that were smart enough to come in style but still dumb enough to come. Seriously, we live in Indiana, it gets cold. Why would you spend so much money on a camping accessory that you could only use part of the year? I’m sure there’s a reason, but I was too pissed to be interested.
After a quick bite I decided to make the most out of the situation and head to the pool with Mr. C and his friends-all bears. They hopped in first and as I disrobed (WITH my trunks on!!) and stepped into the pool they all looked at me drop jawed. That was really all I needed. Yes it was going to be a crappy day but damn it I was going to be the hottest one there. After about 15 sec of amazement they dug in.
Bear 1: “Wow, you’re so pale!”
Me: “I like to say ‘fare’.”
Bear 2: “Uh God, you need to eat something!”
Me: “Um, I just ate thank you, and if I eat too much I think I would get fat. Isn’t that how it works?”
Bear 3: “Oh, how cute…..your nipples are so….pink. HA HA HA HA!”
Me: “Well, at least you can see mine. I didn’t know that a pool was an appropriate place to wear a sweater…….oh.”
Those bitches were just jealous of what I got!
After a while I stepped into the bathroom to get away for a minute and use the facilities-no, I’m not going in the woods! As I was washing my hands a black man came in and stood in front of a urinal but wasn’t peeing. He kept on starring at me and eventually said hello. I conversed until eventually he said.
“Man, you are so hot.”
“Oh, thank you.” I said as I dried off my hands.
“Man, you have a great ass.”
“Oh, thank you.” From being a dancer I get this a lot.
“Can I touch it.” In a club I’ve been given a nice pat and it’s no big deal, I worked hard for that ass and if someone wants to give it a little pinch every now and then I commonly don’t mind, so I said, “Um, ok”
He came over with his pants still unzipped from the urinal and began to grope my thighs and butt. I was a little in shock and up against a sink, I could not move. He got increasingly more aggressive and started to put his hands down my pants, constantly saying, “Mmmm, oh yeah, this is good.”
I know this MAY actually be categorized as molestation, but I tried to be adult about it and find courteous window out of this situation….just so you know, there isn’t one. After a min or so, Mr. C walked into the restroom and the black guy closed up shop and left in quite a rush. I thanked Mr. C for coming in because I couldn’t get this guy off of me. He said that he thought that I was enjoying it and just came in to watch. (WTF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
I went back to the campsite to get changed out of my wet trunks and by the time I had come back to the pool Mr. C had told the other Bears what had happened (that I was hooking up with a black stallion in the bathroom!!!) and they all looked at me like I was a slut. I did not and I am not and that was not the story. They were surprised that I wanted to leave in such a hurry and were a little offended by my impression of the place. They looked at gay camping as a fun romp with like minded individuals for a long weekend in the great outdoors. I looked at it as a white trash sex club in a field for fat, hairy, low class men where I was looked down upon for being ADORABLE and then molested in the bathroom!!!
I will not be going back.
A few weeks ago I was invited to go camping with my friend Mr. C. As you know, I am no camper, I was raised in a farming family of sorts, but as an adult I hate the sun, heat, bugs, being dirty/smelly, eating crappy food, pretending to like neighbors, being out doors in general, and all things encompassing the concept of “roughing it”. He said that I could only come for the after noon and evening, they had a pool, he would feed me well, pay for my gas, and did I mention that it was gay camping? I was there in 2 shakes of a lamb’s tail.
Gay camping? Gay camping. I wasn’t entirely sure what this all entailed but as far as I could imagine it would involve fun pool games (me wearing spf 100+, but I’ve been working out so I want to reap the fruits of my loom), doing impressions of Patti LuPone in Gypsy, and romantic mishaps with smoores. That is totally up my alley.
How wrong I was.
First of all, you think you might know where B.F.E. is, but I assure you that you have no idea until you find out where a Midwestern state hides a gay campground. I was an hour late and had to stop by some shack in a tight T-shirt and swim trunks to ask some hill jack where the gay campground was. He was very polite though, my beef is not with him.
I finally found the place, the name of the campground was nowhere in sight but there was a sign “Four Seasons” which was not the name of the camp. I asked Mr. C and the check in man, Bill, if this campground was also called the Four Seasons. They both said no stating that the sign is just there and a reference point. I said, “Don’t you think that it might be a good idea to properly advertise your campgrounds and put appropriate signage on the roads?” They both said no and I fell a little deeper down the rabbit hole.
When you check in you get a set of rules:
1. There are designated areas for public nudity and please be respectful of those participating.
2. There are designated areas for adventurous sexual conduct and please be respectful of those participating.
3. No women allowed.
4. The front gates lock at 10.
5. Leave your attitude and drama at the door.
Ok. I understand. I’m a gay male, an ADULT gay male; exploring certain venues of adult sexual behavior is perfectly natural. I’ve seen the movies, I know how this works. Play it cool and it’ll be an interesting and informative afternoon…..and I might even get some.
I did not.
After I dropped off my things at the campsite, I was given the grand tour. On the driveway into the pool there was an old jacuzzi that had been turned into a planter with a fern that was struggling for life in it; that was where any charm that could possibly exist at this place ended. Next came the pool, that I’m sure in the brochure looks enormous, in real life was a small size originally and from what I gather the campgrounds was low on money, so where the pool should start off the deck there was 4 ft of cement and then finally the pool started. More than 10 strangers or so in there would be VERY uncomfortable.
We walked around and said hello to all of out fellow campers. Mr. C told me that everyone is always so nice and inviting here and especially at this time of the year which was Christmas in July. So as we popped into the tableaus of our neighboring gay men and I realized that there was a trend evolving here. Big, hairy, old. Each person, other than me, had one if not all of these attributes. The naked people by the pool, the men by the campfire, everyone. Big, hairy, old. God damn it!
Also, the more people we talked to I realized that everyone was not as inviting as what Mr. C had said, the truth of the matter was; he would pop into everyone’s day and ask them inane questions and force his answers on them. I could identify with their conflict. I had been duped into a horrid gay frolic with this clown and now I was in for the whole day.
After the initial shock of the inhabitants wore off we continued on our tour. We went to a place called the “Chicken Coop” which, believe it or not, used to be an actual chicken coop and is now home to a mid size TV playing a 70’s porno on loop and a leather sling affixed to the ceiling. There are also chairs circling these 2 main events encouraging a group effort when needed.
Up next was “Squalor Hallow”, which they pronounced “Haller”. It is a nook covered completely in trees so that any shady acts are apropos. In the back corner of the hallow is a 7ft tall picket fence circling a picnic table that is missing one side of its bench. This is called “Fort Dicks”, friends and strangers alike go there for orgies, threesomes, and new encounters. The muddy ground was patted down by feet and lube and I threw up a little in my mouth.
The tour was concluded with a walk around the pond-there is a short path and a long path, both of which included various coves and nooks to stop off and have sex with a soul mate you met 3 min prior. On the way back to our campsite we walked past the luxury campers and RVs inhabited by older gay couples that were smart enough to come in style but still dumb enough to come. Seriously, we live in Indiana, it gets cold. Why would you spend so much money on a camping accessory that you could only use part of the year? I’m sure there’s a reason, but I was too pissed to be interested.
After a quick bite I decided to make the most out of the situation and head to the pool with Mr. C and his friends-all bears. They hopped in first and as I disrobed (WITH my trunks on!!) and stepped into the pool they all looked at me drop jawed. That was really all I needed. Yes it was going to be a crappy day but damn it I was going to be the hottest one there. After about 15 sec of amazement they dug in.
Bear 1: “Wow, you’re so pale!”
Me: “I like to say ‘fare’.”
Bear 2: “Uh God, you need to eat something!”
Me: “Um, I just ate thank you, and if I eat too much I think I would get fat. Isn’t that how it works?”
Bear 3: “Oh, how cute…..your nipples are so….pink. HA HA HA HA!”
Me: “Well, at least you can see mine. I didn’t know that a pool was an appropriate place to wear a sweater…….oh.”
Those bitches were just jealous of what I got!
After a while I stepped into the bathroom to get away for a minute and use the facilities-no, I’m not going in the woods! As I was washing my hands a black man came in and stood in front of a urinal but wasn’t peeing. He kept on starring at me and eventually said hello. I conversed until eventually he said.
“Man, you are so hot.”
“Oh, thank you.” I said as I dried off my hands.
“Man, you have a great ass.”
“Oh, thank you.” From being a dancer I get this a lot.
“Can I touch it.” In a club I’ve been given a nice pat and it’s no big deal, I worked hard for that ass and if someone wants to give it a little pinch every now and then I commonly don’t mind, so I said, “Um, ok”
He came over with his pants still unzipped from the urinal and began to grope my thighs and butt. I was a little in shock and up against a sink, I could not move. He got increasingly more aggressive and started to put his hands down my pants, constantly saying, “Mmmm, oh yeah, this is good.”
I know this MAY actually be categorized as molestation, but I tried to be adult about it and find courteous window out of this situation….just so you know, there isn’t one. After a min or so, Mr. C walked into the restroom and the black guy closed up shop and left in quite a rush. I thanked Mr. C for coming in because I couldn’t get this guy off of me. He said that he thought that I was enjoying it and just came in to watch. (WTF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
I went back to the campsite to get changed out of my wet trunks and by the time I had come back to the pool Mr. C had told the other Bears what had happened (that I was hooking up with a black stallion in the bathroom!!!) and they all looked at me like I was a slut. I did not and I am not and that was not the story. They were surprised that I wanted to leave in such a hurry and were a little offended by my impression of the place. They looked at gay camping as a fun romp with like minded individuals for a long weekend in the great outdoors. I looked at it as a white trash sex club in a field for fat, hairy, low class men where I was looked down upon for being ADORABLE and then molested in the bathroom!!!
I will not be going back.
Monday, July 20, 2009
First Annual Anniversary Time for the Anniversary of the Rest of My Life ‘N Stuff
Hello all,
Isn’t that a funny title? I thought so. A year ago today I came home in shock, sat at my kitchen table in Pendleton, and waited until my parents got home. They looked at me like a broken puppy for half a second, Dad patted me on the shoulder, which was odd because we have a very strict “no touching” pact- I was too out of body to notice, and my ever sympathetic mother said, “Well, we were expecting you yesterday.” She’s……she’s……my mom.
So much has changed in a year, but some things haven’t at all. Fuckhead and I tried to start things back up again 4 maybe even 5 times, I’ve lost count. I still think about him all the time, what he’s doing, if he’s thinking of me, how he could possibly just drop everything between us and never look back. I have to stop myself from calling him every day. Not to worry, I realize that we could never go back and start over again, too much history and unfinished business, much too much to start over again. AND, fucking me over is one thing, but leaving my dear Graham with no remorse is cold. Don’t people stay together for the kids, bury their issues, and wait for better times? Isn’t that what a traditional marriage is? I watch a lot of TV, I’m pretty sure that’s what happens…..I digress.
A few days ago I also celebrated 5 months without drinking. With living at home, trying to meet someone to date, working at a superstore, and dealing with the over all stress of piecing together my life and personal goals, drinking would have a very important place in my life. It’s just not an option right now. Drinking made everything worse and now at the end of the day I come home, take a deep breath, and eat a giant bowl of fiber loaded cereal-I don’t know, somehow the cereal helps, with Silk of course. Who would have guessed that I’d become lactose intolerant? I love cheese! I used to sit with wheel of brie and have such a comforting experience. No cheese, no booze, I tell ya, I’m having to delve deep these days.
Speaking of drinking I have started the process of my probation, and the more I progress in my experience the better if gets. I set my community service and here’s how it went
Probation Officer: Well, we have lots of options for your community service so we can find a place that will be best suited for you.
Me: Oh! I thought I’d have to pick up garbage outside of a catholic church somewhere.
Probation Officer: No, no, no. Of course not there are lots of places in the community to give your time.
Me: Great.
Probation Officer: Alright, there’s the Humane Society, Goodwill, Animal Rescue, the Fine Arts Center…..
Me: Ooh, ooh, ooh! The Fine Arts Center! The Fine Arts Center! I have a BFA, that’s a bachelor’s of FINE ARTS. That would be perfect! I’m a ballet dancer, but I can also do things like answer phones, move paintings, other things….like that, I guess. That would be perfect! BUT, I would like the Humane Society. I love dogs! All the puppies, it’d be so much fun! I’m VERY good with animals.
Probation Officer:………….um, I think the Humane Society and Animal Rescue would be more like, “cleaning up” and stuff.
Me: Oh. Well, it’s probably for the best. Although I do like dogs, I am allergic to cats, and I have a dog at home, whom I don’t see as often as I should and I would project guilt on his behalf.
I nervously laughed as the probation officer marked me down for the Fine Arts Center and advised me to get my drug and mental analysis as soon as possible.
AAAAAAAAND, this is my 100th post! I know! That's a lot. Can you believe it 100 posts. You have read about 100 things that happened in my life....maybe you should get out more often. NO, NO, NO! I take it back! If you don't read my blog I die! I need your attention!!!! Happy Anniversary.
Isn’t that a funny title? I thought so. A year ago today I came home in shock, sat at my kitchen table in Pendleton, and waited until my parents got home. They looked at me like a broken puppy for half a second, Dad patted me on the shoulder, which was odd because we have a very strict “no touching” pact- I was too out of body to notice, and my ever sympathetic mother said, “Well, we were expecting you yesterday.” She’s……she’s……my mom.
So much has changed in a year, but some things haven’t at all. Fuckhead and I tried to start things back up again 4 maybe even 5 times, I’ve lost count. I still think about him all the time, what he’s doing, if he’s thinking of me, how he could possibly just drop everything between us and never look back. I have to stop myself from calling him every day. Not to worry, I realize that we could never go back and start over again, too much history and unfinished business, much too much to start over again. AND, fucking me over is one thing, but leaving my dear Graham with no remorse is cold. Don’t people stay together for the kids, bury their issues, and wait for better times? Isn’t that what a traditional marriage is? I watch a lot of TV, I’m pretty sure that’s what happens…..I digress.
A few days ago I also celebrated 5 months without drinking. With living at home, trying to meet someone to date, working at a superstore, and dealing with the over all stress of piecing together my life and personal goals, drinking would have a very important place in my life. It’s just not an option right now. Drinking made everything worse and now at the end of the day I come home, take a deep breath, and eat a giant bowl of fiber loaded cereal-I don’t know, somehow the cereal helps, with Silk of course. Who would have guessed that I’d become lactose intolerant? I love cheese! I used to sit with wheel of brie and have such a comforting experience. No cheese, no booze, I tell ya, I’m having to delve deep these days.
Speaking of drinking I have started the process of my probation, and the more I progress in my experience the better if gets. I set my community service and here’s how it went
Probation Officer: Well, we have lots of options for your community service so we can find a place that will be best suited for you.
Me: Oh! I thought I’d have to pick up garbage outside of a catholic church somewhere.
Probation Officer: No, no, no. Of course not there are lots of places in the community to give your time.
Me: Great.
Probation Officer: Alright, there’s the Humane Society, Goodwill, Animal Rescue, the Fine Arts Center…..
Me: Ooh, ooh, ooh! The Fine Arts Center! The Fine Arts Center! I have a BFA, that’s a bachelor’s of FINE ARTS. That would be perfect! I’m a ballet dancer, but I can also do things like answer phones, move paintings, other things….like that, I guess. That would be perfect! BUT, I would like the Humane Society. I love dogs! All the puppies, it’d be so much fun! I’m VERY good with animals.
Probation Officer:………….um, I think the Humane Society and Animal Rescue would be more like, “cleaning up” and stuff.
Me: Oh. Well, it’s probably for the best. Although I do like dogs, I am allergic to cats, and I have a dog at home, whom I don’t see as often as I should and I would project guilt on his behalf.
I nervously laughed as the probation officer marked me down for the Fine Arts Center and advised me to get my drug and mental analysis as soon as possible.
AAAAAAAAND, this is my 100th post! I know! That's a lot. Can you believe it 100 posts. You have read about 100 things that happened in my life....maybe you should get out more often. NO, NO, NO! I take it back! If you don't read my blog I die! I need your attention!!!! Happy Anniversary.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
A Plague of Chiggers on Both Your Houses
Hello All,
I write to you on a Saturday night from my basement at 8:57, because I lead such a full and fulfilling life. I have purposefully avoided watching “This Holiday” for a few years now because it reminded me of, “America’s Sweethearts”- when bad movies happen to good people, but actually I kind of like it. Don’t hate me. Aside from loving Kate Winslet and movies that have characters with lots of money-so everything is possible, it also has Jude Law in it. I already have a standing crush on Jude Law, but this movie has reaffirmed it to the point where I will go buy the movie just to see him again.
In my singlehood, I’ve been trying to decide what amazing guy I should be looking for to complete my life. I think it’s important to know specify my Mr. Right so that I don’t waste time on all the losers that will be hitting on me in the meantime. I’ve been thinking Dr. because of the financial security, scholarly-but not so much that I look stupid, handsome-but not out of my league, distinguished-but not too old, energetic and exciting-but definitely not too young, and that something that David Hyde Pierce had while playing Niles on Frasier- he was frail and whimsical yet confident and sophisticated. It’s a delicate alchemy, but I feel like the charm of an accent or just a gay Jude Law in general might do the trick.
“I don’t know why I’m not finding this man,” said the gay guy wearing sumo wrestler pajama pants in his parent’s basement.
This amazing gay Jude Law definitely wasn’t finding me the other day as I was actively avoiding participating in a conversation about chiggers with my mother. I hat the word chigger. It’s redneck and basic. I know the insect’s actual name is “Chigger”, but it sounds like something my dad says in place of what its scientific name should be.
Mom: “Did you see me in the bathroom when you got home from work?”
Me: “No, the door was closed”
“Well, I got chiggers while I was picking raspberries this afternoon.”
“…………..mm-hmm.”
“I got them bad!”
“……………mm-hmm.”
“Like from my waist down.” She started to gesture.
“OOOOOOOOOOOOOK!”
“………..alright, Dad had to put this medicine all over my…..”
“Stop! I am not listening to how my parents applied ointment in a closed bathroom! That is not happening!”
I’m still having a hard time erasing that image from my memory.
In addition to living at home, I am also not meeting my gay Jude Law while I am working at a superstore and dancing all day and night. That’s right, I said dancing. I’m a dancer again, I’m taking dance classes at night and I dance with a dance company during the day. They are putting on ballet next month; Romeo & Juliet, I’m playing Paris. I have a friend who couldn’t believe that I wouldn’t be able to meet a boyfriend in dance class. I’ll tell you why this brilliant idea to meet gay men is a complete bust.
I am the only boy in my classes that are mostly filled with 16 year old girls and aside from dodging awkward looks from parents who think I’m a pedophile; I’m actually there to have a good time and dance. While dancing with the company there are 2 other men dancing, but one is from Cuba and doesn’t get my jokes and the other…….how to explain the other……….he is attractive, in a 70’s porn star type of way, he also has never made eye contact with me because, like the rest of the company, he does not interact with me because I have the plague of the new person.
Although I have been dancing with them for 2 weeks now, the plague of the new person is hard to shake and shows no sign signs of being cured. Everything I say is incredibly charming and witty, but to them I am an annoying idiot. All of my dance clothes are appropriate and sleek, but to them I look uptight and toolish. All of my questions pertaining to this very specific rendition on Romeo & Juliet are COMPLETELY appropriate, but to them they are uncalled for and moronic. The plague of the new person is totally bringing me down, if they saw my gay Jude Law imaginary boyfriend they would totally think I was cool……..but seeing as how he doesn’t exist, that would probably just be more ammo for their awkward looks before barre.
I was talking to someone the other day about the 4,000 mile hike up the shit slide of a mountain that is my life, and she said that 26 is rough for everyone and in a few years it’ll be SO much better. If one more person says that to me I am going to lose it. I mean, I WILL FUCKING LOSE IT. I’m not saying that things aren’t better than what they were 6 months ago, but it’s no trip in Barbie’s convertible either. Dr. Gay Jude Law and 1 gabillion dollars better be in my Spectra tomorrow morning on my way to work.
I write to you on a Saturday night from my basement at 8:57, because I lead such a full and fulfilling life. I have purposefully avoided watching “This Holiday” for a few years now because it reminded me of, “America’s Sweethearts”- when bad movies happen to good people, but actually I kind of like it. Don’t hate me. Aside from loving Kate Winslet and movies that have characters with lots of money-so everything is possible, it also has Jude Law in it. I already have a standing crush on Jude Law, but this movie has reaffirmed it to the point where I will go buy the movie just to see him again.
In my singlehood, I’ve been trying to decide what amazing guy I should be looking for to complete my life. I think it’s important to know specify my Mr. Right so that I don’t waste time on all the losers that will be hitting on me in the meantime. I’ve been thinking Dr. because of the financial security, scholarly-but not so much that I look stupid, handsome-but not out of my league, distinguished-but not too old, energetic and exciting-but definitely not too young, and that something that David Hyde Pierce had while playing Niles on Frasier- he was frail and whimsical yet confident and sophisticated. It’s a delicate alchemy, but I feel like the charm of an accent or just a gay Jude Law in general might do the trick.
“I don’t know why I’m not finding this man,” said the gay guy wearing sumo wrestler pajama pants in his parent’s basement.
This amazing gay Jude Law definitely wasn’t finding me the other day as I was actively avoiding participating in a conversation about chiggers with my mother. I hat the word chigger. It’s redneck and basic. I know the insect’s actual name is “Chigger”, but it sounds like something my dad says in place of what its scientific name should be.
Mom: “Did you see me in the bathroom when you got home from work?”
Me: “No, the door was closed”
“Well, I got chiggers while I was picking raspberries this afternoon.”
“…………..mm-hmm.”
“I got them bad!”
“……………mm-hmm.”
“Like from my waist down.” She started to gesture.
“OOOOOOOOOOOOOK!”
“………..alright, Dad had to put this medicine all over my…..”
“Stop! I am not listening to how my parents applied ointment in a closed bathroom! That is not happening!”
I’m still having a hard time erasing that image from my memory.
In addition to living at home, I am also not meeting my gay Jude Law while I am working at a superstore and dancing all day and night. That’s right, I said dancing. I’m a dancer again, I’m taking dance classes at night and I dance with a dance company during the day. They are putting on ballet next month; Romeo & Juliet, I’m playing Paris. I have a friend who couldn’t believe that I wouldn’t be able to meet a boyfriend in dance class. I’ll tell you why this brilliant idea to meet gay men is a complete bust.
I am the only boy in my classes that are mostly filled with 16 year old girls and aside from dodging awkward looks from parents who think I’m a pedophile; I’m actually there to have a good time and dance. While dancing with the company there are 2 other men dancing, but one is from Cuba and doesn’t get my jokes and the other…….how to explain the other……….he is attractive, in a 70’s porn star type of way, he also has never made eye contact with me because, like the rest of the company, he does not interact with me because I have the plague of the new person.
Although I have been dancing with them for 2 weeks now, the plague of the new person is hard to shake and shows no sign signs of being cured. Everything I say is incredibly charming and witty, but to them I am an annoying idiot. All of my dance clothes are appropriate and sleek, but to them I look uptight and toolish. All of my questions pertaining to this very specific rendition on Romeo & Juliet are COMPLETELY appropriate, but to them they are uncalled for and moronic. The plague of the new person is totally bringing me down, if they saw my gay Jude Law imaginary boyfriend they would totally think I was cool……..but seeing as how he doesn’t exist, that would probably just be more ammo for their awkward looks before barre.
I was talking to someone the other day about the 4,000 mile hike up the shit slide of a mountain that is my life, and she said that 26 is rough for everyone and in a few years it’ll be SO much better. If one more person says that to me I am going to lose it. I mean, I WILL FUCKING LOSE IT. I’m not saying that things aren’t better than what they were 6 months ago, but it’s no trip in Barbie’s convertible either. Dr. Gay Jude Law and 1 gabillion dollars better be in my Spectra tomorrow morning on my way to work.
Friday, July 3, 2009
You've Got to Be Meowing Kidding Me!
Hello all,
Last week I went out on a date with a man who shares the name of a man in my immediate family, but we’ll just call him; Not Mr. Rogers. He is tall, tan, thin, and more than slightly older than I am. The age difference didn’t seem to be a problem because Not Mr. Rogers is energetic, full on fun trivia, and has very nice eyes.
Our first outing, which we did not count as an actual date, consisted of a walk around an Indy burro and a long talk on a park bench. He was very captivated by me and had many funny eccentric tendencies. Not Mr. Rogers doesn’t watch TV, so many of my references were lost on him and explaining them lost a lot of the comedic effect, but he still acted interested. With no common interests, ages that contain none of the same numbers, and a non-date that took place mostly in the dark; all signs pointed to a successful date.
He asked me to meet him where he worked, a food bank that sends supplies to victims of national disasters. This was not my ideal setting for a date, but who knows, stranger things have happened……..probably. Many of the quirky idiosyncrasies from the first date had lost their charm in the florescent light of the concrete warehouse. He showed me around; canned goods, ambulance, emergency call center, it was all interesting, but in a completely unimpressive way.
As we walked around the vacant building, he meowed. I have a friend who says the word “meow”, but she replaces it in sentences, “Shut the meow up” or “And then we can meow or whatever” even “Meow-bye.” It’s kind of like “smurf”, it’s funny and infectious. What Not Mr. Rogers was doing was nothing like that. He was actually meowing, like a cat, like a screaming, lost, and scared cat. He did it randomly as we walked around or change topics of conversation. I can’t even explain to you how much of a deal breaker that was.
He also dramatically fake punched me. He did it as an act of endearment; like, “You’re so cute, I’m going to hit you.” Being the youngest of four sons, terrible at ball sports, and a flincher by nature, this brought back some less than fond memories.
Hanging out in an ambulance was fun and all but as the evening was winding down I was trying to find a way out, but then he led me to a dark corner of warehouse that was lit by only an exit sign. He had constructed a mini sitting area with broken down cardboard boxes and blankets intended for flood victims. This was very ….creative…..and ….and thoughtful, but seriously….come on. I won’t say what happened after that…because it ruins my credibility.
As he wished me a fond farewell he gave me a bag of slightly expired Sun Chips, a box of limited edition lime Cheetos, a flat of Gatorade, and a blanket that said “Horth Carolina”. It was meant for a popular sports college, but the blanket manufacturer misprinted them so they were donated to the food bank. I’m not going to lie, these gifts did sweeten the pot a little, but oddly enough it takes a little more than expired snacks to win my heart.
After a series of awkwardly suffocating emails and one-sided phone calls, I finally ended the “relationship-type-thing” today. It wasn’t necessarily for any of the reasons stated in this blog, but it also wasn’t NOT because of any of the reasons in this blog, if you catch my drift. NO JUDGEMENT!
Last week I went out on a date with a man who shares the name of a man in my immediate family, but we’ll just call him; Not Mr. Rogers. He is tall, tan, thin, and more than slightly older than I am. The age difference didn’t seem to be a problem because Not Mr. Rogers is energetic, full on fun trivia, and has very nice eyes.
Our first outing, which we did not count as an actual date, consisted of a walk around an Indy burro and a long talk on a park bench. He was very captivated by me and had many funny eccentric tendencies. Not Mr. Rogers doesn’t watch TV, so many of my references were lost on him and explaining them lost a lot of the comedic effect, but he still acted interested. With no common interests, ages that contain none of the same numbers, and a non-date that took place mostly in the dark; all signs pointed to a successful date.
He asked me to meet him where he worked, a food bank that sends supplies to victims of national disasters. This was not my ideal setting for a date, but who knows, stranger things have happened……..probably. Many of the quirky idiosyncrasies from the first date had lost their charm in the florescent light of the concrete warehouse. He showed me around; canned goods, ambulance, emergency call center, it was all interesting, but in a completely unimpressive way.
As we walked around the vacant building, he meowed. I have a friend who says the word “meow”, but she replaces it in sentences, “Shut the meow up” or “And then we can meow or whatever” even “Meow-bye.” It’s kind of like “smurf”, it’s funny and infectious. What Not Mr. Rogers was doing was nothing like that. He was actually meowing, like a cat, like a screaming, lost, and scared cat. He did it randomly as we walked around or change topics of conversation. I can’t even explain to you how much of a deal breaker that was.
He also dramatically fake punched me. He did it as an act of endearment; like, “You’re so cute, I’m going to hit you.” Being the youngest of four sons, terrible at ball sports, and a flincher by nature, this brought back some less than fond memories.
Hanging out in an ambulance was fun and all but as the evening was winding down I was trying to find a way out, but then he led me to a dark corner of warehouse that was lit by only an exit sign. He had constructed a mini sitting area with broken down cardboard boxes and blankets intended for flood victims. This was very ….creative…..and ….and thoughtful, but seriously….come on. I won’t say what happened after that…because it ruins my credibility.
As he wished me a fond farewell he gave me a bag of slightly expired Sun Chips, a box of limited edition lime Cheetos, a flat of Gatorade, and a blanket that said “Horth Carolina”. It was meant for a popular sports college, but the blanket manufacturer misprinted them so they were donated to the food bank. I’m not going to lie, these gifts did sweeten the pot a little, but oddly enough it takes a little more than expired snacks to win my heart.
After a series of awkwardly suffocating emails and one-sided phone calls, I finally ended the “relationship-type-thing” today. It wasn’t necessarily for any of the reasons stated in this blog, but it also wasn’t NOT because of any of the reasons in this blog, if you catch my drift. NO JUDGEMENT!
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Much Ado About.....
Hello all,
Yeah, I changed my picture.......what's it to you? No, really though, the old picture was in Fuckhead's old apartment with the couch of ours that he gave away and all the DVD's that apparently weren't mine at all and I looked happy. So naturally, that needed to go.
I don't know if you heard this, but I think he's dead.....yeah I heard that too, interesting, isn't it? Fuck with me and you wind up dead. I didn't do it though.........but yeah, he's dead. Dead. Probably from being such a giant douche. I heard that happens to people. Douchebags and Fuckheads just BAM!- dead. It's like an epidemic or something. Can't say what did it, just happened. It was probably from sucking the life out of me...I can only assume. Dead. Straight up dead.
ANYWAYS, I'm sitting here at a Panera, wasting time between work and dance class, pretending to look for a new job, or look into grad school, but definitely not doing anything productive. I could tell you about all of the awkward compliments I've been getting in dance classes, but it's not a full story. I could tell you about the dates I've gone on with a farm boy engineer, but even though I am my mother's son, I'm not a gossip....... I could even tell you about how I am talking to said farm boy engineer right now on facebook while I manically rip out my crazy thick eyebrows, but I won't.
I just have one question for you: What are grape nuts? I had a bowl last night and it's driving me crazy. Grapes don't have nuts, they have seeds. So what the hell is that cereal.
Yeah, I changed my picture.......what's it to you? No, really though, the old picture was in Fuckhead's old apartment with the couch of ours that he gave away and all the DVD's that apparently weren't mine at all and I looked happy. So naturally, that needed to go.
I don't know if you heard this, but I think he's dead.....yeah I heard that too, interesting, isn't it? Fuck with me and you wind up dead. I didn't do it though.........but yeah, he's dead. Dead. Probably from being such a giant douche. I heard that happens to people. Douchebags and Fuckheads just BAM!- dead. It's like an epidemic or something. Can't say what did it, just happened. It was probably from sucking the life out of me...I can only assume. Dead. Straight up dead.
ANYWAYS, I'm sitting here at a Panera, wasting time between work and dance class, pretending to look for a new job, or look into grad school, but definitely not doing anything productive. I could tell you about all of the awkward compliments I've been getting in dance classes, but it's not a full story. I could tell you about the dates I've gone on with a farm boy engineer, but even though I am my mother's son, I'm not a gossip....... I could even tell you about how I am talking to said farm boy engineer right now on facebook while I manically rip out my crazy thick eyebrows, but I won't.
I just have one question for you: What are grape nuts? I had a bowl last night and it's driving me crazy. Grapes don't have nuts, they have seeds. So what the hell is that cereal.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
J(udgment) A(bstaining) G(uilt)
Hello all,
A couple of weeks ago I was sitting in a bar waiting for someone and was approached by a tall, thin, tan man. He had a very nice smile and asked me if he had seen me before. That line was just a little older than him; my guess is late 40’s, early 50’s. He asked if he could buy me a drink and when I said I wanted a Diet Coke I ‘m pretty sure I gave him a heart attack wondering if I was old enough to be there.
Through our conversation I learned that his name was Don, he was Lutheran, lived up in Lafayette, has a son and daughter, is a marathon runner, enjoyed Russian and German films, and was a JAG lawyer who recently became a judge for the armed forces. He also told many stories where he referenced his “wife”, who is a woman, he; I assumed that they stayed close friends after he came out. He even still wore his wedding ring. Soon after all of that I had to leave so I wished him a good night and said that I hoped to see him out.
The next weekend I saw Don out again, but he didn’t give me the same amount of attention because now I was not the only cute young thing in the bar. He was hitting on every 10 under 30 and ethnic twink that came in the door. By the end of the evening I saw him at a club with his arms draped around a little brown-skinned boy who rode Don’s hip like a bull rider.
Last weekend I was in the same bar around 8, it was not very crowded. The only people in the bar were over 50, waiting for the social tidal wave to bring in some eye candy so they could get home and in bed by 9. I was waiting for a date before we headed out on our actual plans and Don waked in again.
He chatted me up in the same fashion- foreign films, marathon running, son and daughter, but my eyes still fell upon his wedding ring, so I asked him why he still wore it.
Don: “I’m a happily married man…..haha, happily married.”
Me: “Uh, yeah………clearly.”
“No, no, it’s not like that.”
“Really. What’s it like then.”
“No, no you know? My wife is out of town and I wanted to come out. You’re judging me based something you don’t know. You don’t know what I’ve been doing.”
“No, I guess I don’t. For all I know you bought me a drink because you’re a very generous person. You ogle young muscle studs in hopes that you can be track buddies. You freak dance with ethnic twinks because….because…..well, you just must love having a good time and you can’t find any fun people in a straight bar.”
“Now, now. You’re judging me unfairly. I’m a judge and I hear people’s stories everyday and I’ve done nothing wrong. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“No, no I don’t. You’re probably right. You have a lot more people that are going to be affected by your choices. Wife, kids, that’s a lot. You don’t want to change their lives by your choices and it’s good that you’re not doing that now. I’ve been a cheater and I’ve been cheated on and I’m glad to see that what you’re doing here in this bar has no intention or potential of repercussions in you’re family life”
“This is my personal life, my PRIVATE LIFE and what I do is my choice. I got married because I love my wife and I do love her. When I was young it wasn’t as easy to be like this. It wasn’t like it is for you.”
“You know what? You’re right. I’m sorry that you didn’t have the foresight to be who you wanted to be. But you know what? I bet those older men in the corner didn’t have gay role models either, but there they are confident, happy, and gayer than a three dollar bill. But when you’re private, personal life comes into affect other people who are not your wife and kids, well that’s when it becomes a problem. What about all these guys you talk to? You don’t think that they aren’t getting mixed messages from that wedding ring? Yes, you have a family. So what. I don’t have much sympathy for a man who trolls the bars looking for a release from his wife. Being gay isn’t what’s going ruin you’re family’s lives, but lying to you them is.”
“Well, I feel like I’m being a little attacked.”
“Yes, yes you are being attacked.”
It was then that my date showed up and not a minute too soon. I kissed my date hello and when I turned around Don was gone. He not only left his seat, but he left the bar.
A couple of weeks ago I was sitting in a bar waiting for someone and was approached by a tall, thin, tan man. He had a very nice smile and asked me if he had seen me before. That line was just a little older than him; my guess is late 40’s, early 50’s. He asked if he could buy me a drink and when I said I wanted a Diet Coke I ‘m pretty sure I gave him a heart attack wondering if I was old enough to be there.
Through our conversation I learned that his name was Don, he was Lutheran, lived up in Lafayette, has a son and daughter, is a marathon runner, enjoyed Russian and German films, and was a JAG lawyer who recently became a judge for the armed forces. He also told many stories where he referenced his “wife”, who is a woman, he; I assumed that they stayed close friends after he came out. He even still wore his wedding ring. Soon after all of that I had to leave so I wished him a good night and said that I hoped to see him out.
The next weekend I saw Don out again, but he didn’t give me the same amount of attention because now I was not the only cute young thing in the bar. He was hitting on every 10 under 30 and ethnic twink that came in the door. By the end of the evening I saw him at a club with his arms draped around a little brown-skinned boy who rode Don’s hip like a bull rider.
Last weekend I was in the same bar around 8, it was not very crowded. The only people in the bar were over 50, waiting for the social tidal wave to bring in some eye candy so they could get home and in bed by 9. I was waiting for a date before we headed out on our actual plans and Don waked in again.
He chatted me up in the same fashion- foreign films, marathon running, son and daughter, but my eyes still fell upon his wedding ring, so I asked him why he still wore it.
Don: “I’m a happily married man…..haha, happily married.”
Me: “Uh, yeah………clearly.”
“No, no, it’s not like that.”
“Really. What’s it like then.”
“No, no you know? My wife is out of town and I wanted to come out. You’re judging me based something you don’t know. You don’t know what I’ve been doing.”
“No, I guess I don’t. For all I know you bought me a drink because you’re a very generous person. You ogle young muscle studs in hopes that you can be track buddies. You freak dance with ethnic twinks because….because…..well, you just must love having a good time and you can’t find any fun people in a straight bar.”
“Now, now. You’re judging me unfairly. I’m a judge and I hear people’s stories everyday and I’ve done nothing wrong. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“No, no I don’t. You’re probably right. You have a lot more people that are going to be affected by your choices. Wife, kids, that’s a lot. You don’t want to change their lives by your choices and it’s good that you’re not doing that now. I’ve been a cheater and I’ve been cheated on and I’m glad to see that what you’re doing here in this bar has no intention or potential of repercussions in you’re family life”
“This is my personal life, my PRIVATE LIFE and what I do is my choice. I got married because I love my wife and I do love her. When I was young it wasn’t as easy to be like this. It wasn’t like it is for you.”
“You know what? You’re right. I’m sorry that you didn’t have the foresight to be who you wanted to be. But you know what? I bet those older men in the corner didn’t have gay role models either, but there they are confident, happy, and gayer than a three dollar bill. But when you’re private, personal life comes into affect other people who are not your wife and kids, well that’s when it becomes a problem. What about all these guys you talk to? You don’t think that they aren’t getting mixed messages from that wedding ring? Yes, you have a family. So what. I don’t have much sympathy for a man who trolls the bars looking for a release from his wife. Being gay isn’t what’s going ruin you’re family’s lives, but lying to you them is.”
“Well, I feel like I’m being a little attacked.”
“Yes, yes you are being attacked.”
It was then that my date showed up and not a minute too soon. I kissed my date hello and when I turned around Don was gone. He not only left his seat, but he left the bar.
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