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.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
The Riddler Part 2
Hello all,
Did my "date" with the Riddler go well?...........DID MY "DATE" WITH THE RIDDLER GO WELL???? Hmmmm.....how to answer that.
1. I got home at 10
2. The half hug at the end was the same type that I give my grandpa, whom I don't hug.
3. He tried setting me up with people he already knew, or that I am currently dating.
4. I ate my leftovers in the car on the way home.
5. We made no plans to ever see eachother again.
No. No, it did not go well. But in the light of day I got to see how his hair is a little thin, and at his age, it's not getting any thicker. Also, he was a very dry and uninviting person. If he had some flippant quality under all that dryness it could have been interesting but, no. He also told me to my face that he would never want to date anyone who lived with his parents.
Wha... Uh.... Oh..... I'm sorry, you mother fucker. When life bitch-slaps the shit out of you I hope that you have your parents for support. The hot ones are always a case. At least the ones with personalities try harder. Ug.
Did my "date" with the Riddler go well?...........DID MY "DATE" WITH THE RIDDLER GO WELL???? Hmmmm.....how to answer that.
1. I got home at 10
2. The half hug at the end was the same type that I give my grandpa, whom I don't hug.
3. He tried setting me up with people he already knew, or that I am currently dating.
4. I ate my leftovers in the car on the way home.
5. We made no plans to ever see eachother again.
No. No, it did not go well. But in the light of day I got to see how his hair is a little thin, and at his age, it's not getting any thicker. Also, he was a very dry and uninviting person. If he had some flippant quality under all that dryness it could have been interesting but, no. He also told me to my face that he would never want to date anyone who lived with his parents.
Wha... Uh.... Oh..... I'm sorry, you mother fucker. When life bitch-slaps the shit out of you I hope that you have your parents for support. The hot ones are always a case. At least the ones with personalities try harder. Ug.
The Riddler
Hello all,
I love dating. The anticipation, pretty new clothes, actually being interested in someone because you want to get laid, it’s what drams are made of.
I hate dating. The ambiguity, the body and man-scaping upkeep, wasting money to go out with someone who ends up being a bad kisser, it’s like waking up from a weird dream with the taste of last night’s dinner still in you mouth. I don’t care how good your grandma’s spaghetti is you don’t want that taste in your mouth come morning.
A week ago I was out with a friend and I saw a very cute guy at a casual restaurant downtown. He had an amazing body-arms the size of my thighs, a very handsome face, and cute silver glasses to boot. We smiled and stared, I left, but I came back to see if he was still there, and he was gone. Luckily enough when I was out for pride last weekend I saw him out and seized the opportunity to make an introduction.
He was out with friends and remembered me very well. As the evening went on one of his friends came into the foreground of the landscape and while the object of my affection was away I needed to get some things clear. The guy, who was not unlike me, cute, young looking, impeccably dressed, informed me that they were there together and it was their first outing. That was fine by me, so I went and told the guy that I would let him enjoy his evening with his twink and I would see him around.
He said that the twink was confused and this was not a date and he had been trying to shake him all night, asked for my phone number and kissed me on the cheek. I call this man the Riddler. The Riddler then told me that he hoped we could get together again without all of the drama, hugged and kissed me some more and left for the evening.
Later on in the week I called the Riddler to ask him out and he answered that he and his friend were just talking about me. I asked him out again and he said that I was very attractive and charming, but he had a birthday coming up and he usually didn’t date guys more than 5 years younger than him. I asked him out again and he said that I gave him a very great first impression. Yes, to the casual observer it may look like he was trying to brush me off nicely, but he was cute and I was persistent.
I asked him out again and he said dinner at 7.
Today is the day we’re going out and he texted me to inform me that he is wearing shorts. I find that very cute, we can coordinate, but not match. Thoughtful, no? I responded that I had already changed my outfit twice and I was looking forward to this evening. He said not to worry because this was not a date. (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
Mother Fucker says, “What?”
Let’s relay the facts:
1. I’m cute.
2. He’s cute.
3. He told me I’m cute.
4. I told him he’s cute.
5. We scheduled dinner together.
6. He informed me of the appropriate attire.
Bitches, that’s called a date!!!!!!!!
My friend (SSS) was right; the cute ones have all of this mental baggage and holdups and the nice ones……well, aren’t the cute ones. I told him that I was going to treat this like a night out with a guy that I’m interested in and he could call it whatever he wanted. All I can say is that I’m wearing cute underwear tonight and someone, except for me, doesn’t see it, I’m gonna be pissed!
Oh, and whenever there is a miscommunication (like, all the time) with the Riddler, he starts off the text with “Ha….”. Fair readers, correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t “Ha” supposed to be directed towards something that’s funny? You know what’s not funny? A pathetic 36 year old dancing homo who didn’t find anyone 10 years ago to spend the rest of his life with and now he’s face down in a pint of Eddy’s Samoa girl scout ice cream while his partially judgmental and infinitely more desirable Scottie hides from the gurgling sounds from my stomach because I turned lactose intolerant 11 years ago when everything took a turn for the worse. Christ on a stick!
I’ll tell you how my non-date, but clearly a date-you S.O.B., goes later.
I love dating. The anticipation, pretty new clothes, actually being interested in someone because you want to get laid, it’s what drams are made of.
I hate dating. The ambiguity, the body and man-scaping upkeep, wasting money to go out with someone who ends up being a bad kisser, it’s like waking up from a weird dream with the taste of last night’s dinner still in you mouth. I don’t care how good your grandma’s spaghetti is you don’t want that taste in your mouth come morning.
A week ago I was out with a friend and I saw a very cute guy at a casual restaurant downtown. He had an amazing body-arms the size of my thighs, a very handsome face, and cute silver glasses to boot. We smiled and stared, I left, but I came back to see if he was still there, and he was gone. Luckily enough when I was out for pride last weekend I saw him out and seized the opportunity to make an introduction.
He was out with friends and remembered me very well. As the evening went on one of his friends came into the foreground of the landscape and while the object of my affection was away I needed to get some things clear. The guy, who was not unlike me, cute, young looking, impeccably dressed, informed me that they were there together and it was their first outing. That was fine by me, so I went and told the guy that I would let him enjoy his evening with his twink and I would see him around.
He said that the twink was confused and this was not a date and he had been trying to shake him all night, asked for my phone number and kissed me on the cheek. I call this man the Riddler. The Riddler then told me that he hoped we could get together again without all of the drama, hugged and kissed me some more and left for the evening.
Later on in the week I called the Riddler to ask him out and he answered that he and his friend were just talking about me. I asked him out again and he said that I was very attractive and charming, but he had a birthday coming up and he usually didn’t date guys more than 5 years younger than him. I asked him out again and he said that I gave him a very great first impression. Yes, to the casual observer it may look like he was trying to brush me off nicely, but he was cute and I was persistent.
I asked him out again and he said dinner at 7.
Today is the day we’re going out and he texted me to inform me that he is wearing shorts. I find that very cute, we can coordinate, but not match. Thoughtful, no? I responded that I had already changed my outfit twice and I was looking forward to this evening. He said not to worry because this was not a date. (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
Mother Fucker says, “What?”
Let’s relay the facts:
1. I’m cute.
2. He’s cute.
3. He told me I’m cute.
4. I told him he’s cute.
5. We scheduled dinner together.
6. He informed me of the appropriate attire.
Bitches, that’s called a date!!!!!!!!
My friend (SSS) was right; the cute ones have all of this mental baggage and holdups and the nice ones……well, aren’t the cute ones. I told him that I was going to treat this like a night out with a guy that I’m interested in and he could call it whatever he wanted. All I can say is that I’m wearing cute underwear tonight and someone, except for me, doesn’t see it, I’m gonna be pissed!
Oh, and whenever there is a miscommunication (like, all the time) with the Riddler, he starts off the text with “Ha….”. Fair readers, correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t “Ha” supposed to be directed towards something that’s funny? You know what’s not funny? A pathetic 36 year old dancing homo who didn’t find anyone 10 years ago to spend the rest of his life with and now he’s face down in a pint of Eddy’s Samoa girl scout ice cream while his partially judgmental and infinitely more desirable Scottie hides from the gurgling sounds from my stomach because I turned lactose intolerant 11 years ago when everything took a turn for the worse. Christ on a stick!
I’ll tell you how my non-date, but clearly a date-you S.O.B., goes later.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Degrees of Awkward
Hello all,
Life has been pretty even lately, so I have had some difficulty thinking of blog worthy things. Luckily enough I keep a pen and paper around me at all times so can remember notable instances.
There has been a bit of boy drama, Fuckhead included-but not the center of, but I’ll say more about that when I get some perspective on the whole thing. I will say one thing about the pharmaceutical sales rep from the last entry; let’s call him Mr. Likes-Me-But, for 2 reasons: he really likes me, but I’m lukewarm about him and he REALLY admires my ASSets.
I’ve known him since January, we’ve gone out a few times, had non-sleeping sleepovers, but I can not remember his face. That’s a bad thing, right? I don’t know what it is, but for the life of me, his face is just a blank when I try to recall the evening’s happenings. Even worse when I do see his face I do know that I’m always let down with what I’ve been dealt with. In my head I have replaced his face with the face of half of this charming gay couple that comes into my store 2 or more times a week.
Mr. Likes-Me-But and the one half of this couple share many similar qualities, many of them being centered on being a gay version of Mr. Clean. Not my usual type, but it’s like trying on outfits; you really need to see it on to see if it’s going to work. Last week I decided to tell the Mr. Clean of the couple about my brain lapse and that when ever I think of Mr. Likes-Me-But’s face I see his instead. He was very flattered and perplexed. I have no idea why I told him this, I mean, he’s an attractive guy and all, but I thought it’d be funny-funnier than what it was.
The next day he came back into my store with his partner who resembles a very tan and good looking elf. They are quite a site, Mr. Clean and a very tan elf. Somehow it works.
The Elf: “So, Mr. Clean tells me that you can’t remember the face of the guy you’re seeing, so you picture Mr. Clean’s instead.”
Me: “……………………………….uh.” (awkward non-breathing silence)
The Elf: “That is so funny; we’re going to have to hook you up with one of our friends with a much more memorable face.”
I was finally able to breathe after he said this. I don’t steal guy’s boyfriends…..anymore. That all could have gone terribly bad, but they were very cool about it. I even gave Mr. Clean my number the next day so we all could hang out sometime soon.
That I would consider “Awkward Medium”, I receive a daily dose of “Awkward Mild” every day. For instance, Graham has been very particular about eating recently. If it’s too hot, the wrong time of day, or the wrong room he will not eat his food. The trick I have figured out is that if my parent’s dog, Spike, is around Graham will eat his food because Spike stares at him like a little starving match girl. Last week Spike pushed Graham out of the way and Spike ate his food. It’s no big deal, it’s just dog food. Dad found out and yelled at Spike, “You git on! Git! You’re just a chow hound! CHOW HOUND!! You know better than that!” Spike doesn’t know better than that, he’s a dog. Like many members of my family, he can still exist here without the most outstanding of SAT scores.
Another example of “Awkward Mild” occurred the same day as the “Chow Hound” incident. I was passing through the living room as my parents were channel surfing. Because of our new cable, this activity which used to take only 10 minutes can now replace a whole evening of actually watching an entire television program. For no reason what so ever my parents landed upon MTV and more specifically Paris Hilton’s My New BFF Season 2. After they had absorbed a few minutes, Mom looked at Dad and said, “I don’t know what they’re going to prove by petting that hungry tiger. I mean, how much can you learn by being with a tiger.” I was actually impressed by the observation until they proceeded to watch the entire episode.
Now I will tell you about the “Awkward Spicy”. It is uncomfortable, lingering, and you can’t wash the image out of your brain even if you try. I try to buy groceries we all can use, just so I feel like I’m contributing to the house, so last week I saw toilet paper on the list so I picked some up while I was out. I got the economy pack, it was so big, that as a promotion, they gave you a little travel size pouch of moist adult wipes. Now as much as I like feeling fresh, I’m not to the point in my life where I need moist toilets for my personal up keep. But apparently I knew someone who did. Mom!
I came home with my grocery gifts and after I put them away I presented my mom with an overly thoughtful gift.
“Here you go. I thought you could use these…….they were attached to the toilet paper……… You can use them at the fair or something…….You know, to stay fresh and what not.”
There is no appropriate way to present your mother with moist adult wipes. Could she use them? Yes. Should they be a gift from her son? No. As I was talking it was like the part of the Roadrunner cartoons when the coyote falls off the cliff and it takes forever until the little “pfff” as he hits the dust. Mom simply said, “Oh…. yes, mmm-hmm.” Super-duper, freakin’-fragin’ awkward.
Life has been pretty even lately, so I have had some difficulty thinking of blog worthy things. Luckily enough I keep a pen and paper around me at all times so can remember notable instances.
There has been a bit of boy drama, Fuckhead included-but not the center of, but I’ll say more about that when I get some perspective on the whole thing. I will say one thing about the pharmaceutical sales rep from the last entry; let’s call him Mr. Likes-Me-But, for 2 reasons: he really likes me, but I’m lukewarm about him and he REALLY admires my ASSets.
I’ve known him since January, we’ve gone out a few times, had non-sleeping sleepovers, but I can not remember his face. That’s a bad thing, right? I don’t know what it is, but for the life of me, his face is just a blank when I try to recall the evening’s happenings. Even worse when I do see his face I do know that I’m always let down with what I’ve been dealt with. In my head I have replaced his face with the face of half of this charming gay couple that comes into my store 2 or more times a week.
Mr. Likes-Me-But and the one half of this couple share many similar qualities, many of them being centered on being a gay version of Mr. Clean. Not my usual type, but it’s like trying on outfits; you really need to see it on to see if it’s going to work. Last week I decided to tell the Mr. Clean of the couple about my brain lapse and that when ever I think of Mr. Likes-Me-But’s face I see his instead. He was very flattered and perplexed. I have no idea why I told him this, I mean, he’s an attractive guy and all, but I thought it’d be funny-funnier than what it was.
The next day he came back into my store with his partner who resembles a very tan and good looking elf. They are quite a site, Mr. Clean and a very tan elf. Somehow it works.
The Elf: “So, Mr. Clean tells me that you can’t remember the face of the guy you’re seeing, so you picture Mr. Clean’s instead.”
Me: “……………………………….uh.” (awkward non-breathing silence)
The Elf: “That is so funny; we’re going to have to hook you up with one of our friends with a much more memorable face.”
I was finally able to breathe after he said this. I don’t steal guy’s boyfriends…..anymore. That all could have gone terribly bad, but they were very cool about it. I even gave Mr. Clean my number the next day so we all could hang out sometime soon.
That I would consider “Awkward Medium”, I receive a daily dose of “Awkward Mild” every day. For instance, Graham has been very particular about eating recently. If it’s too hot, the wrong time of day, or the wrong room he will not eat his food. The trick I have figured out is that if my parent’s dog, Spike, is around Graham will eat his food because Spike stares at him like a little starving match girl. Last week Spike pushed Graham out of the way and Spike ate his food. It’s no big deal, it’s just dog food. Dad found out and yelled at Spike, “You git on! Git! You’re just a chow hound! CHOW HOUND!! You know better than that!” Spike doesn’t know better than that, he’s a dog. Like many members of my family, he can still exist here without the most outstanding of SAT scores.
Another example of “Awkward Mild” occurred the same day as the “Chow Hound” incident. I was passing through the living room as my parents were channel surfing. Because of our new cable, this activity which used to take only 10 minutes can now replace a whole evening of actually watching an entire television program. For no reason what so ever my parents landed upon MTV and more specifically Paris Hilton’s My New BFF Season 2. After they had absorbed a few minutes, Mom looked at Dad and said, “I don’t know what they’re going to prove by petting that hungry tiger. I mean, how much can you learn by being with a tiger.” I was actually impressed by the observation until they proceeded to watch the entire episode.
Now I will tell you about the “Awkward Spicy”. It is uncomfortable, lingering, and you can’t wash the image out of your brain even if you try. I try to buy groceries we all can use, just so I feel like I’m contributing to the house, so last week I saw toilet paper on the list so I picked some up while I was out. I got the economy pack, it was so big, that as a promotion, they gave you a little travel size pouch of moist adult wipes. Now as much as I like feeling fresh, I’m not to the point in my life where I need moist toilets for my personal up keep. But apparently I knew someone who did. Mom!
I came home with my grocery gifts and after I put them away I presented my mom with an overly thoughtful gift.
“Here you go. I thought you could use these…….they were attached to the toilet paper……… You can use them at the fair or something…….You know, to stay fresh and what not.”
There is no appropriate way to present your mother with moist adult wipes. Could she use them? Yes. Should they be a gift from her son? No. As I was talking it was like the part of the Roadrunner cartoons when the coyote falls off the cliff and it takes forever until the little “pfff” as he hits the dust. Mom simply said, “Oh…. yes, mmm-hmm.” Super-duper, freakin’-fragin’ awkward.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Parlor Tricks
Hello all,
Sorry for the long break in between posts, I’ve been living life. Also, the whole ordeal with the letter has just been exhausting. He’s not sending it. He’s not going to send it and it drives me crazy. Every day I think about Fuckhead. I think about where he is, what he’s doing, what I’m doing now without him, and if he cares. He used to care. Does that all go away, all of those thoughts? I have to make myself not call or text him numerous times a day. Today, for instance, I was in World Market, a place where we always loved to go. He always loved frivolous crap you could live without, so that store is like an emotional mine field. I mean, he was going to send the letter; he even said he was sending it. Arg. I swear, all these thoughts are really troublesome to deal with; it’s all been a very sobering experience.
For instance, today my grandparents came over for dinner and while walking around the yard I had an an awkward conversation with Grandma.
Grandma: "How is Fuckhead?" (She said his actual name)
Me: "What?"
Grandma: "Fuckhead, your friend who lives in New York. I was just thinking about him and was wondering how he was doing."
Me: "I think he's dead."
Grandma: "Oh."
Me: "Yeah, I'm pretty sure he's dead, I think I heard that. I mean with swine flu and ramped crime, the odds are he's dead."
Grandma: "Well, I just wanted you to know that I was interested."
Me: "Oh no, that's fine, there's no need for interest. He's dead."
Grandma: "Well, alright."
Speaking of sobering experiences, I’ve been sober for almost 4 months! Yay! I know it may not sound like much, but it seems like a night and day experience. The world is brighter and much less complicated, it’s also way cheaper. We are in a recession, after all.
I’ve been in a wide range of “drinking” settings and have not even been tempted by a single drop. Honestly, the thought of drinking makes me want to vomit and now I have learned to deal with the crappy days with a deep breath instead of a big ol’ drink. When I would drink, I would get CRAZY, giving the illusion of having a good time, retrospectively, I think of how crappy outings probably were and I was just too ambitious of a drunk. Being sober is great. Now, if people are boring and parties suck, I can just leave and not worry about how I’ll get home or what was crammed down my pants by any number of fat, ugly, and desperate older gay gentlemen.
Between not drinking, becoming lactose intolerant, taking dance classes, adding Thera-Band training to my daily stretches, and not having another meal and a half after my parents go to bed, I am developing quite a hot little bod. This has resulted in me getting asked out by a pharmaceutical sales representative with shining white teeth, a lovely downtown apartment, and a brand new BMW. He’s a very popular and social guy, so when we go out we are always the focus of a big group of people. In my sobriety, things that I would normally take for granted become amazing parlor tricks that make me the most desirable gay in Indy.
I am obsessed with Jeopardy!, and the fun facts that obsess my thoughts are the perfect things to direct the tangent of a conversation away from underwear fetishes and toothy blow jobs. During the day, when I say these facts, people think they are mildly entertaining, but at night, surrounded by my adoring, drunken, limp-wristed fans, they think I am the smartest, 21 (WHAT? You can’t be 26) year old EVER. This makes me exponentially more desirable. Also, because of my new-found acuity, I have the ability to remember names, be polite without being slutty, and refuse advances from the “Uglies” that I would go home with because they got to me first.
Because of my ballet training and tense torso, I think symptomatic of my small bladder; I have actually received many compliments to my posture. How odd is that? Usually I would be slumped over the bar or propped up by a wall, but I actually have guys coming up to me and saying, “You have great posture! Mmm, that is so hot!” I mean that’s nice and all, but a little specifically peculiar. Subsequently, after I am hit on due to my posture, I tell them that I have been awarded this posture because I am a dancer (gay code for flexible slut) and I am yet again infinitely more desirable.
It’s interesting that having a clear, confident conversation with someone would be reason enough to be wanted, but it actually is. I feel sorry for all those tanned, over-processed twinks that can’t string a few enticing ideas together. Who knew that with how slutty and visual my peers are that these qualities would qualify as parlor tricks and elevate me from being just some young trick in a parlor?
Sorry for the long break in between posts, I’ve been living life. Also, the whole ordeal with the letter has just been exhausting. He’s not sending it. He’s not going to send it and it drives me crazy. Every day I think about Fuckhead. I think about where he is, what he’s doing, what I’m doing now without him, and if he cares. He used to care. Does that all go away, all of those thoughts? I have to make myself not call or text him numerous times a day. Today, for instance, I was in World Market, a place where we always loved to go. He always loved frivolous crap you could live without, so that store is like an emotional mine field. I mean, he was going to send the letter; he even said he was sending it. Arg. I swear, all these thoughts are really troublesome to deal with; it’s all been a very sobering experience.
For instance, today my grandparents came over for dinner and while walking around the yard I had an an awkward conversation with Grandma.
Grandma: "How is Fuckhead?" (She said his actual name)
Me: "What?"
Grandma: "Fuckhead, your friend who lives in New York. I was just thinking about him and was wondering how he was doing."
Me: "I think he's dead."
Grandma: "Oh."
Me: "Yeah, I'm pretty sure he's dead, I think I heard that. I mean with swine flu and ramped crime, the odds are he's dead."
Grandma: "Well, I just wanted you to know that I was interested."
Me: "Oh no, that's fine, there's no need for interest. He's dead."
Grandma: "Well, alright."
Speaking of sobering experiences, I’ve been sober for almost 4 months! Yay! I know it may not sound like much, but it seems like a night and day experience. The world is brighter and much less complicated, it’s also way cheaper. We are in a recession, after all.
I’ve been in a wide range of “drinking” settings and have not even been tempted by a single drop. Honestly, the thought of drinking makes me want to vomit and now I have learned to deal with the crappy days with a deep breath instead of a big ol’ drink. When I would drink, I would get CRAZY, giving the illusion of having a good time, retrospectively, I think of how crappy outings probably were and I was just too ambitious of a drunk. Being sober is great. Now, if people are boring and parties suck, I can just leave and not worry about how I’ll get home or what was crammed down my pants by any number of fat, ugly, and desperate older gay gentlemen.
Between not drinking, becoming lactose intolerant, taking dance classes, adding Thera-Band training to my daily stretches, and not having another meal and a half after my parents go to bed, I am developing quite a hot little bod. This has resulted in me getting asked out by a pharmaceutical sales representative with shining white teeth, a lovely downtown apartment, and a brand new BMW. He’s a very popular and social guy, so when we go out we are always the focus of a big group of people. In my sobriety, things that I would normally take for granted become amazing parlor tricks that make me the most desirable gay in Indy.
I am obsessed with Jeopardy!, and the fun facts that obsess my thoughts are the perfect things to direct the tangent of a conversation away from underwear fetishes and toothy blow jobs. During the day, when I say these facts, people think they are mildly entertaining, but at night, surrounded by my adoring, drunken, limp-wristed fans, they think I am the smartest, 21 (WHAT? You can’t be 26) year old EVER. This makes me exponentially more desirable. Also, because of my new-found acuity, I have the ability to remember names, be polite without being slutty, and refuse advances from the “Uglies” that I would go home with because they got to me first.
Because of my ballet training and tense torso, I think symptomatic of my small bladder; I have actually received many compliments to my posture. How odd is that? Usually I would be slumped over the bar or propped up by a wall, but I actually have guys coming up to me and saying, “You have great posture! Mmm, that is so hot!” I mean that’s nice and all, but a little specifically peculiar. Subsequently, after I am hit on due to my posture, I tell them that I have been awarded this posture because I am a dancer (gay code for flexible slut) and I am yet again infinitely more desirable.
It’s interesting that having a clear, confident conversation with someone would be reason enough to be wanted, but it actually is. I feel sorry for all those tanned, over-processed twinks that can’t string a few enticing ideas together. Who knew that with how slutty and visual my peers are that these qualities would qualify as parlor tricks and elevate me from being just some young trick in a parlor?
Thursday, May 28, 2009
The Waiting
Hello all,
I was woken up by text from Fuckhead this morning. I called him in a last ditch effort to talk about the letter he was sending me.
No letter.
I found out through a text as well that he wrote it but did not send the letter (insert sigh and eye roll.....now). But in his defense, he's VERY busy with work and whatnot. Like I give a flying donkey dick how busy he is. The nerve. Since when did he start listening to me? He has the most selective hearing I have ever been encountered. It's like the opportunists guide to listening- hear what ever works for you.
I would still like to know what he wanted to tell me. It was important enough for him to contact me, which I explicitly told him not to do, so it must be something. I really can't deal with the waiting and the inconsistency. It's enough to make me scream. I already need to take Tylenol PM to go to sleep at night, yes that's right-NEED. I really don't need anymore headaches from the one person who systematically ruined the life that I had been planning when things have been going so well for me.
True, I have not had a successful personal life since I was left at the intersection of Virginia and NY, but it's baby steps. Baby steps to not sucking so much. Baby steps to moving out of the house. Baby steps to being the most awesome I can be. Baby steps.
I was woken up by text from Fuckhead this morning. I called him in a last ditch effort to talk about the letter he was sending me.
No letter.
I found out through a text as well that he wrote it but did not send the letter (insert sigh and eye roll.....now). But in his defense, he's VERY busy with work and whatnot. Like I give a flying donkey dick how busy he is. The nerve. Since when did he start listening to me? He has the most selective hearing I have ever been encountered. It's like the opportunists guide to listening- hear what ever works for you.
I would still like to know what he wanted to tell me. It was important enough for him to contact me, which I explicitly told him not to do, so it must be something. I really can't deal with the waiting and the inconsistency. It's enough to make me scream. I already need to take Tylenol PM to go to sleep at night, yes that's right-NEED. I really don't need anymore headaches from the one person who systematically ruined the life that I had been planning when things have been going so well for me.
True, I have not had a successful personal life since I was left at the intersection of Virginia and NY, but it's baby steps. Baby steps to not sucking so much. Baby steps to moving out of the house. Baby steps to being the most awesome I can be. Baby steps.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
I've Been Craigslisted Vol. IV
Hello All,
I swear to God I don’t ask for this, but I’ve been craigslisted again! In my defense I just bought new clothes for work, so I was bound to be accosted because of my superstore hotness.
He came through my lane about 2 hours before my shift was over, I could tell he was interested because of the unyielding eye contact. He was a bit more stout than the usual guy I’d notice but he had a nice wallet, on which I commented, and as I bid him a good day he made sure to grab both of my hands and linger as I handed him his bag of malted milk balls, seriously. I think somewhere there’s a code of retail non-verbal advances, the lingering hand grab as you hand them their purchase is one of the basics. On one hand it’s nice to get a little human contact; on the other it’s a little creepy.
Well, when I came home and hopped on Craigslist for my daily dose of local desperation I saw someone desperate for me:
You were a cutie working a register. You commented on my wallet. I was trying not to say anything to bold. I think it would be nice to chat with you. Maybe ask you out on a date. If your reading this hit me up and let me know your name. I made it a point to remember it. This all happened around 4pm on Monday (Memorial Day) I look forward to hear from you.
Since I couldn’t remember what he looked like exactly, I didn’t see his lower half, and he mentioned the word “date” and not "NSA B.J." or “Handy-J” I decided to see what would happen(Handy-J is one of my favorite words on the whole planet-it always makes me smile) . I responded to the message, and through a complex series of email tag, I planned for us to take my dog for a walk around the municipal center blocks away from work. Worst case scenario, we could talk about how freakin’ cute my dog is and “Oh my Gosh! It’s getting so late! I need to go home and get my dog some water!”
As I pulled up, I saw him in a burgundy pick-up truck and thought, “Huh, truck. Well, he’s either a rugged outdoors man or a little white-trashy.” The latter was true. At work I saw him in his work out clothes so I didn’t necessarily judge him on what he was wearing, but as I stepped out of my car I got the full effect of the ribbed Tommy Hilfiger V-neck T-shirt, jean shorts (don’t get me started), and tennis shoes with black cropped socks, he was also a good deal heavier and older than what I had envisioned. “Are you fuckin’ kidin’ me,” I said under my breath. No, this was real.
We walked and talked for a few hours. He was very nice and polite and I reciprocated the pleasantries. We talked about jobs, school (or lack of, in his case), hobbies and past relationships. He was very talkative and I like talking about me, so we got along just fine. I found out that he’s a flight attendant who stopped playing the trumpet his senior year of high school, went to college for 2 years, and commonly did background checks on his personal friends because of his trust issues. Where the hell do I find these people? Oh, that’s right, Craigslist and a superstore……I actually should have expected this.
As the evening shade disappeared, he invited me and Graham to come back to his house he shared with a female flight attendant to play cards. He gave me and Graham bottled water, “No really, tap water if fine,” I said. He said that it was not fine and he would never offer a guest tap water.
We played a hand of Phase 10 and Skip-Bo. I informed him that these were not real “cards”, I think he thought that this made me sound a little more hard core than what I really am, but oh well. He made sure that I texted him that I got home safely, which was nice but a little much for a person I met a few hours prior, but I obliged.
He emailed me the day after to say that he had a nice time and it was then that I informed him that I wasn’t interested in a romantic relationship but I also had a nice time. He told me that even though I am a “cute guy” he wasn’t interested in me either. WTF?!?!!? I’m a catch! He should be knocking down my door for a piece of this action! Scoff!
I think I could sooner find a way to transfigure Graham into a dateable hottie than get hit on by Mr. Right. Just think about it, Graham and I already sleep together every night, he has very muscular thighs from jumping up stairs, and he is never going to lose that thick black hair. There’s chemistry there, real chemistry.
I swear to God I don’t ask for this, but I’ve been craigslisted again! In my defense I just bought new clothes for work, so I was bound to be accosted because of my superstore hotness.
He came through my lane about 2 hours before my shift was over, I could tell he was interested because of the unyielding eye contact. He was a bit more stout than the usual guy I’d notice but he had a nice wallet, on which I commented, and as I bid him a good day he made sure to grab both of my hands and linger as I handed him his bag of malted milk balls, seriously. I think somewhere there’s a code of retail non-verbal advances, the lingering hand grab as you hand them their purchase is one of the basics. On one hand it’s nice to get a little human contact; on the other it’s a little creepy.
Well, when I came home and hopped on Craigslist for my daily dose of local desperation I saw someone desperate for me:
You were a cutie working a register. You commented on my wallet. I was trying not to say anything to bold. I think it would be nice to chat with you. Maybe ask you out on a date. If your reading this hit me up and let me know your name. I made it a point to remember it. This all happened around 4pm on Monday (Memorial Day) I look forward to hear from you.
Since I couldn’t remember what he looked like exactly, I didn’t see his lower half, and he mentioned the word “date” and not "NSA B.J." or “Handy-J” I decided to see what would happen(Handy-J is one of my favorite words on the whole planet-it always makes me smile) . I responded to the message, and through a complex series of email tag, I planned for us to take my dog for a walk around the municipal center blocks away from work. Worst case scenario, we could talk about how freakin’ cute my dog is and “Oh my Gosh! It’s getting so late! I need to go home and get my dog some water!”
As I pulled up, I saw him in a burgundy pick-up truck and thought, “Huh, truck. Well, he’s either a rugged outdoors man or a little white-trashy.” The latter was true. At work I saw him in his work out clothes so I didn’t necessarily judge him on what he was wearing, but as I stepped out of my car I got the full effect of the ribbed Tommy Hilfiger V-neck T-shirt, jean shorts (don’t get me started), and tennis shoes with black cropped socks, he was also a good deal heavier and older than what I had envisioned. “Are you fuckin’ kidin’ me,” I said under my breath. No, this was real.
We walked and talked for a few hours. He was very nice and polite and I reciprocated the pleasantries. We talked about jobs, school (or lack of, in his case), hobbies and past relationships. He was very talkative and I like talking about me, so we got along just fine. I found out that he’s a flight attendant who stopped playing the trumpet his senior year of high school, went to college for 2 years, and commonly did background checks on his personal friends because of his trust issues. Where the hell do I find these people? Oh, that’s right, Craigslist and a superstore……I actually should have expected this.
As the evening shade disappeared, he invited me and Graham to come back to his house he shared with a female flight attendant to play cards. He gave me and Graham bottled water, “No really, tap water if fine,” I said. He said that it was not fine and he would never offer a guest tap water.
We played a hand of Phase 10 and Skip-Bo. I informed him that these were not real “cards”, I think he thought that this made me sound a little more hard core than what I really am, but oh well. He made sure that I texted him that I got home safely, which was nice but a little much for a person I met a few hours prior, but I obliged.
He emailed me the day after to say that he had a nice time and it was then that I informed him that I wasn’t interested in a romantic relationship but I also had a nice time. He told me that even though I am a “cute guy” he wasn’t interested in me either. WTF?!?!!? I’m a catch! He should be knocking down my door for a piece of this action! Scoff!
I think I could sooner find a way to transfigure Graham into a dateable hottie than get hit on by Mr. Right. Just think about it, Graham and I already sleep together every night, he has very muscular thighs from jumping up stairs, and he is never going to lose that thick black hair. There’s chemistry there, real chemistry.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Taking It from Behind in Stride
Hello all,
After all the tumultuous dealings over the last few months, I did not need something else to add to the plate, but as my father said, "If we had luck, it'd be no luck." I don't fully understand that because if you had no luck you wouldn't have luck to begin with, but it sounds like it makes sense to him. My dad has many funny sayings, most of which are replacements for "Omigod!", such as "Goodnight!", "Merry Christmas!", and my favorite "Ho Chi Min!" Although my dad absorbs a lot from TV and movies, he is not a worldly man. Most of his pop cultural idioms come from the 1950's and he feels very "slick" saying them. I won't burst his bubble and tell him that Ho Chi Min is actually a Vietnamese communist leader.
But I digress. On the way to work a few days ago I was in heavy traffic and rear-ended by a Jeep Compass. Only my car was really damaged, and the other driver's insurance is paying for it all. I knew it wasn't my fault when it happened but the second after I was hit I yelled, "MOTHER FUCKER!" After all of the reserved, "Ho Chi Min"s and "Goodnight"s it felt so good to exclaim a real reaction. Say it now, "M-O-T-H-E-R F-U-C-K-E-R." Feels good, right? I knew it.
Since life is cyclical, "piss-on-your-leg"-type of joke, I have naturally had a resurgence of gentlemen callers. Scrooge didn't have it so bad.
Mr. C, the guy from Chicago, called me and told me that he had been thinking about me and wanted to know what I was doing. The last time we had talked his long term goals were for us to go camping at a gay campground in southern Indiana. There are so many things wrong with that sentence I don't have the time to explain to you why it wouldn't have worked out. He was instead going with his friends and wanted me to know that he was thinking about me.
Whoopty-freakin'-do. I'm sure he was. Not to sound too full of myself but I'm the cutest guy who ever pretended that he had a chance in hell with him. At the end of our conversation he said that I shouldn't be a stranger and to feel free to give him a call sometime. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I was surprised that his number was still in my phone and I just said, "Ditto, bye!" and hung up.
The older gentleman who craigslisted me texted me today, prefacing his message with, "I'm not expecting a response, but I just thought I'd tell you that my new puppy hasn't gone potty in the house in 3 days." sigh.
This is who I attract. Desperate outdoorsmen and hypersensitive dog-owners. Lucky me. Lucky fuckin' me.
And last, but certainly not least, I got a text from Fuckhead today. Why? Why why why why why? It read, "I am mailing you something. You should get it by Thursday." I responded, "Why and what?" I didn't want to answer at first, I have been doing awesomely with my steps toward a life less failed and have been looking forward to not thinking about him everyday. But as SSSomeone told me, that's when they find you.
"I need to and it's a letter" he responded. I was driving home from work at this point and would have texted him but with my current driving situation I decided to brave the possibilities and call him instead. And by call him I of course mean yell at his voicemail, for he never answers....ballless sack o' crap. My message sounded something like this:
"Letter? A letter. Save your God damn postage! That letter's about 6 months too late! I don't care what you have to say! I don't want to know ANYTHING about you. If you need to write a letter to me to get things off your chest; write it and then throw it away! Just throw it away! Arg! ....bye."
Letter.....a fucking letter! Piss me off, mother fucker and your mother fucking letter! HO CHI MIN!!! I will of course keep you posted when it comes.
After all the tumultuous dealings over the last few months, I did not need something else to add to the plate, but as my father said, "If we had luck, it'd be no luck." I don't fully understand that because if you had no luck you wouldn't have luck to begin with, but it sounds like it makes sense to him. My dad has many funny sayings, most of which are replacements for "Omigod!", such as "Goodnight!", "Merry Christmas!", and my favorite "Ho Chi Min!" Although my dad absorbs a lot from TV and movies, he is not a worldly man. Most of his pop cultural idioms come from the 1950's and he feels very "slick" saying them. I won't burst his bubble and tell him that Ho Chi Min is actually a Vietnamese communist leader.
But I digress. On the way to work a few days ago I was in heavy traffic and rear-ended by a Jeep Compass. Only my car was really damaged, and the other driver's insurance is paying for it all. I knew it wasn't my fault when it happened but the second after I was hit I yelled, "MOTHER FUCKER!" After all of the reserved, "Ho Chi Min"s and "Goodnight"s it felt so good to exclaim a real reaction. Say it now, "M-O-T-H-E-R F-U-C-K-E-R." Feels good, right? I knew it.
Since life is cyclical, "piss-on-your-leg"-type of joke, I have naturally had a resurgence of gentlemen callers. Scrooge didn't have it so bad.
Mr. C, the guy from Chicago, called me and told me that he had been thinking about me and wanted to know what I was doing. The last time we had talked his long term goals were for us to go camping at a gay campground in southern Indiana. There are so many things wrong with that sentence I don't have the time to explain to you why it wouldn't have worked out. He was instead going with his friends and wanted me to know that he was thinking about me.
Whoopty-freakin'-do. I'm sure he was. Not to sound too full of myself but I'm the cutest guy who ever pretended that he had a chance in hell with him. At the end of our conversation he said that I shouldn't be a stranger and to feel free to give him a call sometime. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I was surprised that his number was still in my phone and I just said, "Ditto, bye!" and hung up.
The older gentleman who craigslisted me texted me today, prefacing his message with, "I'm not expecting a response, but I just thought I'd tell you that my new puppy hasn't gone potty in the house in 3 days." sigh.
This is who I attract. Desperate outdoorsmen and hypersensitive dog-owners. Lucky me. Lucky fuckin' me.
And last, but certainly not least, I got a text from Fuckhead today. Why? Why why why why why? It read, "I am mailing you something. You should get it by Thursday." I responded, "Why and what?" I didn't want to answer at first, I have been doing awesomely with my steps toward a life less failed and have been looking forward to not thinking about him everyday. But as SSSomeone told me, that's when they find you.
"I need to and it's a letter" he responded. I was driving home from work at this point and would have texted him but with my current driving situation I decided to brave the possibilities and call him instead. And by call him I of course mean yell at his voicemail, for he never answers....ballless sack o' crap. My message sounded something like this:
"Letter? A letter. Save your God damn postage! That letter's about 6 months too late! I don't care what you have to say! I don't want to know ANYTHING about you. If you need to write a letter to me to get things off your chest; write it and then throw it away! Just throw it away! Arg! ....bye."
Letter.....a fucking letter! Piss me off, mother fucker and your mother fucking letter! HO CHI MIN!!! I will of course keep you posted when it comes.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Behind the Scenes Vol. III
Hello all,
Weeks ago, I was told by my public defender that I was not going to be going beck to jail and that everything was blown way out of proportion. She was very apologetic and encouraging. She put together my guilty plea- community service, MADD seminar, random drug tests, probationary license. It all seemed pretty reasonable, but just to hear I wouldn't be going back to jail was good enough for me.
I was also told by her that the most tedious part of today would be the waiting to met with a probation officer and I decided what I should bring to occupy myself. I initially thought iPod, but I didn't want to get it stolen by all the hoods. So naturally, I brought a book.
With a book you don't even need to be reading it and you already seem better than the people around you. "Look at him. He has a book. He must be a smart person," I hear them say. But what book?
I'm reading Russel Brand's My Booky Wook: A Memoir of Sex, Drugs and Stand-up. I decided not to bring that one because, well just think about it: I was going to a trail about abuse of alcohol. How bad would I look? So that also ruled out my second choice, Are You There Vodka, It's Me Chelsea? I settled with a book that I've been reading for the last 4 years but have only really read the bulk of in the last few months. It has nothing to do with sex, drugs, or alcohol.
Anyways, today was pretty standard. The judge did my case with a man who was 40 years older than I to save time. I liked her fast pace nature, she was a different one than the one who incarcerated me. Bitch. With this being my last and final appearance in court dealing with this whole mess I have learned one thing. There needs to be more lawyer related dramas on TV. I was the only one there in a shirt and tie! I even slicked back my hair! Everyone else was wearing jeans and Indy race car shirts. No one knew how to dress for court. I mean really, why not break the mold and not come in like the person you were convicted as. Did I come in with a wrinkled button down and vomit and vodka on my breath? No.
Weeks ago, I was told by my public defender that I was not going to be going beck to jail and that everything was blown way out of proportion. She was very apologetic and encouraging. She put together my guilty plea- community service, MADD seminar, random drug tests, probationary license. It all seemed pretty reasonable, but just to hear I wouldn't be going back to jail was good enough for me.
I was also told by her that the most tedious part of today would be the waiting to met with a probation officer and I decided what I should bring to occupy myself. I initially thought iPod, but I didn't want to get it stolen by all the hoods. So naturally, I brought a book.
With a book you don't even need to be reading it and you already seem better than the people around you. "Look at him. He has a book. He must be a smart person," I hear them say. But what book?
I'm reading Russel Brand's My Booky Wook: A Memoir of Sex, Drugs and Stand-up. I decided not to bring that one because, well just think about it: I was going to a trail about abuse of alcohol. How bad would I look? So that also ruled out my second choice, Are You There Vodka, It's Me Chelsea? I settled with a book that I've been reading for the last 4 years but have only really read the bulk of in the last few months. It has nothing to do with sex, drugs, or alcohol.
Anyways, today was pretty standard. The judge did my case with a man who was 40 years older than I to save time. I liked her fast pace nature, she was a different one than the one who incarcerated me. Bitch. With this being my last and final appearance in court dealing with this whole mess I have learned one thing. There needs to be more lawyer related dramas on TV. I was the only one there in a shirt and tie! I even slicked back my hair! Everyone else was wearing jeans and Indy race car shirts. No one knew how to dress for court. I mean really, why not break the mold and not come in like the person you were convicted as. Did I come in with a wrinkled button down and vomit and vodka on my breath? No.
Behind the Scenes Vol. II
Hello all,
- A month passed until I was due back at court. Even though, all of my friends told me I wasn't going to jail, I still though that I'd wear nice, functional underwear just in case.
-I showed up at the court house with Dad in tow and when I went to the clerks office they told me that I was due a month ago and the poor handwriting on my court date was wrong and that there was a warrant out for my arrest and I wasn't notified. WHAT THE FUCK.
-Drama, drama, kick-ball-change. I cried so hard in front of so many strangers. The judge was a bee-otch and said that I probably changed the date on my court date ticket myself. My public defenders were completely offended by the judge but before you know it I was in a chain gang and orange jump suit and on my merry way to jail through a spooky underground tunnel. Fucked up are the words you are looking for, FUCKED THE FUCK UP.
-More government issue bologna sandwiches, I lost some weight, yay.
-I met a football player from the CFL. I pretended to know what that was until he spelled it out for me. Canadian Football League. He was a very tall, muscular, and handsome black man but the only response I had to him was "Huh, they have football up there? Gee, I bet it's cold. Do they have a gym you use here?" We didn't talk for long.
-Total I was only in my cell for about 30 seconds. Honestly, only 30 seconds. The getting there, signing up, and waiting takes the longest. I knew I had my Dad paying for my bond on the outside, so right when I got in there the bond was posted and I immediately was sent back out.
-The actual jail block was not so bad. 2 stories, open balcony, showers, phone, workout equipment, and you share your cell with one other person at night. Very intimate. With the right person it could be a very romantic detox center.
-When you leave jail, they just trow you out on the street. I had no idea where I was. Luckily enough Dad was there circling the block waiting for me. How nice is that?
-And just to recap, I was in jail for 30 seconds because of some fat cop's poor handwriting. WTF?
More to come.
- A month passed until I was due back at court. Even though, all of my friends told me I wasn't going to jail, I still though that I'd wear nice, functional underwear just in case.
-I showed up at the court house with Dad in tow and when I went to the clerks office they told me that I was due a month ago and the poor handwriting on my court date was wrong and that there was a warrant out for my arrest and I wasn't notified. WHAT THE FUCK.
-Drama, drama, kick-ball-change. I cried so hard in front of so many strangers. The judge was a bee-otch and said that I probably changed the date on my court date ticket myself. My public defenders were completely offended by the judge but before you know it I was in a chain gang and orange jump suit and on my merry way to jail through a spooky underground tunnel. Fucked up are the words you are looking for, FUCKED THE FUCK UP.
-More government issue bologna sandwiches, I lost some weight, yay.
-I met a football player from the CFL. I pretended to know what that was until he spelled it out for me. Canadian Football League. He was a very tall, muscular, and handsome black man but the only response I had to him was "Huh, they have football up there? Gee, I bet it's cold. Do they have a gym you use here?" We didn't talk for long.
-Total I was only in my cell for about 30 seconds. Honestly, only 30 seconds. The getting there, signing up, and waiting takes the longest. I knew I had my Dad paying for my bond on the outside, so right when I got in there the bond was posted and I immediately was sent back out.
-The actual jail block was not so bad. 2 stories, open balcony, showers, phone, workout equipment, and you share your cell with one other person at night. Very intimate. With the right person it could be a very romantic detox center.
-When you leave jail, they just trow you out on the street. I had no idea where I was. Luckily enough Dad was there circling the block waiting for me. How nice is that?
-And just to recap, I was in jail for 30 seconds because of some fat cop's poor handwriting. WTF?
More to come.
Behind the Scenes Vol. I
Hello all,
Due to an inconvenient facebook faux pas on my part I will now tell what the who-ha-dilly-yo has been going on behind the scenes of my mildly entertaining blogs. There are many facets that can be added to this to make it far more interesting but I probably perform them better live and in hindsight they were much more dramatic as it was happening. I will now break it down fo' you in bullet points.
-On Valentine's day I went out by myself, as I had been doing, and decided to get myself a quality lay for a nice change of pace. Well, after a few drinks I met a hot blonde guy, we exchanged some pleasantries in the bathroom stall, and decided to go to another bar.
-That is were my memory cuts out. As from what I can piece together from text messages and snapshots of cognitive thinking; I had many drinks bought for me, I made out with some guy who looked like a Beetle that I think I worked with at the Gap, and I had many condoms and phone numbers stuffed in my pocket.
-Police lights.....failed sobriety......handcuffs......nice chat with a female police officer. You get the picture.
-I was taken to the processing center where I had no clue on how to communicate to the outside world, no one knew where I was; my parents thought that I was spending the night with whomever I met the night before, which is very progressive of them.
-In a suit vest, tie, and tight jeans I did not fit the bill of the average abusive heroin fiend, so I got many a quizzical stares. Luckily enough I befriended the only other gay person there. He was a skinny twink, probably weighed about a buck thirty. He was moving home to Chicago the next week, had a vague history with a gay pornography site that never produced his video or pictures, and a fetish for beefy cops, of which there were plenty. After the first couple of hours we parted ways.
-After that I was grouped in cells with kids of my alma mater and similar levels of grammar, sent to the judge where I received a court date in poor handwriting and eventually given back my belongings (2 pockets worth of Mardi Gras beads and condoms) and thrown back on our capital's streets.
-Oddly enough no one in my company could legally drive but I was the only one who didn't have his car towed so I got us home. The last boy on my stop lives 2 miles away from me and his brother dated on of my high school friends. Small world. He was very handsome and had just started classes to become a skin specialist for Aveda. He was not gay, let me repeat, not gay. We had a long time to talk, so eventually I had to have the whole "I'm gay and my life is pretty normal" talk with him. He said that he didn't know any gay people. Seriously.....seriously? You're in Aveda skin care school and you don't know any gay people? He said that I seemed pretty cool and that he was lucky he was the only boy with all the girls in class because the odds were in his favor for "hittin' that". Straight.
-I eventually made it home where I showered the smell of government issue bologna sandwiches and the lower class immediately off of me. I fell in to my Mom's arms and cried like a freakin' baby, did the same thing to Dad the next day. They've been very great and supportive throughout the whole thing.
More to come.
Due to an inconvenient facebook faux pas on my part I will now tell what the who-ha-dilly-yo has been going on behind the scenes of my mildly entertaining blogs. There are many facets that can be added to this to make it far more interesting but I probably perform them better live and in hindsight they were much more dramatic as it was happening. I will now break it down fo' you in bullet points.
-On Valentine's day I went out by myself, as I had been doing, and decided to get myself a quality lay for a nice change of pace. Well, after a few drinks I met a hot blonde guy, we exchanged some pleasantries in the bathroom stall, and decided to go to another bar.
-That is were my memory cuts out. As from what I can piece together from text messages and snapshots of cognitive thinking; I had many drinks bought for me, I made out with some guy who looked like a Beetle that I think I worked with at the Gap, and I had many condoms and phone numbers stuffed in my pocket.
-Police lights.....failed sobriety......handcuffs......nice chat with a female police officer. You get the picture.
-I was taken to the processing center where I had no clue on how to communicate to the outside world, no one knew where I was; my parents thought that I was spending the night with whomever I met the night before, which is very progressive of them.
-In a suit vest, tie, and tight jeans I did not fit the bill of the average abusive heroin fiend, so I got many a quizzical stares. Luckily enough I befriended the only other gay person there. He was a skinny twink, probably weighed about a buck thirty. He was moving home to Chicago the next week, had a vague history with a gay pornography site that never produced his video or pictures, and a fetish for beefy cops, of which there were plenty. After the first couple of hours we parted ways.
-After that I was grouped in cells with kids of my alma mater and similar levels of grammar, sent to the judge where I received a court date in poor handwriting and eventually given back my belongings (2 pockets worth of Mardi Gras beads and condoms) and thrown back on our capital's streets.
-Oddly enough no one in my company could legally drive but I was the only one who didn't have his car towed so I got us home. The last boy on my stop lives 2 miles away from me and his brother dated on of my high school friends. Small world. He was very handsome and had just started classes to become a skin specialist for Aveda. He was not gay, let me repeat, not gay. We had a long time to talk, so eventually I had to have the whole "I'm gay and my life is pretty normal" talk with him. He said that he didn't know any gay people. Seriously.....seriously? You're in Aveda skin care school and you don't know any gay people? He said that I seemed pretty cool and that he was lucky he was the only boy with all the girls in class because the odds were in his favor for "hittin' that". Straight.
-I eventually made it home where I showered the smell of government issue bologna sandwiches and the lower class immediately off of me. I fell in to my Mom's arms and cried like a freakin' baby, did the same thing to Dad the next day. They've been very great and supportive throughout the whole thing.
More to come.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
The Rabbit Hole
Hello all,
I’ve always thought that I should write a book. I’ve had many friends tell me, “Oh Noah, if you ever write a book, I would so buy it.” Like at least 7-10 people, maybe more. That’s a lot. Think about it. How many of your friends have asked you to write a book? Probably not that many.
If 7-10 people buy my book, plus the additional randoms that would buy it after they see me on Oprah, that’s totally enough people for a publishing company to publish my book. There are so many bull shit books out there that no one ever buys, just think; you’re reading this blog chances are if you’re gonna read this blog-you’re gonna buy my book. And that’s like what…..3ish more people. And total that’s like 10-13 plus or minus 500,000,000 people or however many people buy what Oprah tells them.
I should so write a book. My parents would buy 10 copies or so, sure the book would be sprinkled with fuck this and shit that, but they’d still buy it. They’re pretty supportive people. They only wouldn’t be supportive if I got into porn. I mean, I’m in the performing arts so it’s definitely on the list…..but it’s pretty far down.
Anyways, for years now I’ve been thinking of what the title of my book should be and it finally came to me. The Rabbit Hole. It’s good, right? Sure, at first glance you might think, bunny asshole, but after the first couple pages or at least the cover art you wouldn’t think of the external sphincter of the Easter Bunny. With my family’s involvement in the rabbit biz, Fuckhead’s obsession with Alice in Wonderland, and my slip away from my personal goals into what has now become my daily life; I think it makes a lot of sense. It’s catchy, right? I think so. Ooh, also The Matrix. Remember in The Matrix where Morpheus asks Neo about the red or the blue pill and asks if he wants to go further down the rabbit hole? There are references are endless. It also sounds like the name of a dive bar in some hick-town. I can see it. The Rabbit Hole.
Sure, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Noah, you don’t even like the rabbits! Aren’t you allergic to them? Don’t they smell? Aren’t they less affectionate than iguanas wearing mink stoles?” Yes of course, but it’s called irony. That’s what’s going to make my book sell like hotcakes.
I’ve always thought that I should write a book. I’ve had many friends tell me, “Oh Noah, if you ever write a book, I would so buy it.” Like at least 7-10 people, maybe more. That’s a lot. Think about it. How many of your friends have asked you to write a book? Probably not that many.
If 7-10 people buy my book, plus the additional randoms that would buy it after they see me on Oprah, that’s totally enough people for a publishing company to publish my book. There are so many bull shit books out there that no one ever buys, just think; you’re reading this blog chances are if you’re gonna read this blog-you’re gonna buy my book. And that’s like what…..3ish more people. And total that’s like 10-13 plus or minus 500,000,000 people or however many people buy what Oprah tells them.
I should so write a book. My parents would buy 10 copies or so, sure the book would be sprinkled with fuck this and shit that, but they’d still buy it. They’re pretty supportive people. They only wouldn’t be supportive if I got into porn. I mean, I’m in the performing arts so it’s definitely on the list…..but it’s pretty far down.
Anyways, for years now I’ve been thinking of what the title of my book should be and it finally came to me. The Rabbit Hole. It’s good, right? Sure, at first glance you might think, bunny asshole, but after the first couple pages or at least the cover art you wouldn’t think of the external sphincter of the Easter Bunny. With my family’s involvement in the rabbit biz, Fuckhead’s obsession with Alice in Wonderland, and my slip away from my personal goals into what has now become my daily life; I think it makes a lot of sense. It’s catchy, right? I think so. Ooh, also The Matrix. Remember in The Matrix where Morpheus asks Neo about the red or the blue pill and asks if he wants to go further down the rabbit hole? There are references are endless. It also sounds like the name of a dive bar in some hick-town. I can see it. The Rabbit Hole.
Sure, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Noah, you don’t even like the rabbits! Aren’t you allergic to them? Don’t they smell? Aren’t they less affectionate than iguanas wearing mink stoles?” Yes of course, but it’s called irony. That’s what’s going to make my book sell like hotcakes.
Choking Strangers
Hello all,
Holy shit. I sit here after a 9 1/2 hour work day, which seemed like a 507 hour work day, after I waited 45 minutes for the God damn computer to start, while my parents watch P.S. I Love You on our free weekend of HBO movies. It's the part of the movie where Judy Garland is singing "The Man That Got Away", previously one of my favorite songs, now it makes me want to claw the skin off of my own face.
Christ on a stick, was it an awful day!
I really wasn't feeling work anyways but the very first customer I had set the pace for the entire day. I was in the express lane and we had finished the transaction and I was just waiting for her to take her receipt. I stood there with it outreached in my left hand while I started ringing the next customers things with my right. I had no angry look upon my face, I had no reason, I was perfectly content. Out of nowhere, homegirl throws her bags in her cart and says, "God, I'm sure glad you start ringing the next person when I'm not even gone yet!"
Now, I watch a lot of television and I have a problem with answering assholes with the accuracy that the average person dreams of....it's a gift. So naturally, after I recoiled my furrowed brow I said, "Good!"
"What did you say?" said the bitch. Here's where I should have said nothing or "Have a good day" but instead, as if I were talking to a retarded person from Peru I said "GOOD!!" and I craned my neck as if I were the missing friend from 227. "*Scoff*, Well, I'm going to go talk to your manager!!", said the bitch. "That'd be great!! You can find him right over there!!" I said.
I felt bad for about 5 seconds. We get a lot of bitches at my store, so naturally my manager had nothing to say about it. It just ruined my day.
Later on I asked some handsome frat-looking guy who was buying wine with his girlfriend if he wanted to come over to my lane, because I was empty. He said, "You 21, son?" "Yeah, are you?" I said. I looked at his ID and I said "I'm a whole year older than you, sonny." His nice friendly girlfriend laughed at the whole thing, but than dick-wad chimed in and said, "You're not being very nice!" And he was dead serious. I hope he gets the clap. After the day I had I decided not to talk to him anymore and let go away with a simple nod and big ol' fake smile.
My last customer was this old man who grunted at me. Charming. After I told him his total he said, "Do take American money?" I looked up, ready to give him the look he deserved, but I could tell from the twinkle in his eye that he was a nice person who was just kidding and having a good time. "We just started last week." I said. He laughed and said, "Well that's good cause it's all I got." As he counted his money in my hand, he referred to his change as a quarter and two coppers to make 27 cents. He was like some cute old Disney grandpa. Charming, actually charming, and that's saying a lot, I don't like old people. As I said goodbye to him, he looked me straight in the eyes and said, " I hope you have a great life."
I was so genuinely flattered and bemused by his words that I didn't know how to respond. I just said, "Thank you, I hope you do too." He gave me a quick one over and said, "No no really, I hope you have a fabulous rest of your life." smiled and left. How nice is that? A perfectly straight man who can say fabulous and not sound gay. If It weren't for that nice man I probably would have choked the next asshole I saw.
Holy shit. I sit here after a 9 1/2 hour work day, which seemed like a 507 hour work day, after I waited 45 minutes for the God damn computer to start, while my parents watch P.S. I Love You on our free weekend of HBO movies. It's the part of the movie where Judy Garland is singing "The Man That Got Away", previously one of my favorite songs, now it makes me want to claw the skin off of my own face.
Christ on a stick, was it an awful day!
I really wasn't feeling work anyways but the very first customer I had set the pace for the entire day. I was in the express lane and we had finished the transaction and I was just waiting for her to take her receipt. I stood there with it outreached in my left hand while I started ringing the next customers things with my right. I had no angry look upon my face, I had no reason, I was perfectly content. Out of nowhere, homegirl throws her bags in her cart and says, "God, I'm sure glad you start ringing the next person when I'm not even gone yet!"
Now, I watch a lot of television and I have a problem with answering assholes with the accuracy that the average person dreams of....it's a gift. So naturally, after I recoiled my furrowed brow I said, "Good!"
"What did you say?" said the bitch. Here's where I should have said nothing or "Have a good day" but instead, as if I were talking to a retarded person from Peru I said "GOOD!!" and I craned my neck as if I were the missing friend from 227. "*Scoff*, Well, I'm going to go talk to your manager!!", said the bitch. "That'd be great!! You can find him right over there!!" I said.
I felt bad for about 5 seconds. We get a lot of bitches at my store, so naturally my manager had nothing to say about it. It just ruined my day.
Later on I asked some handsome frat-looking guy who was buying wine with his girlfriend if he wanted to come over to my lane, because I was empty. He said, "You 21, son?" "Yeah, are you?" I said. I looked at his ID and I said "I'm a whole year older than you, sonny." His nice friendly girlfriend laughed at the whole thing, but than dick-wad chimed in and said, "You're not being very nice!" And he was dead serious. I hope he gets the clap. After the day I had I decided not to talk to him anymore and let go away with a simple nod and big ol' fake smile.
My last customer was this old man who grunted at me. Charming. After I told him his total he said, "Do take American money?" I looked up, ready to give him the look he deserved, but I could tell from the twinkle in his eye that he was a nice person who was just kidding and having a good time. "We just started last week." I said. He laughed and said, "Well that's good cause it's all I got." As he counted his money in my hand, he referred to his change as a quarter and two coppers to make 27 cents. He was like some cute old Disney grandpa. Charming, actually charming, and that's saying a lot, I don't like old people. As I said goodbye to him, he looked me straight in the eyes and said, " I hope you have a great life."
I was so genuinely flattered and bemused by his words that I didn't know how to respond. I just said, "Thank you, I hope you do too." He gave me a quick one over and said, "No no really, I hope you have a fabulous rest of your life." smiled and left. How nice is that? A perfectly straight man who can say fabulous and not sound gay. If It weren't for that nice man I probably would have choked the next asshole I saw.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Old Man Candy
Hello all,
As you remember from "I've Been Craigslisted Vol. 2", there is an older gentleman, "O.G.", that posted an ad for me on craiglsilst. We sent a few emails back and forth and he asked me out numerous times but I decided that I was not interested and had standards enough not to pursue a relationship with and old guy.
Well, he kept emailing me and I responded because I was raised well. He eventually came to my work one day and took it a step too far. We had talked a little about our lives, exes, and dogs and I was actually thinking that we could hang out. I mean if I love anything it's attention, so what's the harm in getting my fix with no strings attached? He had visited me at work before, and as usual, I was too busy to have an actual conversation. But there was something different about him today. He was dressed up. Nice shirt, uncomfortably unbuttoned down to the forth button, I prefer 1 or 2, pressed slacks and an overdose of cologne. This was like a mini date for him.
After I absorbed what I was dealing with I got very quiet and finished my job. Upon bagging the last of his goods he grabbed my hands as I handed the bag to him. I dropped the everything and he placed something in my hand. Mind you, this all happened while my manager was standing behind me, waiting to sent me to a different register and there was a line of people. I first thought that he gave me a lump of coal, but upon further investigation I saw that had given me a ceramic Scottish Terrier magnet the size of a small peach.
"Wha....uh...oh...thank you.....", was all I could say as I was hurried off to my next location. How creepy is that? I think really, really creepy. I've made the conscience decision to not have Scottie shirts, magnets, cups, or stickers because I live with one. Why do I need reminded of what my pet is? I can just look down and there he is. I don't need a lot of crap to remind me of what kind of dog I have. If I loved unicorns or hippos or something not readily available in Indiana, then maybe, maybe I would get a hippo T-shirt, but I don't need a magnet of my dog to put on the fridge when chances are he's at me feet licking the vegetable drawer.
By the look on his face, I could tell O.G. was very pleased with his gift, but I didn't have adequate time to make up an exaggerated thank you. So I texted him my thanks later. I also told him that he looked as though he was not coming to see just a friend and told him that although he told me he was coming to get groceries he didn't get any food at all. He texted back that maybe he did come to see me, driving 40 min, but he was not going to get attached.... Look up attached in the dictionary and you'll see a picture of awkward presents between mild acquaintances. I told him that I wasn't certain that he could distance his feelings for me into just a friendship and that it was best if we parted ways. He was not happy with this decision but he obliged.
My mom found the magnet and put it on the fridge because, "I don't know, I though it looked like it belonged on the friderator and I didn't want it magneticecising the thingie on your keys....." Um, ok Mom. I get any knowledge of anything technical from my Dad, strangers, or television.
Later on that day, with my small Scottie in my pocket, I had another encounter with an older gay gentleman. He was very tall and pot-bellied, gray hair and wearing sunglasses inside, one of my pet peeves. We had this conversation as he eyed me up and down, smiling and winking the entire time.
Him: "Um do you know where I'd find things for cold sore?"
Me: "Uh, do you mean like Abreva?"
Him: "Yea, yea, something sorta like that."
Me: "Well, did you check the pharmacy?"
Him: "It's Sunday, no one's there."
Me: "Well, you might want to look around the chapstick. I think there should be something there."
Him: "Well it's not really a cold sore. It's like a cold sore.....ya know...but it's down there." (as he gestured downwards)
Me: " OH!.....Ah, well you may want to go see an actual doctor about that. I...I....I don't know if we have anything over the counter for you.....but you can check."
He winked, smiled, and walked away and I threw up in my mouth. How can I not get a guy who was born in my decade to look at me but if you're above the age of 40 you clearly see a shirt that says "Slut, Twink, Lovin' the Oldies" on me!?!? I gotta change jobs, I'm getting to old for this.
As you remember from "I've Been Craigslisted Vol. 2", there is an older gentleman, "O.G.", that posted an ad for me on craiglsilst. We sent a few emails back and forth and he asked me out numerous times but I decided that I was not interested and had standards enough not to pursue a relationship with and old guy.
Well, he kept emailing me and I responded because I was raised well. He eventually came to my work one day and took it a step too far. We had talked a little about our lives, exes, and dogs and I was actually thinking that we could hang out. I mean if I love anything it's attention, so what's the harm in getting my fix with no strings attached? He had visited me at work before, and as usual, I was too busy to have an actual conversation. But there was something different about him today. He was dressed up. Nice shirt, uncomfortably unbuttoned down to the forth button, I prefer 1 or 2, pressed slacks and an overdose of cologne. This was like a mini date for him.
After I absorbed what I was dealing with I got very quiet and finished my job. Upon bagging the last of his goods he grabbed my hands as I handed the bag to him. I dropped the everything and he placed something in my hand. Mind you, this all happened while my manager was standing behind me, waiting to sent me to a different register and there was a line of people. I first thought that he gave me a lump of coal, but upon further investigation I saw that had given me a ceramic Scottish Terrier magnet the size of a small peach.
"Wha....uh...oh...thank you.....", was all I could say as I was hurried off to my next location. How creepy is that? I think really, really creepy. I've made the conscience decision to not have Scottie shirts, magnets, cups, or stickers because I live with one. Why do I need reminded of what my pet is? I can just look down and there he is. I don't need a lot of crap to remind me of what kind of dog I have. If I loved unicorns or hippos or something not readily available in Indiana, then maybe, maybe I would get a hippo T-shirt, but I don't need a magnet of my dog to put on the fridge when chances are he's at me feet licking the vegetable drawer.
By the look on his face, I could tell O.G. was very pleased with his gift, but I didn't have adequate time to make up an exaggerated thank you. So I texted him my thanks later. I also told him that he looked as though he was not coming to see just a friend and told him that although he told me he was coming to get groceries he didn't get any food at all. He texted back that maybe he did come to see me, driving 40 min, but he was not going to get attached.... Look up attached in the dictionary and you'll see a picture of awkward presents between mild acquaintances. I told him that I wasn't certain that he could distance his feelings for me into just a friendship and that it was best if we parted ways. He was not happy with this decision but he obliged.
My mom found the magnet and put it on the fridge because, "I don't know, I though it looked like it belonged on the friderator and I didn't want it magneticecising the thingie on your keys....." Um, ok Mom. I get any knowledge of anything technical from my Dad, strangers, or television.
Later on that day, with my small Scottie in my pocket, I had another encounter with an older gay gentleman. He was very tall and pot-bellied, gray hair and wearing sunglasses inside, one of my pet peeves. We had this conversation as he eyed me up and down, smiling and winking the entire time.
Him: "Um do you know where I'd find things for cold sore?"
Me: "Uh, do you mean like Abreva?"
Him: "Yea, yea, something sorta like that."
Me: "Well, did you check the pharmacy?"
Him: "It's Sunday, no one's there."
Me: "Well, you might want to look around the chapstick. I think there should be something there."
Him: "Well it's not really a cold sore. It's like a cold sore.....ya know...but it's down there." (as he gestured downwards)
Me: " OH!.....Ah, well you may want to go see an actual doctor about that. I...I....I don't know if we have anything over the counter for you.....but you can check."
He winked, smiled, and walked away and I threw up in my mouth. How can I not get a guy who was born in my decade to look at me but if you're above the age of 40 you clearly see a shirt that says "Slut, Twink, Lovin' the Oldies" on me!?!? I gotta change jobs, I'm getting to old for this.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Come Smell My Package
Hello all,
I have started to receive packages of my things from Fuckhead. It’s like Christmas; if for Christmas you were only given things that you bought for yourself months if not years ago and you had no recollection of what you actually wanted for Christmas. It’d be a pretty shitty Christmas. I guess the only similarities are opening boxes and seeing things you already expected to be there. We, in the Rogers’ household, have a scheduled Christmas; plan it right and nobody gets hurt.
I already got one box of DVDs and today I got a box of clothes. As I went through the clothes I can not explain why I did what I did, I can only say that I did it obsessively. Piece by piece, I smelled each article of clothing. I don’t even know what I was smelling for. A stranger observing me would have seen a psycho huffing the Gap 2007 spring season and old jazz pants, but I think maybe I was trying to see if the smelled like him. I remember smelling him and thinking that it was intoxicating, but I have no idea what he smells like now. That’s probably a good thing.
As I smelled through a portion of my wardrobe, I would check and see if the previous one smelled like the one I had in my hand, if the pants had more of a scent than the shirts, or if they smelled like more of what they smelled like together or separately. For the most part they smelled like old fabric softener and a humid box.
On the down side he has sent me some things that aren't mine. How frustrating is that.....really. Really fucking frustrating. I mean seriously asshole, if you are going to sent me all this random shit why not send me, oh I don't know..... some of the God damn furniture of mine that you threw out! Or, or maybe, my microwave! Or possibly some of my fucking dishes! Or ANYTHING ELSE! I don't want your ugly ass sweaters from your "moody boho" period. Fuckhead, I call you Fuckhead for a reason.....GOD!.....ug!.......Fuckhead.
All I can say for certain is that swine flu outbreak started in 2 states: New York and Indiana (the news told me so). Coincidence? I think not. Fortunately enough Mom has brought home some face masks that a friend has pressured her into buying. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to go and inhale a box of clothes to see if I can remember a person that I hate.
I have started to receive packages of my things from Fuckhead. It’s like Christmas; if for Christmas you were only given things that you bought for yourself months if not years ago and you had no recollection of what you actually wanted for Christmas. It’d be a pretty shitty Christmas. I guess the only similarities are opening boxes and seeing things you already expected to be there. We, in the Rogers’ household, have a scheduled Christmas; plan it right and nobody gets hurt.
I already got one box of DVDs and today I got a box of clothes. As I went through the clothes I can not explain why I did what I did, I can only say that I did it obsessively. Piece by piece, I smelled each article of clothing. I don’t even know what I was smelling for. A stranger observing me would have seen a psycho huffing the Gap 2007 spring season and old jazz pants, but I think maybe I was trying to see if the smelled like him. I remember smelling him and thinking that it was intoxicating, but I have no idea what he smells like now. That’s probably a good thing.
As I smelled through a portion of my wardrobe, I would check and see if the previous one smelled like the one I had in my hand, if the pants had more of a scent than the shirts, or if they smelled like more of what they smelled like together or separately. For the most part they smelled like old fabric softener and a humid box.
On the down side he has sent me some things that aren't mine. How frustrating is that.....really. Really fucking frustrating. I mean seriously asshole, if you are going to sent me all this random shit why not send me, oh I don't know..... some of the God damn furniture of mine that you threw out! Or, or maybe, my microwave! Or possibly some of my fucking dishes! Or ANYTHING ELSE! I don't want your ugly ass sweaters from your "moody boho" period. Fuckhead, I call you Fuckhead for a reason.....GOD!.....ug!.......Fuckhead.
All I can say for certain is that swine flu outbreak started in 2 states: New York and Indiana (the news told me so). Coincidence? I think not. Fortunately enough Mom has brought home some face masks that a friend has pressured her into buying. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to go and inhale a box of clothes to see if I can remember a person that I hate.
The One Night Engagement of a Dandelion
Hello all,
It was brought to my attention the other day that dog pee kills grass. I’ve always thought this and have seen it on TV, but the opposite is true for my little Wunderhund. (It’s German, look it up, think Wunderkind.) I know it may seem trivial, but everywhere my dog pees, there is a spontaneous growth of grass. It’s like the Fountain of Youth leakin’ right out of my Scottie. I always knew he was gifted. Some guy at work told me that if a dog drinks a lot of water it helps grass instead of kills it.
Since most of my day consists of work and watching television, the only time I have for my own thoughts is while I’m out with my dog as he spreads the elixir of life all over the yard. My mind wanders from show tunes to life goals, craigslist to my failed attempt at life, and with the new spring weather I always look upon the new blooms. There are many amazing blossoms to gaze upon; the new lilac bush, the neighbor’s tree we claim as our own, and this weird bush/tree-type plant that has very tropical fuchsia flowers in the spring and mystery pear/apple fruit in the fall that are completely inedible -believe me I know, yuck. But my eyes always fall upon the dandelion.
I know the dandelion is a weed, but when I thought about it what an interesting and seductive life it leads. It’s clearly a weed that can ruin a perfectly good lawn, but who are you kidding, it’s a flower!? Everybody loves a flower! It’s little and simple and yellow- the color of friendship (again, look it up, although it’s not German). It’s so pretty and harmless. After the first change in the weather, I opposed Dad mowing the lawn because seriously look at the lawn, it’s so pretty! But just you wait Henry Higgins, just you wait….
The next morning, I went out with my dog from whom all blessings flow and saw that even though the grass was abundant and green, my pasture of sunny-faced flowers were replaced by its skeletal counterpart. Just overnight, OVERNIGHT! The dandelions which were so perfect and uplifting were gone and left in its place was the potential for more of its toxic siblings. Now, I think that blowing on a day old dandelion is just as fancy as the next gal, but think about what you’re actually doing. You’re planting more weeds, maybe not on purpose, maybe not even you, it could be the wind, an animal, anything has the ability to spread the epidemic of the weed.
As per my dramatic usual, I looked at the dandelion and saw my old relationship with Fuckhead. Yes, on the surface everything looked fine but overnight POOF! Fucked. Overnight, it seems, I developed more problems from something that could have been remedied numerous other ways if I just would have had the foresight to see my problems for what they were- problems. I’m not saying that I would have been the one to break things up, I wouldn’t have, it’s not how I was raised. I’m a gardener, not an exterminator.
There’s no easy way to solve these problems I’ve gotten into, it’s not as easy as Dad mowing them over in the morning. I can only hope that the wind will just eventually blow it all away and everything will be OK. On the upside, many of the little parachute seeds that dance right off the dandelion get caught in the mane of my magical dog and I CAN comb/wash/recomb it right out of him. It’s nice to have some control over the problem.
It was brought to my attention the other day that dog pee kills grass. I’ve always thought this and have seen it on TV, but the opposite is true for my little Wunderhund. (It’s German, look it up, think Wunderkind.) I know it may seem trivial, but everywhere my dog pees, there is a spontaneous growth of grass. It’s like the Fountain of Youth leakin’ right out of my Scottie. I always knew he was gifted. Some guy at work told me that if a dog drinks a lot of water it helps grass instead of kills it.
Since most of my day consists of work and watching television, the only time I have for my own thoughts is while I’m out with my dog as he spreads the elixir of life all over the yard. My mind wanders from show tunes to life goals, craigslist to my failed attempt at life, and with the new spring weather I always look upon the new blooms. There are many amazing blossoms to gaze upon; the new lilac bush, the neighbor’s tree we claim as our own, and this weird bush/tree-type plant that has very tropical fuchsia flowers in the spring and mystery pear/apple fruit in the fall that are completely inedible -believe me I know, yuck. But my eyes always fall upon the dandelion.
I know the dandelion is a weed, but when I thought about it what an interesting and seductive life it leads. It’s clearly a weed that can ruin a perfectly good lawn, but who are you kidding, it’s a flower!? Everybody loves a flower! It’s little and simple and yellow- the color of friendship (again, look it up, although it’s not German). It’s so pretty and harmless. After the first change in the weather, I opposed Dad mowing the lawn because seriously look at the lawn, it’s so pretty! But just you wait Henry Higgins, just you wait….
The next morning, I went out with my dog from whom all blessings flow and saw that even though the grass was abundant and green, my pasture of sunny-faced flowers were replaced by its skeletal counterpart. Just overnight, OVERNIGHT! The dandelions which were so perfect and uplifting were gone and left in its place was the potential for more of its toxic siblings. Now, I think that blowing on a day old dandelion is just as fancy as the next gal, but think about what you’re actually doing. You’re planting more weeds, maybe not on purpose, maybe not even you, it could be the wind, an animal, anything has the ability to spread the epidemic of the weed.
As per my dramatic usual, I looked at the dandelion and saw my old relationship with Fuckhead. Yes, on the surface everything looked fine but overnight POOF! Fucked. Overnight, it seems, I developed more problems from something that could have been remedied numerous other ways if I just would have had the foresight to see my problems for what they were- problems. I’m not saying that I would have been the one to break things up, I wouldn’t have, it’s not how I was raised. I’m a gardener, not an exterminator.
There’s no easy way to solve these problems I’ve gotten into, it’s not as easy as Dad mowing them over in the morning. I can only hope that the wind will just eventually blow it all away and everything will be OK. On the upside, many of the little parachute seeds that dance right off the dandelion get caught in the mane of my magical dog and I CAN comb/wash/recomb it right out of him. It’s nice to have some control over the problem.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
I've Been Craigslisted Vol. III
Hello all,
I write this to you today as the rain trickles outside. For all those who bitch and moan about rainy days and it being "yucky" weather I have three words for you. Go fuck yourself. I burn in January, enjoy the smell of rain, and with the added humidity in the air, it is the perfect weather for singing around the house while nobody's home. If the drastic weather change of rain affects you so much that you need to complain to me about it, move to a dessert and shut up.
Anyways, I have been craigslisted again! I know! I will soon have to hire an armed body guard to protect me and then fall in love with me after nobody cares, alla The Bodyguard. As per usual, I was at work minding my own beeswax and a handsome businessman in his early 40's came through my lane. We didn't really speak outside of the usual and he made sure to touch my hands and linger as I handed him his bag and receipt. After about 10 paces he turned around to look at me and also stopped just before the door to throw me a glance before he left.
Woohoo! It's really the little things in life. I mean, I'd enjoy winning 200,000 million dollars but if I can get checked out by a well off business man, that'll do too. Later on that night I hopped on ye ol' craigslist and look what I found:
Hi there...came through your line today at the (place where I work) and our eyes locked a couple of times. I would very much like to take care of what is inside those khaki pants you were wearing. I was the one that bought the bread around noon today. If you are interested, please let me know. When you write, please include your name...yes, I looked at your name tag...so I can verify it is you.
Yeow-za! Unlike the O.G. from Vol. 2, he was much more handsome and well off, so naturally I sent him a line back to see what would happen. And he wrote back:
Hi Noah....you made something inside of me come alive that I haven't felt for a couple of years. I used to have a very good, close male friend and we would get together quite a bit and would make each other feel very good. I haven't felt these desires until I saw you yesterday. He also had a friend that would join us on occasion and that was even better. I am married and I have to be extremely discrete so if you are interested in making each other feel very good...let me know. Also, what did you have in mind??
Who-ho-ho-hoa hold on there partner! Aside from all the cheesiness of desires and what not which is B.S. Married?!?!?! What is up? Can't a guy meet another guy and not be old, fat, ugly, hairy, poc-faced, stupid, poor, and MARRIED, fall in love and live happily ever after? What is with all the hurdles?
Joking aside I thought about it for a second and a half and thought it was not it was not in my best interest. I wrote back:
If it's my choice, I think I'm going to have to pass. Although I do love many things in the bedroom, my biggest turn on is a guy who's out. I've been a cheap floozy for long enough don't know if this is the best idea. I've been a cheater and been cheated on and would feel bad for your wife., I'm the marrying kind and am looking for the next Mr. Right, call me old fashioned. Good luck with finding a fuck buddy and if you get a divorce, send me a line.
Cute, coi, and honest, no? I have edited out some choice material from these messages because they would make even the most brazen blush. He sent me a final message:
Thank you very much Noah...I do appreciate it. And while I am very disappointed, I understand completely and hope you find the love of your life, your soul mate. You are very attractive and please know...I don't post at all, but found something in your look that did something to me. I am in that Target often and will probably see you at times...will make sure I smile and wink...while checking out your ass of course ;-)
Ug, let it go already with all of the spirituality crap. He just wanted a lil' sum'in', sum'in'. What is thos look I do? Let's just say I'm sure he has been cheating on his wife for a long time. I never get guys who are bi. I don't believe in bisexuality. They just want it all and are afraid to embrace the awesomeness that is being a gay man. You can be as feminine or masculine as you want! Be gay! Funny quips, tight shirts, and no pregnancy! What's not to like?
I write this to you today as the rain trickles outside. For all those who bitch and moan about rainy days and it being "yucky" weather I have three words for you. Go fuck yourself. I burn in January, enjoy the smell of rain, and with the added humidity in the air, it is the perfect weather for singing around the house while nobody's home. If the drastic weather change of rain affects you so much that you need to complain to me about it, move to a dessert and shut up.
Anyways, I have been craigslisted again! I know! I will soon have to hire an armed body guard to protect me and then fall in love with me after nobody cares, alla The Bodyguard. As per usual, I was at work minding my own beeswax and a handsome businessman in his early 40's came through my lane. We didn't really speak outside of the usual and he made sure to touch my hands and linger as I handed him his bag and receipt. After about 10 paces he turned around to look at me and also stopped just before the door to throw me a glance before he left.
Woohoo! It's really the little things in life. I mean, I'd enjoy winning 200,000 million dollars but if I can get checked out by a well off business man, that'll do too. Later on that night I hopped on ye ol' craigslist and look what I found:
Hi there...came through your line today at the (place where I work) and our eyes locked a couple of times. I would very much like to take care of what is inside those khaki pants you were wearing. I was the one that bought the bread around noon today. If you are interested, please let me know. When you write, please include your name...yes, I looked at your name tag...so I can verify it is you.
Yeow-za! Unlike the O.G. from Vol. 2, he was much more handsome and well off, so naturally I sent him a line back to see what would happen. And he wrote back:
Hi Noah....you made something inside of me come alive that I haven't felt for a couple of years. I used to have a very good, close male friend and we would get together quite a bit and would make each other feel very good. I haven't felt these desires until I saw you yesterday. He also had a friend that would join us on occasion and that was even better. I am married and I have to be extremely discrete so if you are interested in making each other feel very good...let me know. Also, what did you have in mind??
Who-ho-ho-hoa hold on there partner! Aside from all the cheesiness of desires and what not which is B.S. Married?!?!?! What is up? Can't a guy meet another guy and not be old, fat, ugly, hairy, poc-faced, stupid, poor, and MARRIED, fall in love and live happily ever after? What is with all the hurdles?
Joking aside I thought about it for a second and a half and thought it was not it was not in my best interest. I wrote back:
If it's my choice, I think I'm going to have to pass. Although I do love many things in the bedroom, my biggest turn on is a guy who's out. I've been a cheap floozy for long enough don't know if this is the best idea. I've been a cheater and been cheated on and would feel bad for your wife., I'm the marrying kind and am looking for the next Mr. Right, call me old fashioned. Good luck with finding a fuck buddy and if you get a divorce, send me a line.
Cute, coi, and honest, no? I have edited out some choice material from these messages because they would make even the most brazen blush. He sent me a final message:
Thank you very much Noah...I do appreciate it. And while I am very disappointed, I understand completely and hope you find the love of your life, your soul mate. You are very attractive and please know...I don't post at all, but found something in your look that did something to me. I am in that Target often and will probably see you at times...will make sure I smile and wink...while checking out your ass of course ;-)
Ug, let it go already with all of the spirituality crap. He just wanted a lil' sum'in', sum'in'. What is thos look I do? Let's just say I'm sure he has been cheating on his wife for a long time. I never get guys who are bi. I don't believe in bisexuality. They just want it all and are afraid to embrace the awesomeness that is being a gay man. You can be as feminine or masculine as you want! Be gay! Funny quips, tight shirts, and no pregnancy! What's not to like?
Thursday, April 23, 2009
I've Been Craigslisted Vol. II
Hello all,
The week after my proposed threesome from a couple on craigslist, I was still on a high. I got a haircut, it was spring, and I was starring at every stranger like he could potentially be my next husband. AWKWARD. I need someone in my head to tell me, “Noah, stop starring at that person, he’s not even gay, he’s married, you didn’t even do your hair today, you look like a stalker”. That would be helpful.
Anywho, an older gay gentleman came through my lane that day with a handful of DVDs including “Weeds Season 3”. We chatted about that and the previous seasons as well as the great DVD sales in the store and he went on his merry way leaving me only with a wiggly smile. He came back a few days later and came back through my lane. He said that he already had that season, bought only some almonds and some socks, both things near my check out lane, and again went on his merry way.
2 minutes later I was hanging out near the end of my lane, pretending to do something, and the older gentlemen (O.G.) came back.
O.G.: “Uh, hi, again.”
Me: “Oh, hi.
O.G.: “Um, did you know that there is a craigslist ad about you?”
Me: “Yeah, I saw it the other day. I was very flattered.”
O.G.: “Yeah, I saw it too and knew it was you. Do you have a boyfriend?”
Me: “No, no I don’t. Things are kind of complicated for me right now, so I’m just enjoying being by myself. Well, have a good day.”
He smiled at me, raised his eyebrow, winked and walked away. I don’t care if I was getting hit on by shady couples and old guys, I felt HOT! On Easter Sunday, as many gays did for entertainment, I got on craigslist and found a little Easter egg of my own.
Fishers Target: Weeds Fans Unite! - m4m
you said Your life is busy right nOw but woUld you have the time (or desiRe) to catch a sEason of weeds? would love to have you over to view it together, nothing Complicated jUst nsa weeds....if not weeds how abouT the united statEs of tara? if you email back tell me what i came back into the store to tell you....just so i know its you....
I was shocked.....I'm FAMOUS! For freak's sake, you can't even get people to stop recognizing me. I'm like fuckin' Lindsay Lohan. After the stars faded from my eyes I noticed that there was some irregular capitalization in his message:
YOU RE CUTE.
I love a good game, but was the game cute or the guy? Upon further investigation I realized it was the game. We emailed back and forth,and he left me many interesting and supportive messages in all caps, I just wanted to see where it would go. Because if he was rich and cute, this could definitely be my future husband, age aside. But seeing as how he was an older gentleman who trolled craigslist, leaving spooky cryptic messages in capital letters, the dream wore thin pretty quickly.
On a completely different note, I think I just ingested a large quantity of dish soap, like a table spoon or so. I opened my mouth and REAL bubbles came out. My entire dinner tasted like soap, but it was so good I kept eating it. There may be a direct line between compromising my dignity, responding to these craigslist ads, and continuing to eat a Dawn-drenched bowl of homemade lo mien, but I don't think I'm aware enough to put it together. I'll leave that mystery in the hands of my therapist I will have caudal me after I make it big.
The week after my proposed threesome from a couple on craigslist, I was still on a high. I got a haircut, it was spring, and I was starring at every stranger like he could potentially be my next husband. AWKWARD. I need someone in my head to tell me, “Noah, stop starring at that person, he’s not even gay, he’s married, you didn’t even do your hair today, you look like a stalker”. That would be helpful.
Anywho, an older gay gentleman came through my lane that day with a handful of DVDs including “Weeds Season 3”. We chatted about that and the previous seasons as well as the great DVD sales in the store and he went on his merry way leaving me only with a wiggly smile. He came back a few days later and came back through my lane. He said that he already had that season, bought only some almonds and some socks, both things near my check out lane, and again went on his merry way.
2 minutes later I was hanging out near the end of my lane, pretending to do something, and the older gentlemen (O.G.) came back.
O.G.: “Uh, hi, again.”
Me: “Oh, hi.
O.G.: “Um, did you know that there is a craigslist ad about you?”
Me: “Yeah, I saw it the other day. I was very flattered.”
O.G.: “Yeah, I saw it too and knew it was you. Do you have a boyfriend?”
Me: “No, no I don’t. Things are kind of complicated for me right now, so I’m just enjoying being by myself. Well, have a good day.”
He smiled at me, raised his eyebrow, winked and walked away. I don’t care if I was getting hit on by shady couples and old guys, I felt HOT! On Easter Sunday, as many gays did for entertainment, I got on craigslist and found a little Easter egg of my own.
Fishers Target: Weeds Fans Unite! - m4m
you said Your life is busy right nOw but woUld you have the time (or desiRe) to catch a sEason of weeds? would love to have you over to view it together, nothing Complicated jUst nsa weeds....if not weeds how abouT the united statEs of tara? if you email back tell me what i came back into the store to tell you....just so i know its you....
I was shocked.....I'm FAMOUS! For freak's sake, you can't even get people to stop recognizing me. I'm like fuckin' Lindsay Lohan. After the stars faded from my eyes I noticed that there was some irregular capitalization in his message:
YOU RE CUTE.
I love a good game, but was the game cute or the guy? Upon further investigation I realized it was the game. We emailed back and forth,and he left me many interesting and supportive messages in all caps, I just wanted to see where it would go. Because if he was rich and cute, this could definitely be my future husband, age aside. But seeing as how he was an older gentleman who trolled craigslist, leaving spooky cryptic messages in capital letters, the dream wore thin pretty quickly.
On a completely different note, I think I just ingested a large quantity of dish soap, like a table spoon or so. I opened my mouth and REAL bubbles came out. My entire dinner tasted like soap, but it was so good I kept eating it. There may be a direct line between compromising my dignity, responding to these craigslist ads, and continuing to eat a Dawn-drenched bowl of homemade lo mien, but I don't think I'm aware enough to put it together. I'll leave that mystery in the hands of my therapist I will have caudal me after I make it big.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
I’ve Been Craigslisted Vol. I
Hello all,
I write this to you as I watch the A-List awards on Bravo. God, I love Kathy Griffin.
So, 2 weeks ago I was at work and saw a handsome couple walk past my lane. They were in their mid to late 30’s and more than moderately attractive. Since it has been a LONG while since I have been out in the dating atmosphere and most of my flirting consists of me batting my doe eyes at Neil Patrick Harris, Anderson Cooper, Adam Lambert, Hugh Jackman, JC Chasez, Cheyenne Jackson, Matt Lauer, Seth McFarlane, Eric Dane, Lance Bass, Jon Hamm, Paul Rudd, Dean Cain, Justin Timberlake, Seth Meyers, Ricky Martin, Rupert Everett, that guy who wrote Milk and many many others through the television, I wasn’t expecting a response from my lingering, awkwardly penetrating stare.
But sure enough one them, I’m guessing the top, stared at me back! Even after he and his beau passed me he kept his smile lingering, his eyebrow devilishly raised, and stare piercing. Needless to say, that put a little hop in my step for the remainder of the day; until I came home, hopped on craigslist (NO JUDGEMENT I love the “missed connections”!) and saw this:
Red headed frat boy cashier with good eye contact - m4m - 38
You are a hot looking college age cashier with red hair. We are a bearish MM couple, 38 years old, You and I locked eyes for a solid 10 seconds as we were walking out of the store. Wanted so much to go back and buy something and go through your line, but we were late getting somewhere. We're done with our errands. Drop me a note if you want to have a SANDWICH. You are hot. ;)
Oooh, a sandwich! I hope it’s grilled cheese!! I love grilled cheese, AND tomato soup, unstopable that combination is. I mean serious yum…. Think about it, yum. But seriously, I was very flattered; I have never been called frat-looking in my entire life. I’ve learned the hard way, no pun intended, that no matter what people say, there is no perfect three-way. Even though gay men can hook like Legos, someone always ends up as the odd man out - believe me.
I wrote him back a very polite email saying that I thought he and his boyfriend/partner were both very cute, but I had a lot going on right now. Maybe we could reschedule? I did not get a response.
I write this to you as I watch the A-List awards on Bravo. God, I love Kathy Griffin.
So, 2 weeks ago I was at work and saw a handsome couple walk past my lane. They were in their mid to late 30’s and more than moderately attractive. Since it has been a LONG while since I have been out in the dating atmosphere and most of my flirting consists of me batting my doe eyes at Neil Patrick Harris, Anderson Cooper, Adam Lambert, Hugh Jackman, JC Chasez, Cheyenne Jackson, Matt Lauer, Seth McFarlane, Eric Dane, Lance Bass, Jon Hamm, Paul Rudd, Dean Cain, Justin Timberlake, Seth Meyers, Ricky Martin, Rupert Everett, that guy who wrote Milk and many many others through the television, I wasn’t expecting a response from my lingering, awkwardly penetrating stare.
But sure enough one them, I’m guessing the top, stared at me back! Even after he and his beau passed me he kept his smile lingering, his eyebrow devilishly raised, and stare piercing. Needless to say, that put a little hop in my step for the remainder of the day; until I came home, hopped on craigslist (NO JUDGEMENT I love the “missed connections”!) and saw this:
Red headed frat boy cashier with good eye contact - m4m - 38
You are a hot looking college age cashier with red hair. We are a bearish MM couple, 38 years old, You and I locked eyes for a solid 10 seconds as we were walking out of the store. Wanted so much to go back and buy something and go through your line, but we were late getting somewhere. We're done with our errands. Drop me a note if you want to have a SANDWICH. You are hot. ;)
Oooh, a sandwich! I hope it’s grilled cheese!! I love grilled cheese, AND tomato soup, unstopable that combination is. I mean serious yum…. Think about it, yum. But seriously, I was very flattered; I have never been called frat-looking in my entire life. I’ve learned the hard way, no pun intended, that no matter what people say, there is no perfect three-way. Even though gay men can hook like Legos, someone always ends up as the odd man out - believe me.
I wrote him back a very polite email saying that I thought he and his boyfriend/partner were both very cute, but I had a lot going on right now. Maybe we could reschedule? I did not get a response.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
A Nut Too Many
Hello all,
As many of you know I am spending a lot of time at home for various reasons, and except for a few things, it’s not bad at all. My parents and I are acclimating swimmingly with eachother and actually one of my favorite things (in small doses) is watching TV with them. Hearing Mom say, “What’s going on? Who is that? What did he say? What’s that mean?” would commonly annoy me but hearing Dad respond to her makes it all worth while.
Many of my friends in high school thought that my dad was a mute because Mom talked all the time and he stood there with his stone face and waited to chauffer us home. But now, hearing him say, “She has no business in shorts.” or break down the entire elimination of Dancing with the Stars or American Idol; I can tell we’re related.
The other day Mom came home and brought us all Peanut M&Ms from school as a treat. As Mom bit into a red M&M, she noticed something:
Mom: “This is missing a peanut! Look, there’s no peanut in here!”
Me: “Huh. Well, why don’t you put a stamp on it and send it to the Mars company. I’m sure they’d love to know that they missed one and they’d send you a nut in the mail.”
Without skipping a beat, Dad chimed in:
Dad: “Why don’t you come over here? I can give you a nut if that’s what you want.”
Honest to God, I almost choked laughing. I’m sure he didn’t mean it in a sexual way, but it was hilarious.
As many of you know I am spending a lot of time at home for various reasons, and except for a few things, it’s not bad at all. My parents and I are acclimating swimmingly with eachother and actually one of my favorite things (in small doses) is watching TV with them. Hearing Mom say, “What’s going on? Who is that? What did he say? What’s that mean?” would commonly annoy me but hearing Dad respond to her makes it all worth while.
Many of my friends in high school thought that my dad was a mute because Mom talked all the time and he stood there with his stone face and waited to chauffer us home. But now, hearing him say, “She has no business in shorts.” or break down the entire elimination of Dancing with the Stars or American Idol; I can tell we’re related.
The other day Mom came home and brought us all Peanut M&Ms from school as a treat. As Mom bit into a red M&M, she noticed something:
Mom: “This is missing a peanut! Look, there’s no peanut in here!”
Me: “Huh. Well, why don’t you put a stamp on it and send it to the Mars company. I’m sure they’d love to know that they missed one and they’d send you a nut in the mail.”
Without skipping a beat, Dad chimed in:
Dad: “Why don’t you come over here? I can give you a nut if that’s what you want.”
Honest to God, I almost choked laughing. I’m sure he didn’t mean it in a sexual way, but it was hilarious.
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