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.
Monday, July 20, 2009
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.
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