Man, Oh, Man

So BW and I went to the Illini basketball game this evening. But as prologue, we had a tasty dinner at our favorite BBQ restaurant.

And it wasn't only the brisket that was smokin'. So was our server. At first he was rather quiet, but then he broached the subject of the game, an easy topic given our orange hoodies, and soon it became the foreplay before game play. Ahh. Sports Talk became quite chatty, and we were happy for him to return several times for some table talk. I have visions of a "full court press" in my head... such imagery. I wanted to ask him if he needed a ride to the game. Or a ride before the game?

Scandal.

Let it be known that BW and I actually share two boyfriends. Well, one is a boyfaux and the other is a beaufriend, but I'm getting ahead of myself here.

Our first bachelor is Hot Nuclear Physicist. Such a thing is a rarity in this universe, possibly more so than Mendelevium or antimatter. But let it be said, that this Cutie McCutieson is adorable, smart, and actually gay. And BW and I both lust for him. But then, he's pining for a 19 year old who has out-of-the-closet issues, which basically means he's untouchable. Ah, gay soap opera. As a result, Hot Nuclear Physicist is our boyfaux. He just doesn't know it yet. I was working on a joke about penetrating his valence electron shell, but it was hopelessly abandoned.

Our second bachelor is UberNice Guy. Have you ever met someone that is so nice, you think this person is TOO nice? That's UberNice Guy. I mean... he's such a nice guy. BW and I had to decipher the riddle of his persona, and we could only come up with that it doesn't feel genuine. I believe he is genuinely being friendly, open, and quite generous. But relationships of any kind generally flourish because of step-wise, reciprocal intimacy. And once he meets you, he's your best good friend. And he wants to include you in anything going on. Which is fine, I suppose, for some people. But BW and I don't roll that way. And we think that he has a crush on the both of us, which is probably really true. But neither of us feel the same. So he's our beaufriend. And BW needs to court him so we can upgrade our seats to the floor. Just one game. Full court press. Do it, BW. Take one for the team.

I bring up these two gents because they were topics of discussion this evening. BW and I come up with plays on words to try and make the other laugh. Tonight we had some good ones, but I can't remember any specific ones. Most of them are situational, anyway. Then we say stupid things, like calling for certain plays. "Time for the Triple Lindy!" or "The Annexation of Puerto Rico!" If you get either of those references, big ups to you. Hey, it makes us laugh.

And speaking of men with drama, the Illini are no longer the worst team in the Big 10 after tonight's game. We now share last place with Michigan. Luscious! In the words of Dorothy Large Marge Zbornak, "S-GOOOOAAAWWWWW!"

Fey, Fi, Faux

Last weekend, I was invited to the moment I had been waiting for. The moment to sing the jingle of Army's tune into the ear of a good looking, sweet young man. And in his brain, that tune would be lodged -- gestating, vamping, tickling. And slowly it would grow on him until he realized what he could have with me. And then, we'd make sweet love... er... music together.

Of course, this young man was non other than Jay, my new boyfaux. Who happens to have a legitimate live-in boyfriend. Meh, details.


Rules of Engagement

Jay had invited Feyonce to a Christmas party at his place, and she was able to bring along a friend or significant other... or in our case, her signifauxcant other. It was my shot to size up Jay's boyf to see who this character is, what state of bliss (or discord) they shared, and how I could wreck it all with my charming ways. Yes, neo-conservative so-called Christians... this is truly the only gay agenda out there. And it doesn't concern you at all, so go fear things up elsewhere.

So Feyonce and I rocked out another party before hitting this all-important one. And like any Army, I needed to devise specific rules of engagement:

Rule #1: Make sure I get on Jay's radar.

Rule #2: Employ defense mechanisms when necessary. For instance, it was imperative going into this knowing that his boyf was quite inferior to me. Their relationship had to be in shambles.

Rule #3: Lots of ammunition. You can't win the offensive without being loaded. Inhibitions slide, your guard is down, and maybe some action is seen.

Rules in mind, we get to Jay's apartment complex, and basically everything is covered in ice. No salt in the parking lot, on the sidewalks, or anything. So we're sliding our way to his door, when we encounter the frozen steps from Home Alone. And no railing to grab hold of. So Feyonce and I are crawling up the steps, praying we don't land jaw first on concrete, cracking up the whole way there.


Let The Games Begin

We make it alive and Jay greets us at the door. He looks adorable in his collared shirt and sweater. Jay makes the introductions to the seven other people there (one of whom I knew already), and I spot the boyf. The enemy. The distraction. And he's well, kinda cute. But somewhat of a stereotype. Little bitchy. Little sassy. In my unbiased opinion, I think Jay could do much better.

I crack open a Guinness. And out comes the dreidel. For a drinking game. I felt a bit at ease that a Jew was in the group, like it was kosher and all. And thankfully, Jews don't believe in Hell. Let's just say that "Gimel" meant everyone drank. I forgot the rest. I was focused on making eye contact with Jay whenever it was appropriate. My message was subliminal, an unconscious code.

Jewish Girl mentioned something about Yiddish, and I commented that Feyonce and I were beschert (meant to be). We laughed about that for a while. I broke out a few other choice Yiddish words I knew from my viewings of Seinfeld and Sex and the City. My mis-education.

Then came the wine. First red. Then white. Then more white. And then things loosened up. We played some other game that didn't work out too well. I was certainly feeling tipsy. I kept hitting the food like it was nobody's business. The pepperoni, cheeses, spicy pigs in a blanket, cookies, et al. -- I was Bogarting the buffet every bit as much as I was "Beau-guarding" the boyfaux.

As a subplot, Feyonce was interested in one of the other attendees. She, too, had gone into the evening with some intentions to reconnoiter this gentleman. We both made sure to dress as dapper and smart as we could. A couple of sexy fauxances ready to divide and conquer our men. I had my Jay. She had her Billfriend. He seemed like a cool guy. Feyonce confesses to liking slightly nerdy guys, and he fit the bill. Literally.

Now the rest of the evening is pretty much blanketed with some of the most bizarre things I've ever said. And sadly I have forgotten most of them. So I'll attempt to recreate the few I recall with the following vignettes:

****************************

Jay: "I want to sing karaoke, Feyonce."
Army: "What would you sing?"
Jay: "Something from the ballad genre."
Army: "You can't sing a genre, you have to give us actual song names!"
Fey: "Whoa now, Fauxance. Well what would yours be?"
Jay: "Yeah?"
Army: "Love Shack and Grace Kelly by MIKA!" (a bit too self-satisfied)

****************************

To Feyonce: "Yuck. I'm burping gross weenies."

****************************

Not a specific quote, but I used the words fabulash and luscious way too much. Sometimes luscious meant "tasty" or "excellent." Other times, it meant "drunk."

****************************

So the short of it was, I got sauced, and then I got saucy. I ended up doing this dance in the kitchen as Jay air-conducted to the marching band music that was playing. It was as if we were both vying for Feyonce's attention... but we didn't know it at the time. She had to keep sober because I had imbibed a bit too much of the wine. So much for my gay agenda.

In all, it was a great evening. I enjoyed the group's company, I got to interact with Jay and the boyf, and have more fun with my Feyonce. I felt better knowing the boyf had some flaws, and it actually made me move on a little. Thankfully when I'm wined up, I don't become a depressed boozy old fairy.


Driving Miss Hazy

So the night ended with me scooting down the Home Alone steps and then "walking" with my hands and sliding on my feet across the ice rink. Thankfully, Feyonce drives manual. I gave her mild sass for stalling Andrew right away, to which she deftly replied, "the drunk person cannot criticize my driving." Touche.

I crashed at her place and woke up at 5:43 a.m. to record the details that eventually became this entry. In the background, freezing rain was pounding on the house, encasing my car in a shell, and creating a new layer of danger to the world. But I had no hangover. Nor did I have any hang-ups about my boyfaux sleeping with another man.

Kaputccino

Friday was certainly an eventful day. I'll have to shelf my synopsis with Therapist because it was a doozy. Let's just say it involved tears, albeit good ones. Necessary ones. I'll get to that story later on.

Friday afternoon, I ended up at my coffee stop to do some work, and at first, Barista Boy was there. Nothing much happened, as his shift ended shortly thereafter, but who better to replace him than Spy Girl. My informant. And what did my femme detective have in store for me? Or is a female detective called a detectess? Hmm...

Anywhen, as I was leaving, I went up to say hello to her, and she opens with, "I asked Barista Boy if he was gay, and he claims he's not." Interesting. So she has her doubts. She said he wanted to know why she asked, and she mentioned that she'd never seen him with a guy or a girl before and was curious. He had gotten a bit defensive, I gathered, asking if he gave off some kind of gay vibe or something.

Then she went on to say that he honestly isn't worth the time because his life is a mess. And the more you know, the sadder it gets. He really needs to get his shat together. Which is a shame because he does have a lot going for him. I guess he's been adhering to a strict drug regimen to keep his mind limber. Wow, tragic and straight. I'm shaping up to be some desperate amalgam of cliches, and that can't end well.

I thanked her for her candor. And her speedy work. That was one quick junket! Still, it would have been nice to have a "rendezvous" with him even if he is messed up. Dysfunctional people can be passionate, you know. Or into crazy outlier sex that involves a rolling pin, mood swings, and maybe even pedal pumping. I think I'm better off.

Well, maybe.

Sigh. So let's chalk him up on Army's big board of Disappointingly Ambiguous Straight Men. Wow, I'm racking up some list here...

- Barista Boy
- Ambiguously Straight Guy
- Pac Sun Tyler
- Red Robin Tyler
- Hot Server Guy
- God knows who else I'm forgetting right now...

My people really need to work out some system or code. Something.

This is getting ridonkulous.

Espresspionage

So I finally worked up the nerve (or the noive, as the Cowardly Lion would pronounce) to do some detective work on Barista Boy at my new coffeehouse hangout. I appreciated everyone's suggestions on how to find out if he's one of my people, but in the end, I took a safe circumnavigation approach. Ask the co-worker.

The setting was perfect this evening. Closing time, and it was just me and Spy Girl. Barista Boy had been in earlier, and they were chatting for a while. In fact, I've seen these two chat on previous visits. So she has to know at least a little about him.

My opener was innocent enough: "Can I ask you a strange question? How well do you know Barista Boy?"

Spy Girl: "I guess fairly well, but only from work."

Army: "Do you happen to know if he dates men or women?"

Spy Girl: "Actually, I'm not sure. He hasn't really said anything about that. I've wondered myself. Maybe I can do some investigation for you."

Say what? My own mole within the organization? And a free agent at that? How could I be so lucky? And she promised not to connect her questions to me. Too good to be true? Can she find out who he "sleeps" with? Ah, she's my sleeper agent, hehe!

Afterward, we hit it off and came to find out we know several of the same people. She's also pursuing my undergrad major of Psychology. So it wasn't awkward at all, and I established myself as the nice and casual guy. So she has to be vested in getting two sweet young men together for (some hardcore action) a nice old-fashioned date.

So Army has dispatched his spies to get the "lay" of the land. I'll report back if I can muster some action along his borders.

A Beaucoup of Beaus

I got an email from Ted earlier in the week. He was inviting me to a Saturday brunch with him. The invite was random, but I figured what the heck. I responded back and figured we'd work out the details. Thursday night came around, so I rang him to confirm our plans. We began chatting about ideas for location and time - everything going normally. Then I mentioned that I know someone he knows and doesn't like very much. Somehow, he immediately knew it was Martha Poppins.

[Back Story] Martha Poppins is this guy Foster and I know. He's a fairly nice guy, good looking, but also very into himself. He's a self-professed label queen (i.e., only premier brand named apparel will do) and worships Martha Stewart. Only shops at Williams-Sonoma. Looks down at people who are not dressed to impress. In short, a snob. His parents give him whatever he wants. He's a grad student who lives better than I do. He wanted to get his mother a cashmere water bottle cover. Yes, I'm serious.

He invited Foster and me to a dinner party he was hosting - this guy went all out. The food was phenomenal, but he made us pass everything to the right around the table, and even though he had an inadequate knife to slice the roast (Williams-Sonoma, here he comes), he refused to cut it "against the grain" because that was improper. And he never looked like he was having fun - meanwhile, Foster, the Roommate, and Two Other Friends had a great conversation. Martha runs out to get the 409 and spray down the table while we're still there chatting. Busy body. Foster and I joked that he had white gloves and a carpet bag, making sure things were practically perfect in every way. Thus, Martha Poppins was conceived.

Ted and Martha know each other and as it turns out, don't like each other. So I mentioned this to Ted on the phone, and he's going on about how Martha is self-centered and doesn't think other people exist. Then he asks if I think Martha's attractive and did I sleep with him. He goes on about Martha not being attractive and how he doesn't even know me, blah blah.

I know several people that feel Ted's a selfish punk, too. So I say, "Well, some people would say the same thing of you." We always joke back and forth, no harm. Or so I thought. Ted immediately says, "Maybe tomorrow's not a good idea. I've had too much stress this week and don't need any more." Then he makes an inappropriate comment just to get back at me. Huh?

So I explain I wasn't saying I thought that, I meant other people have said that (i.e., Martha). He dismissed that, to which I said, think what you want, I have no reason to lie about it. Then he asked if I had life insurance (awkward joke) and said that he always feels on edge when he's around me. Hmm. News to me. I carefully reminded him that HE was the one who wanted to get together. Anyway, we called it off and I respectfully hung up with him. Good riddance to putting up with his insecurities. Not worth it.

The next day, Royfriend (a.k.a., Maybe Single Guy, Definitely Single Guy) calls me because he wants to hang out. Red flag! He tells me he has had a stressful week (red flag!) and finds that when we hang out, he feels more at ease (red fla...wait!). I put him at ease? LOL - I had to chuckle to myself. How odd to get opposite and news-breaking information about myself within a 24 hour period. I always assumed Royfriend found hanging out with me an exercise in ambivalence, given that we never have hit it off famously. Who knew? Not I.

"The same fire that softens the butter hardens the egg."

So Royfriend and I met up for lunch at a local bakery on Sunday. We were there for 4 hours, chatting about all kinds of things - men, living in this town, the next stage of life, moving away, etc. It was refreshing to hear him talk about wanting to reach his potential and do what he is passionate about. Taking risks. Living a life he wants. Not settling, even though it feels comfortable to be settled. How comfort leads to stagnation. I emphathize completely. Sometimes my routines make me feel sedentary and I wonder what experiences I miss out on. That's why I try to take them up as they present themselves. Break free of the familiar.

I think I am almost free of the Phantom Hitchhiker. Today the temperatures climbed above freezing and the snow banks are receding. Spring is peeking in on us. Change is in the air. Ready or not, here I come.

Mustering An Army

I went to dinner this evening with a good friend, V-Dub. We hadn't seen each other in a while, so we planned a dinner and movie (which is getting nixed until Sunday. We're going to see Blood Diamond).

Anyway, we decide on Chili's and I'm stoked for the chicken club tacos. I know Ramblergirl will be excited to read that they do indeed contain her favorite magical ingredient -- bacon! Everything is better with bacon... especially at Chili's : )

There is this totally hot/cute/gorgeous server working, and I immediate say to V-Dub, I hope he's our server. I must have saved up some good karma, because sure enough he was! Very nice guy, tall, great arms, nice chest (viewed through his fairly tight shirt), sweet smile, awesome hair... as Feyonce and I would say, he was perfick!

We tried to guage his vibe with our gaydars and homometers, and the signals were mixed, which to me was no shocker. I live in the realm of ambiguously straight men. They flock to me in bevies and droves. V-Dub keeps coaxing me to say something to him. The prospect terrified me for various reasons:

1. uncertainty of his orientation
2. awkwardness of putting that out there
3. possibility of rejection, or far worse, the flattered-yet-not-interested brush-off
4. i'm a big ol' puss in these situations
5. he seems to me to be out of my league

But that didn't stop me from flirting with him. He was quite busy, so I played the empathy card to garner a connection and when he apologized for neglecting us, I asked to speak with his manager. We joked that he probably has a fake name on his name tag. When I worked at The OG, mine said "Luke." V-Dub noticed that every time he came by, Hot Server ignored her and her need for a refill and paid attention to me. A good sign for me. Also, he started squatting down at our table to chat with us... and I didn't observe him do that with any other table. The evidence was mounting. Had my observational skill and detective work paid off?

At the end, we talked a bit more and turns out he's a grad student at the university. I told him I worked there, and the three of us had some vague social connections. I had to do something. After more encouragement from V-Dub, I decide to take a more subtle approach. When I got my credit card receipt back, I wrote him a note that said:

***************
Hot Server,
If you are interested in hanging out sometime, feel free to contact me. If not, I completely understand. Take it easy, man.
Army
(insert phone number and email)
***************

I slipped the note to a noticeable angle behind the credit card slip and we casually got the hell out of there. V-Dub's all, let's go watch him pick it up! So we pretend to converse in the parking lot while watching for him to stop by our table. He came back and grabbed it quickly, but I noticed him look at it. As we circle back to my car, she notices him through a window and said, "he looks really excited!" We saw him pass the window as we got into Andrew, and sure enough, he was more smiley than he had been before.

I was impressed with myself. That was a big step for me, and I figure what the hell, it's an opportunity I took advantage of. If he calls, great. If not, no big whoop. But who am I kidding, I hope he calls me! He was a dreamboat <-- how awfully 80's of me.

Sea Change

This has been a surreal weekend. It has involved flashes of moments in my memory -- opportunities to pursue, relationships to reflect on, life to examine, and enjoyment to be had.

Friday night I forced myself to go to a poetry slam on campus. I had mixed intentions to perform, as the theme was social justice and my more refined pieces do not relate to that theme. I flipped back through my writing journal to an entry I had made for the purpose of spoken word. Like everything I write, I'm usually ambivalent about it at first. It feels forced, broken, and incoherent. It comes out of me in a rush of ink and quickly I will close the book and turn off the light for bed. I had written this piece months ago. As I read back through it, I felt it was so much stronger. Maybe because it had a venue now, the words were clearer. I think it takes time to process, to step away, and come back to it from a different place. After showing up to the slam, I assessed the crowd of mostly undergrads (two of them were my students) and decided not to perform. It was short, with only six performers, but I enjoyed being in the moment of expression.

Afterward, I called Ted. I have been thinking about him for a long long while, at quiet moments or at times of sexual frustration. Recently we have been communicating more. I invited him to the slam but our schedules mismatched. I asked him to my place for a chat. He broke up with a guy recently. Ted proceeds to detail a story of this guy being too pursuant too quickly and not wanting to grow the friendship first. I listened with mock reflection, finger poised on my chin, nodding dramatically. "Fascinating. Doesn't this all sound awfully familiar to you?" He was living our past relationship from my end of it. Ted was the pushy take things faster guy for me. Had he come around? Grown to a center of more even-keeled relationships? He certainly looked as good as ever. The sexual tension was palpable, hidden beneath sarcasm and wit. Perhaps we have a second chance.

Saturday involved a unisex baby shower and a birthday party, both involving Feyonce and her Non-boyfriend. The shower allowed me to catch up and enjoy the company of many of my work friends. And to see Smartens and Rasmatic as the excited parents-to-be. They will be fun parents. I got to chat more with Feyonce and Non-boyfriend at the birthday party. We kinda ditched early for some Jupiter's pizza. We had a great time talking about travel, people, and our usual blend of salt, sass, juvenile humor, and wit. I love those two!

And today, a dear friend and I went shopping. We haven't had our old one-on-one days together, and it was like those times again. She bought these soft comfy bed sheets made of microloft that are heaven to wrap yourself in. Back at her place, we stripped the old sheets and tucked in the new. Nestled in a warmth, we lay there and talked about life, drifting on the brink of sleep and wakefulness. It felt safe and blissful.

The backdrop of these events was the final season of Six Feet Under. I ran through every emotion as I watched the characters I have grown to know play out their final chapter. Never has a television show affected me like this. The characters are full, even the minor ones. They are flawed. They feel real. A true testament to the producers, writers, and actors. The series finale left me in awe. The last scene particularly. The show was magic to me.

This weekend was magic. And I'm not sure how these words express it, if words ever truly can recreate emotion and context. Perhaps it was a "had to be there" experience. But I can say that it got me thinking about changes. The place where sea and land meet is a constant change - tides flow in, brush against land, and pull back beneath the surface. Does the same water ever return again? And if it does, it will meet new land, as sand is recycled, squished between toes, shoveled with empty shells.

Has Ted come back to a changed me as a different person himself? And why does my writing sound and feel different with the passage of time? Maybe it's a new perspective. Different facets have been unearthed and exposed. We are the sand that is changed, and we are the water that makes the change. Tomorrow is a new me. And a new you. That fact leaves me tickled with anticipation. And afraid of the cold rush of transition.

P.S. Be sure to check out the song "Transatlanticism" by Death Cab for Cutie. My mind is blown.

The Non-Dating Game

Warning: This post is littered with really bad sports analogies.

I received a call from Desperate Not to Be Single Guy about hanging out because he's bored. That's what he always says, "I'm bored." I find the sentiment to be a medley of insult and flattery. Admittedly, I was in a funky mood because of an emotionally intense hour of Six Feet Under. I didn't feel like talking or making plans for today, so I called a "rain delay" and committed to hanging out tomorrow.

I had a convo with Feyonce a bit later to hash out the situation. We both find his over-assertion tinted with a bit of...desperation, if that's the word. It's an eagerness for us to be in the midst of a deep relationship, which I guess is normal after hanging out twice while watching movies. And all the hand holding was annoying. I kept wondering when my obligation was contractually over. At one point I balled my hand into a fist. He tried to break through. It was like the Battle of the Bulge (and not in a good way). My forces were surrounded by his army of fingers and I simply couldn't surrender. I didn't want to. I wasn't ready.

I told Feyonce I need a Get Out of Intimacy Free card. She said I could just pull my hand away, and with the other, produce the GOIF card without a word spoken. The card says it all. I likened it to the ref throwing the foul card on the field. I think Desperate...'s trying to steal the next base, hoping to get my backfield in motion, or maybe he just wants some high-sticking. No matter what, I'm calling his plays. I'm not ready for a doubles match that is love-all.


I have to admit I had a physiological reaction to all the handedness. As he held onto me, I developed a lower back pain. I withdrew myself, walked it off, and the pain vanished. I was pain free until he grabbed onto me again. Then it came back. I've allegedly developed a psychosomatic reaction to intimacy. My body and brain have teamed up to reject intimacy!

It's like I'm the goalie of this fauxship and he's the forward trying to hit one in. Can I ever get in league with someone who puts me on the defensive?

I had dinner with B-Dub and El Nino, and we also hashed, rehashed, and prehashed. Apparently Desperate... has been texting and emailing B-Dub to ask what I've said about him. Again, he's wearing too much of that new fragrance, Desperation. Not a fan of that smell. B-Dub has remained loyally quiet but subtly pointed out to him that Army is no fan of his clingy conduct. We think he's new to relationships like I am, but his tactics don't quite match with mine.

Well sports fans, it's not over yet, but we seriously have to exchange play books and level the playing field here. Open communication is important for any team, so tomorrow will be movie-free and more about getting to know one another. Maybe we can become teammates, but we aren't there yet. Time will tell.

The Unexpected

Today some coworkers and I were walking back from a staff lunch in a misty rain. We approach the crosswalk, and as I turn to make sure traffic is clear, this Channel 15 News SUV barrels around the corner at 200 mph. I see the white blur whiz past and practically jump back like a cartoon character who realizes he's walked off the cliff's edge. I'm all "Good lord! Must be a slow news day so they are running down pedestrians! I can hear the anchor now... We were the only camera crew on the scene for this live, local, late-breaking report..." Joiks!

I'm listening to the new Beck CD (which I had no clue was released) and so far I love it! It has 15 songs, which is rare in this age of a shatty music industry with their typical 11-12 songs per CD because that's what appeases the short attention spanned masses formula. I hate it when artistic integrity and creativity are undercut for homogenized bullshat. Anyone can release a set of 11 songs that predictably start and stop with 2 seconds in between. But what about amazing albums with songs that segue in and out of each other, include little song vignettes, or have a cohesive, epic flow to them? I offer Exhibit A, Exhibit B, and Exhibit C as my prime examples.

Anyway, my favorite snippets from Beck's album so far:

- Very first lyrics on the album -- "1...2...you know what to do!"

- Lyrics that resonate with me very much -- "Think I'm in love but it makes me kinda nervous to say so." You'll understand if you read about my internet pursuer, Desperate Not to Be Single Guy.

He did call me because we're planning another scary movie night for tomorrow. He called to tell me he found a movie guaranteed to scare me or he'll buy me lunch. How sweet : ) Now I just need some therapy in order to not screw anything up and actually give this potential relationship a shot.

I told my friend about my dislike of the C-word... cuddle. And that I substituted it with huddle instead. She was like "Well you know, huddling implies more than two people involved." Hmm, good point. I'll have to re-tool that one.

Non-Men, Non-Boyfriend, Non-Date

Dear readers, I have returned! Did you even know I was gone? Come to think of it, I didn't get any frantic emails asking about my absence? No pleas for more stories, more updates, more thinks...

You bums!! Pay attention to me!!

Okay, I'm done with my histrionic episode -- I wouldn't be a blogger if I didn't hatch some ploy for attention once and a while...

I was away most of last week because of a conference in Indianapolis. I had a great time hanging out with coworkers, stepping out for the evening... oh yeah, I also learned a lot about my profession too ; )

One of the highlights was going out for dinner and drinks with JP the British Boss and one of the Biz-nass advisors. We started at this Irish pub, in which I consumed two Bailey's on ice and a Murphy's stout. Dinner for me was monte cristo. JP and Mr. Biz both got bangers and mash. The conversations were all over the place. I kept eyeing a hot waiter and the cute host boy. The girls next to us were singing "Living on a Prayer" waaaaaay out of tune. After dinner, we headed over to Ram for more drinks and a lively discussion about kids these days. Another Bailey's for me. I turned in at 2 a.m. Oh, did I mention I had to present at 8 a.m. LOL

After our presentation on Saturday, Feyonce and I decide to hit the downtown mall for some real shopping that the Paign just can't offer. I have a confession -- I really like H & M, even if it is mostly eurotrashwear. Some of it is a mess, but I bought a grey zip sweater with red trim -- it's swanky AND is extra long for my long spindly arms! Thank god for svelt Europeans!

Anyway, as we're going round the stores, I can't help but notice how un-men menswear has become. Capri pants, cutsy underwear, and carry-alls? I'm all for metro and getting in touch with the feminine, but we are still men, right? Guys, am I right? So what's with all the manpri pants, manties (men panties), and murses (man purses) out there? What happened to Bermuda shorts, boxers, and a wallet? There can't be that many gay people in this world! And by the way straight white men, quit trying to encroach on the minority fun! Trying to be blacker, latino-er, gayer, female-r... you get unparalleled access to power positions and wealth -- get your own identity!

And speaking of which, has anyone seen Carson Daly recently? Is he trying to get an ethni-change? He looked faux-tanned with relaxed hair when I saw him on his show? Was it just the lighting that episode? I don't normally catch TV, so it's been a while since I saw him in his Total Request Live days, but he looked supiciously like he wanted to look like someone who was ethni-cool.

I teased Feyonce about her Non-Boyfriend. She refuses to use the term, which I find humorous. She kept picking out these sheer outfits at all the stores, which I called fore-mal wear (i.e., foreplay pre-sex romp-wear). She was all "but it's 50% off!" To which I replied "and it will be 100% off once he sees you in it!" I'm so happy Feyonce has a Non-Boyfriend Man Lover.

And speaking of which, I had a hang-out with my internet pursuer. Note how I will not use any of those familiar terms either. He came over to hang out for a bit and watch a scary movie. He insisted on "Session 9" as he had never seen it before. We agreed the only way to view such a movie is with all lights off. He admitted to getting freaked out during creepy movies and said he may need to "cuddle." During the movie, he kept edging closer during the unsettling parts until we were touching under the blanket. And we did huddle for a while, which was nice. Afterward, we watched the special feature that's creepier than the movie. Allie can attest to that! Then we talked for a while about ourselves, photography, and listened to some music. Turns out he's been inside Ashmore Estates, too! Each of us tried to play a song on my piano that's the most out of tune piano ever -- we pulled the dischord on that pretty quickly. Then he left with our plans made to watch another movie again soon.

It felt natural for only having a few conversations beforehand. Even though he's more touchy-feely than I am (which doesn't take much), it didn't feel forced. And I like that. I will have to take back my earlier judgmental wise-ass comments... well, not all of them. That would require me to erase my entire blog!

Now comes the hard part. I have to come up with a name for him! Who knows... maybe he'll become my Non-Boyfriend?

Inflation, Currency, The Meet-Market

My Random Sunday got me thinking about a few things:

First off, winter has put its foot in the door a bit too soon. Nobody likes an early house guest who just lingers around and makes you all uncomfortable. Winter, like all good seasons, must wait its turn! In fact, show up fashionably late, like at a quarter-to-NEVER!

Ambiguously Straight Guy called me out of nowhere to have dinner at a delicious Mexican restaurant in town (no, NOT Taco Bell). He met this friend though a hobby/interest of his and wants to set us up. I'm like, is it because we're the only two gay guys you know (besides yourself)? I like trying to throw him off guard because it's my personality and it's my form of flirting with him. He tried to back pedal, which was humorous to watch.

He's telling me how he's getting a new bed (currently has a twin size!) and I congratulate him on graduating into adulthood. He wants 800 count sheets because the "ladies" know the difference. I was like, you need all the help you can get huh? Already need bells n' whistles at your age? Again, I'm being a punk. He says something about a professional paying attention to every detail. I'm all, so you are a professional? What service agency do you escort out of? Or are you an independent contractor? I kid him a bit more about being a sexpert, again, to be an ass. There was also some joke about him being an orgy guy... and I point out no one likes an anal-retentive orgy coordinator... but maybe an anal-attentive one. It was all gutter-bound from there, thanks to me. But he did go to a gay dance club and shake his groove in the cage with two girls (i.e., his future fag hags). I was impressed he went, and he blushed about a guy saying he was cute. Mmm-hmm.

Afterward, I went to my favorite coffee house to do some work and enjoy a chai tea. Like usual, I ran into the Two Dollar Lady on the street. She's famous downtown for always yelling, "Hey Mister! You got two dollars?" Since when do the homeless ask for TWO dollars? Has inflation made that much impact? What is the minimum wage for a beggar? I have to say, she does treat panhandling like a job, and Two Dollar Lady is truly a shrewd businesswoman. Personally, I think she's one of those eccentric misers who collects money and stuffs it in her pillow cases to appease some kind of hording compulsion. Next time I see her, I'll be like "Hey Miss? You got two million dollars?"

Then I got to thinking that if a panhandler can up the ante, maybe we need to update our traditional sayings. Is it enough to give our two cents worth anymore? Doesn't that just add up to a shitty opinion these days? Benjamin Franklin said a penny saved is a penny earned, but in his day, that penny went pretty far. Now it gets you a horsy ride at the grocery store for 30 seconds. Heck, we're giving away pennies at the gas station! If alive today, would he say a dollar saved is a dollar earned? Maybe a fiddy saved is a fiddy earned? Did the U.S. Mint anticipate all this inflation and for that reason, stick his likeness on a hundred dollar bill and not the penny?

After an onslaught of emails, I finally got to chat online with Desperate Not To Be Single Guy. He seems nice and is looking for similar things in a guy that I would want. But I'm just a take-it-slow person and not a fan of the contrived realm of "dating." I don't like that word. Too charged for me. Fraught with certain expectations. In fact, I tell people I've never been on a date. But I have hung out many times. Yeah, I'm weird. Send me recommendations for a good shrink!

The worst person to pair me with is someone who comes off as desperate or pushy or eager. I've already lamented about Ted in search of his manacea. I like casual, effortless, natural situations. Desperate...Single Guy was ready to move in and be my husband! Well, not that bad, but I was all -- deep breaths, I'm not going anywhere, let's not look for commitment rings just yet. I have to say, this guy is persistent! This Army was evading his advances with skilled aplomb and shooting down his requests with Patriot missiles of Maybe! What is it about me recently that screams "keep harping Army for his attention"? Or let's bury him in a ever-growing manslide?

Why am I complaining about this? I being the anal-retentive one whose checking for all the details I want to see and not just letting things unfold. Is it because I've been single for so long, I feel too safe in my Army of One? Maybe I have become afraid of a kind of relationship inflation - from my single status to that of a couple? If I have an interest, I should meet up with him. And think of it as a variable interest... I'm not locking into a fixed interest that will keep me stuck. Great, first I associate marriage with death and prison, and now I'm treating dating like a financial transaction. Maybe I should be in the escort service, as it turns out. God knows I have a growing clientele base!!

At any rate, I should sell while my stock is high, lest I hold out too long and am forced to sell out to the lowest bidder -- loneliness. I think I've stretched this metaphor too far.

Manacea

Once upon a time, I briefly "dated" a guy whose real identity will be concealed. Let's call him Ted. It became readily apparent to me that Ted was a very dependent person. Admittedly, I am an independent person by nature and nuture, but I do feel that a healthy amount of dependence is a positive thing. His approach, I fear, was more like static cling. I realized that this guy was unknowingly in search of a kind of panacea. A panacea was highly sought after by Medieval alchemists as a cure for all ills. A serum for long life, in a sense. Being the crafty wordsmith I claim to be, I made the connection that Ted was in search of his own kind of panacea. It was a manacea. So that was the back story of this piece.

Man-a-ce-a (man-UH-SEE-uh). n. 1. Cure for all sexual ills. 2. Warm body.

Cuddling in your bed,
he was your climate control,
your terry cloth mother,
the logical conclusion to your emotional wreck.
Like the safety of an airbag
inside a crushed-in hull,
collapsing upon you with
the feeling of touch.


Fortunately, I didn't take it the wrong way.