Dick in a Box

Freshman year was a pretty rough time for me.  Not only did my grades "suffer", aka I did not study and smoked too much weed, so my grades suffered, but also socially it was a challenge.  Although I attended a hippie college, where you think life would be carefree and lovey-dovey, I was still in the throes of an overly oppressive southern culture.  There were just as many Preppy Young Republican Southern Baptist supportin Fratty Mother Fuckers floatin' 'round.  Just enough to make you feel like shit for not wearing croakies around your neck and wearing Rainbow flip-flops throughout the winter.  

I immediately made friends with people that were connected all over.  I had many girlfriends in sororities, and of course, they wanted to bring me to all their mixers.  The only problem was that at the "University" that I attended if you were a guy, you had to BE GREEK, to PARTY GREEK.  And I was nobody's Greek!

So it proved tough to snuggle me into parties.  It always seemed easy for my girlfriends but it was always an awkward feeling for me to walk up to the doors where the guest lists were being reviewed and cross my fingers and hope that they would let me in.  Making your way all the way out to a party up the side of a mountain is not as fun if you don't know whether or not they will let you in.  

One night my friend Hilliary and I had decided to venture out.  I say the term "one night" very loosely seeing as how I am referring to the THURSDAY we went out in the same week as the TUESDAY that we had gone out as well.  Damn.  What was college REALLY about?

The previous Tuesday night Hilliary and myself had found ourselves at Klondike, the local fratty hang out.  It was THE place to go for ALL GREEKS!  Tuesday night was a private party for just Hilliary's sorority (which, to add, she later dropped out of).  When we arrived at Klondike we figured out that they put red "21" on your backhand if you were over and black ex's if you were under.  In our sober state's we left and went to one of her "sisters" apartments where we found a red pen and made ourselves 21 for the night.  When we returned to the Dike we found no problem or hesitation buying beers for one another all night long.  It was perfect.

So why wouldn't we try again on the following Thursday?  You are only a freshman once, right?

So we drank before.  Hilliary had what I would refer to as TOO MUCH to drink and I had "enough".  It was one of those nights where I kept drinking but "couldn't catch a buzz" pretty much because I drank so much during freshman year that my tolerance levels were through the rough.  For the record, it is NOTHING that I am proud of.  

This time we brought our own red pen and decided to "fix" ourselves in the bathroom.  Since the bathrooms did not have doors and the bouncers stood outside of them, this was a dumb idea.  But as I mentioned before, you are only a freshman ONCE!  Hilliary came out from the bathroom and LOUDLY said "IT GOES ON YOUR RIGHT HAND!"  I looked up and saw a bouncer staring directly at me, I told her to quiet down and she didn't get it, she was already a goner.  I guess that I did not think the situation through thoroughly because I fixed my hand markings anyway.  Later while dancing (let the record show I bought and had NO beers at the bar that night, even though I had fixed my hand markings) a bouncer approached me and asked for my ID.  I tried to think fast and I gave him my student ID.  This turned out to be dumb because it was also my key to get into my dorm.  First the douchebag gave it back to me and escorted me outside.  He told me to leave.  I went around to the front where there was a big window to the dancefloor.  Hilliary had made her way over and was flailing her arms about mouthing "what happened? what happened?"  I told her to come outside.  I motioned, I mouthed, she did not get it.  She was stuck in a box.  A dick in a box.

While trying to get my friend to come outside to my rescue the bouncer walked up to me again.  He apologized and asked to see my Id again.  Then he took it, told me that I could swing by the next day and get it from the manager.  Dick.  Box.

Then this douce-a-louche from my hall came up to me.  He was underage too and was drinking a beer out of a mason jar.  (did this prove to you how much of a douce that he was yet?  there's more)  Then he tried to calm me down as if I was one of his friends and offered to walk back to the dorm with me.  I figured I would let him walk me back since he at least had a key and could at least get me into the dorms.  The price to pay was high.

I had to listen to him speak about how the bouncers know that he is underage.  They let him drink from a mason jar outside of the bar as long as he does not bring it in.  I had to listen to all of this knowing in the back of my mind that one of his frat brothers had already told me that none of the people in his fraternity liked him and that he would be blackballed soon.  I began to understand why.  He also had braces.  He was a freshman in college.  And he had braces.  and he was a douche.

If this was not enough then there was definitely more to follow.  He began to ask me stupid questions.  I could tell that he was beating around the bush.  "So...uh...you hang around a lot of pretty girls huh?"  

Yeah.  I do.

"And you have been to the gay club before?"

Yeah.  I have.

This went on for the better part of our walk home.  It was not the longest walk ever to make way from Klondike to Frank hall, but it was long enough to make me wish it had never happened.  After a few more blundering questions I decided it was time for him to come out and ask...

"If you want to ask me if I am gay or not then just ask!"

He stumbled over his words a bit and then admitted that my roommate had put him up to it.  He said all the guys on our hall had been curious if I was or not and that my roommate had wanted to know.  I told him that if that asshole wanted to know that he could ask me for himself.

I was in a paradox.  How is it that two of the biggest fucktard douchebags on the planet could make ME feel so out of place.  One being this little kid with braces who was about to be KICKED OUT of a fraternity, which is so much more embarrassing than not being accepted into one.  This means that they THOUGHT you were cool but then realized you WERE NOT!  He had braces.  And he showed all the guys on the hall porn vids of young (under 18 yo) russian sluts.  Nobody liked him.  Even the people that said they did.

Then the other was my roommate.  A guy that had chosen to beat off in the BUNK BED BELOW ME every night beginning on the first night that we were there.  As soon as the lights would go off he would start up with it.  If this was not bad enough he was in the business fraternity and carried a briefcase to class.  He was running an investment business out of our dorm room and he NEVER gave me my messages!

These to fucktools were the ones making me feel singled out and awkward?  Really?

I should have just beat the fuck out of that dude with braces.  Let him tell my roommate about it and then beat the fuck out of him.  

I handle things a lot differently these days.  It would be nice to give myself a pep talk back then.

Black Like Me

Growing up I always had a fascination with them.  They intrigued me.  I yearned to be like them.  It is interesting to me that MOST gay men long to be one yet where is the correlation between the two???

Black Woman.  I have always wanted to be one.  Most gay dudes have.  They are fun.  Loud.  They are confident and self-sufficient.  They command respect and they get it.  Who doesn't want to be a black woman?  I can remember having an affinity for black girls since grade school.  My first black girl interaction was with a young girl that blackmailed me for my crayons.  She had caught me picking my nose (in third grade) and had threatened to tell the cool kid, Billy, that sat beside her about it.  Billy was only cool because he was being raised by a single mother who undoubtedly had no control over him as seen by his impressively long rat tail and Van Halen Tee-shirts.  They eventually became Nirvana tee-shirts while we were in junior high and the coolness of a boy with a white trash single mother wore off quickly.  It wasn't long before he became the UNCOOL kid that lit newspapers on fire in the boys bathroom.  Weird.  

But this is a story about black girls.  She black mailed me and I told my mom.  Mom called the principal and they made her give back my crayons.  They spoke with her about what black mail was and I am still surprised to this day that I learned for myself what it was in the Third Grade.  But Good for her.  Like I said, Black girls know what they want, and they get it.  

In Middle School I spent most of our recess time with the black girls on the playground.  Mainly because most of the other boys spent it playing basketball and yet I would have rather learned how to do the tootsie roll or the butterfly with LaKreisha and Nay-Nay.  I remember there was one time in particular where this other (somewhat effeminate) young boy was on the playground with me and my homegirls.  Jamal.  He was a swayback little asshole and nobody liked him.  He was rail thin and arched his back when he walked.  He has hand mannerisms that would make RuPaul look butch and yet nobody made fun of him the way that they did to me.  Jamal also had these huge pouty lips that were too big for his own head and he would purse them and suck them as just to add fuel to the fire that was his attitude problem.  Although nobody seemed to care for Jamal since he was mean to everyone, when you are a member of a subculture even if only by default of the color of your skin, you are one of the family.  I was singing a song and Jamal stopped me and informed me that I couldn't sing that song because it was a black song.  Luckily my girls had my back and reinforced for me that I was aloud to sing whatever song I wanted and that there were not black and white songs but just songs for everyone.  

Jamal pissed me off and I had written him off for the rest of my life, or so I thought until I ran into him at the club many years later.  I walked by this tall sexy black man with broad shoulders and a manly swagger.  We caught eyes but kept walking yet checked each other out along the way.  After we passed I began to feel as though I recognized him and I doubled back to check.  Jamal???  He confirmed.  He remembered me and was caught up a bit.  I could tell that he had grown out of his deviant behavior, and had matured into quite the sexy and distinguished young black man.  Everything about Jamal seemed to be quite proportionate in comparison to the goofy looking son-of-a-bitch that I had known so long ago.  I admit that I had a slight moment of regret when I remembered the looks we had exchanged in hatred during our Middle School years and I suddenly hoped for a bout of forgiveness.  Then Jamal went on to introduce me to his boyfriend and I just thought to myself "Well, fuck him anyway!"

I ventured off to college in the year 2000.  I attended Appalachian State University which could also be known as "the whitest place on earth", (that is, of course, before I landed in Massachusetts!).  I remember that it was the first day on campus (after our parents had all dropped us off on our own).  I was getting breakfast with the only two girls that I had known (from high school) and I met these three black girls in line for eggs and pancakes.  They were Punkin, Kayla, and Rita.  Little did I know that they would become my new best friends and that they would carry me through my entire freshman year.  

We exchanged numbers.  I joked around with them.  They laughed.  Throughout the year I helped them find weed.  I taught them how to make jello shots.  They taught me how to eat hot wings like a black girl (you put the whole thing in your mouth and pull out JUST the bone!).  I still eat them that way today!!!

I can remember the smell of burnt black hair and cocoa butter from hanging out in their room.  There was one night in particular when it was me and all the black people.  They had invited all of their friends over and we all watched Higher Learning.  It is a really good movie if you have not already seen it.  But in the movie there is a white guy played by Michael Rappaport and he rooms with these loud and obnoxious black dudes that play loud music and have parties.  They treat him like shit through the entire movie until he goes crazy and joins a band of skinheads.  They start killing all his black roommates on campus.  It was clearly not the most fun to watch being the only white dude in a room full of angry black girls and half of the college football team, but I got out alive.  When the movie was over they all looked at me and said "Don't you be pulling some shit like that!" and I just nodded and kept my mouth shut.  

Whoa-MANizer!

I am excited to embark on a new, and full year, in this new place of mine.  I love it here.  Although I miss my old friends I am excited for the new ones and possibilities.  I get frustrated with myself sometimes because I feel as though I miss chances to experience new things here and there.  I mostly mean when it comes to the men in my life.  I am terrible at flirting and even worse when it comes to knowing who is flirting with me!

I seem to clam up around guys that are actually attractive and it has become an incredibly hard thing to deal with and leads me to regret many of my interactions.  A guy came into the store on the first day of our big sale.  He was the first customer of the day.  Johanna had come down to my floor to help ring our presell and she witnessed the whole thing.  It is easier when I am the only witness but when there are others around to rub it in my face that I missed out on an opportunity it makes it much harder.  I felt as though we were somewhat flirting.  Johanna made sure I knew that we were.  He was cute.  His name was Sal.  But he lives in San Francisco so what would be the use anyway?  I would like to make it out to California but I have not looked at San Francisco.  

Then there was a guy last night.  Ed.  Mr. Ed.  How cute would it be to date a gay dude named Ed?  He was built.  Young.  Had a goofy smile.  He seemed nervous when I first spoke with him.  He lightened up a bit.  I swear he kept asking to try on different jackets just so I could keep putting them on and taking them off of him.  I didn't mind.  As I finished ringing him up we continued our conversation.  I asked what side of town he lived on.  Without missing a beat he asked "what about you???"  He seemed eager about it.  He was enthusiastic to tell me that he lived in the North End.  I mentioned the great restaurants there and he said he mostly just ate subs.  He said he pretty much ate whatever was in front of him.  This was a turn on to me.  This is the point at which my memory goes cloudy and I forget how we ended things.  I think that these cloudy instances are heightened anxiety levels that make me rush through the conversation to get it over with so that I don't have to get nervous any more.  We were having a conversation and it ends abruptly.  I gave him my card.  I feel like when I say "If you ever need anything give me a call or email", that I am getting the point across.  I am sending out the invitation.  I would love to go into work today and have an email or voicemail from him.  Guys my age aren't so inclined to do these things.  

Every time I have an interaction like this I become obsessed with checking up on it on Craigslist.  I never have posts on Craigslist.  The only one that I have ever seen about me was from this married man at the gym that thought I was cute.  He pulled up beside me in the parking lot while I was on the way to my car and tried to have a conversation with me.  I told him that I thought his wife was expecting him.  He didn't say much and pulled off pretty quickly.  I don't know why that wasn't a clear indication of disinterest because like I said before after I got home I saw that he had posted an ad on Craigslist about it.  

I keep getting offers from all the wrong men.  I want guys my age to post these messages.  I want guys my age to flirt with me.  I don't want it to be so confusing and misleading.

Out in the Open...This new year I will plan on pursuing the things I want with a passionate intent.  I plan on accomplishing a lot.  I am going to really push to get into great shape.  At least for this summer, so that I can strut around P-town in short shorts and a tank top and get looks from all the dirty old men that have boyfriends and wives.

Just a little Crush...

I can remember my very first crush.  Well.  Not the first crush EVER so to speak.  But more importantly, my first Gay Crush.  

His name was Gary.  I saw him on my very first day at college.  I was attending Appalachian State University in Boone, North Carolina and my parents had literally JUST LEFT after dropping me off with all of my personal belongings.  I was scheduled to live in "Frank" dormitory and they head RA had called an all dorm meeting in the lobby.  Only the freshman had arrived at this point, hence having something so dramatic as an all dorm meeting in order to talk about the rules and regulations (or lack, thereof) of dorm living.  

We all crowded into the compact lobby of the building.  I was edged with the only friend I knew from High school in the middle of the elevators.  I remember it like it was yesterday.  As soon as I sat down I saw him from across the crowd.  He was opposite of me, standing in the doorway to the back patio.  He was WAY too cool to be sitting down on the floor with his legs crossed so instead he was standing outside smoking a cigarette.  Of course, at the time, this seemed cool.  I had just abandoned my parental influence and was now setting my sites on the future evil endeavors that I would begin to embark on in the next few years.  This would otherwise be known as "My Adolescence".  Gary wore a tie dyed shirt, with khaki cargo shorts, birkenstocks (we were in Appalachia) and a bandana on his head.  I thought, at the time, that he was the sexiest thing I had ever seen.  He was tall and thin, and had an olive complexion.  When he laughed, his smile was the sexiest thing about him.  

I made it my mission to stalk him.  

When I saw him walking back to the dorm from class I would speed up so that he would have to hold the door for me as I closed in close behind him.  "Oh! Thanks a lot!" I would say.  I had no clue what I was doing at the time.  Keep in mind, I was in the closet Freshman year.  So this feeling of having a crush on a guy was really new for me.  I had always thought about other men in that way leading up to this point.  But this had been mostly fantasies of the images I had seen in media or from online.  This image.  Was real.  It was living in the same building as me and could actually talk and smile at me.  It was a face, with a name.  It was also completely frightening.

The first weekend away from my parents was the start of me living out loud (aka the start of a 1.61 GPA during my first semester).  I found a guy to sell me some pot but had forgotten the smallest detail.  I had no clue how to roll a joint, even if I HAD papers, and I did not have my own bowl.  That first weekend while riding the elevator I ran into a guy that had been in my freshman orientation group.  He, of course, was a pothead (everybody in Boone is a pothead at least for freshman year, most make a career of it).  He offered to let me use his bowl as long as I smoked him up so I agreed.  When we got to his room it was very "earthy".  If it was a bumper sticker it would say something like "Hippie's on Board" or "Ass, Gas, or Grass...Nobody rides for Free".  There were tie dyed tapestries, empty bottles of NewCastle, remnants of burned incense and the leftover aroma's of patchouli and weed.  As he looked for his bowl under mounds of dirty mildewy smelling clothes his roommate walked into the room.  It was Gary.  In a towel.  he had just come back from the shower.  When he couldn't find the bowl in his room, he remembered that he had left it in a buddies room down the hall.  He left to go get it, and left me in the room with Gary.  It was the first actual conversation that Gary and I had ever had.  I can't for the life of me remember what we talked about because I just remember that he was in a towel.  I remember that he got onto his computer and had a webcam.  I remember trying to see what was on the screen and feeling as though I saw myself in the video screen of the cam.  I tried to imagine that he was taking a picture of me because he had thought I was cute but I never found out what really happened or if I had made it all up.  I can remember however, that during our conversation Gary seemed so confident and happy with himself.  I on the other hand was nervous and unsure.  Gary represented what it was like to live without care.  He showed me what it was like to be out, and content.  

I later found out through the grapevine that Gary considered himself Bisexual (at the time everyone did, it was very 2000).  His roommate, from my orientation group, was his best friend from high school.  I was fascinated at the idea that Gary was out of the closet and his best friend had not held judgement for it.  It also seemed as though Gary had a group of people that surrounded him with love and care and did not judge him solely based on sexual orientation.

Aside from all this, my crush on Gary lasted all year.  I would continue to "strategically" position myself in Gary's immediate direction, and yet consequently enough, nothing ever happened.  The first semester I spent with my friend Nicolette.  We would walk around campus talking about how much we missed Charlotte, and thought everyone was talking about us, when in fact, nobody was.  Nicolette was probably one of the first people who I was ever out to, without, being out to.  If it makes any sense.  Which, to you, it probably does not.  Nicolette and I had an unspoken trust and bond where we did not judge one another and we were pretty open about most things.  I trusted her to know about that private part of my life, but without actually being out to her.  She defended me a lot that first semester.  This is probably what made or friendship strong from the beginning. 

One night I convinced Nicolette to help me stalk out Gary.  She went along with it without question.  There was no asking "Why do you care so much?" or "What is your fascination with Gary".  It was as if she already knew and just silently supported my habit.  

We saw him on his way into the dorm.  Said hello, and carried a conversation.  He said he needed help carrying beer to his room so we helped.  When we got to his dorm room I thought I had died and gone to heaven.  I would have been too nervous and scared for Nicolette to leave us alone together but I can't help but feel as though I wish I could know what it would have been like.  Gary gave us a beer for helping and mentioned that he was in a hurry.  I took the time to notice his cologne because I thought that he not only looked sexy, but reeked of it as well.  "Modern" by Banana Republic.  I will remember it until the day I die.  I went and bought a bottle soon after because I wanted that smell near me at all times.  I was obsessed.  This was another thing that was sexy about Gary.  He was not only a hippie, but could clean up really nicely as well.  He was on student government and would wear pressed khaki's and lightly starched shirts to meetings at night time, and then wear his bandana throughout the day.

He drove a car with deeply tinted windows, which to me reminded me of all the thugs I had a secret crush on in high school, but to Gary was probably so that campus police would not notice that he was smoking up in his car.  

The end of freshman year is the time that I began to come out of the closet.  For the most part that basically meant just saying it out loud, because most everyone that knew me had figured and come to terms with that fact long before I ever did.  I spent the summer becoming comfortable in my own skin and kept dreaming of the day that I would return to campus and run into Gary, Out, Proud, and New.  

One night at the gay club in Charlotte I had been hoping to run into him all summer long and it had never happened until this night.  A lot of friends from my high school had shown up to go out that night and I remember them all being there.  It was not until the Drag Show began that I noticed Gary in the crowd.  I began to freak out.  The drag queen pulled him out on stage and took his shirt off.  I was dying.  I went up to him afterwards and told him my news.  It did not provoke the reaction I had hoped for and by all means lacked the enthusiasm that I had thought would follow after making such a grandiose declaration.  His follow up to my confession was an introduction to his boyfriend, Chad.  Chad.  Was ugly.  

I spent sophomore year saying hello to Gary in front of Chad all over campus.  Chad would give me dirty looks and I would smile bigger at Gary and try to make him jealous.  Ideally I had hoped that Gary would hop on the beauty train and take a ride with me since I was so much more attractive than Chad, but alas, this never happened.  I watched throughout sophomore year as Gary lost more weight.  He had always been thin before but he REALLY began to slim down.  I soon found out that typically the people who make a career out of being potheads during freshman year decide to get promoted to more recreational endeavors as the years pass.  

Cut to me being at a Gay Club in Winston Salem watching from afar as Gary turned purple and green then threw up on the ground on the patio outside of the club.  He was sitting at a table with Chad and a friend.  Gary's two friends did not notice or see this happen.  I watched the entire thing unfold before my eyes and could not have felt more sorry for Gary.  It was one of the saddest things that I have ever seen, and needless to say it ended my long running crush on Gary.

I realized that all he had ever been, was a representation of something I was after.  When I look back on it I laugh because even though I have a great many type of interests when it comes to the man department, Gary is far from placing into any of my categories.  

It was just...a little crush.

i think

that i am an attractive person.

some would say i am quite handsome.

i don't understand.

why the only guys.

that i seem.

to attract. 

are not.  

so attractive.

great personalities...

they don't seem to make up for the fact.  that I can't help but feel as though i keep settling for less.  

taking chances on people i should pass up.

only to be disappointed.

in the fact.

that there are things that i cannot control.

attraction.

being one of these elements.

its like the movie preview the other night.

why can't it just be THAT easy?

Revenge of the 'mos

I can't help but feel as though the only guys that seem to hit on me that are my age have a striking resemblance to that of Booger, from Revenge of the Nerds.  They actually, when I think hard about it, all manage to look like the ENTIRE cast of Nerds.  

It is sad too.  I am quite attractive.  Even if the only people who tell me so are my mother and the desperate and lonely (single) girls I have decided to surround myself with.  

I think I am going to give up.  You know.  Not just give up on life, or trying to seek happiness.  But Give up.  The way they say that is when you are supposed to actually find somebody.  When you are not looking.

I was at the movies the other night and a preview for a new romantic comedy came on.  Boy sees girl.  Girl smiles back at boy.  Instant Love connection.

My friend Steve leaned over and whispered "wouldn't it be nice if it was just that simple?" I said "Yeah, That movie SUCKS".  

It was true.  I feel like there was a time when flirting and dating WAS that simple.  My early twenties.  It is scary to think that I have finally reached the age to which all of my adolescent years will now be referred to in sections of mistakes and mishaps instead of just as one giant blur.

I did not think that I would find him in Charlotte, North Carolina.  I really didn't ever think it would happen there.  I know I have only been here in Boston for a year but I just want dates to happen.  I don't want to get sucked into a "settle slump" where I go on dates with guys that I had originally turned down before, just for the sake of being lonely (and cold).  I tried to do this one time and titled it "Giving people a chance".  My best friend, Adair said that I was full of shit and that all that meant was "Lowering my Standards".  She was right.  I didn't do it then.  I don't feel like doing it now.

It was Madonna that once said "Don't Go for Second Best, baby, Put your Love to the Test!"

When you try to abide by a standard such as this one, it is best to remember, especially in the winter, that "satin sheets are very romantic, what happens when you're not in bed!"

Calling in Gay to Work

I think it is a dumb idea.  Don't get me wrong.  If it was pulled off accurately it would definitely wake up the world to how "necessary" gay people are to the business world.  BUT if we took a step back we would have to realize that it would not be proving any points about Prop 8.  This would only show the world how many gay people are out there making things happen.  It would be as if we were holding our work environments hostage in order to bring about change.  

This is one of the many ways in which gay people just don't see the bigger picture.  I can think of a plethora of things on the gay to do list that would need to happen before igniting a silent protest such as this.  

Doesn't the world already know that gay people secretly run it?  We dictate the majority of the economic flow, current fashion trends, and where the trendy neighborhoods will be.  What more is there?  

I don't see the correlation between not showing up for work and legalizing gay marriage.  We might as well rally together in DC and charge the white house like a bunch of creatures from Narnia, because that is basically how we are acting.  We are AGAIN fulfilling the role that WE have created in the world of our people being a fantastical bunch of (no pun intended) fairies.  We make quick and irrational decisions (much like our spending habits that fuel the economy) and in turn leave long lasting consequences in the wake of our hasty actions.  

In case you didn't know.  Apparently the gays of the world have secretly whispered among each other that they should call out of work today.  This would be in order to show THE WORLD how important gay people are on a day to day basis.  This "movement" would be in order to bring about change to the ongoing Prop 8 debacle.  

For me.  And you can hate if you want to.  I don't care about Prop 8.  A yes or no vote on ONE LAW does not take away from the fact that gay people can't manage to act right.  

If we had it right.  We would get what we want.  We would have a platform to argue on and we would prove our point in comparison to heterosexual marriage.  But since I don't know any gay couples that are bound by laws or personal agreements and that HONOR those vows whether they are open about it or not, then I don't see how we can say that we want to be granted ADDITIONAL rights.  

I go on these websites looking for someone to go on a date with.  I go on websites because when I go out in public I clam up and can't flirt and look around at all the handsome men and begin to judge myself.  Although we are so materialistic in person, as it turns out we are more so judgmental online.  With the click of a button we can elude a come on.  We can ignore what is right in front of us and move on to the next guy with the six pack abs.  The few guys that do email me only have pictures that showcase their private parts and I have to be honest...I don't want to go on a date with your hairy asshole.  Its disgusting.  Yet one of the many ways in which gay people need to seek out to improve their so called "quality of life" or what have you, and start acting right.  If we start from the ground up one day we will reach a point at which time it will be very appropriate that we all band together to call out of work for the day as one big giant F-U to the straighties of the world.

With the way the economy is right now.  This idea is actually awful.  It will actually affect us more negatively than it will the rest of the world, and more than likely some of us will wind up unemployed because of it.  One more notch in the belt loop that is of our irrational decision making skills.

But for now.  Let's just agree to disagree, and get rid of the online pictures of your hairy butt.

The Shit Show

I have had a pretty amazing birthday this year.  I have barely been here for an entire year and I managed to fill up almost a weeks worth of birthday fun in a matter of only a few days.  

The actual day of birth was this past Wednesday but I had to work.  As I mentioned before Steve took me out that night and acted like a shit about it.  Thursday night I went to dinner with my buddy Rich.  This marks our fourth time hanging out together.  We have not spent that much time together because Rich dated Steve.  That's how we met.  Steve said he would not care if we hung out.  Steve lied.  

So it is not the most comfortable or convenient, rather, for Rich and myself to build upon our budding friendship.  It is unfortunate as well because Rich and I share many of the same views when it comes to dating and gay culture.  Views to which Steve and I agree to disagree.

Rich took me to an amazing restaurant in Harvard Square.  He had planned on having our friend Mike meet us over there, but Mike had a VERY exhausting a busy week.  He gave me a card that he and Mike had gotten and signed for me.  It was very nice.  Dinner was nice too.  It was honestly a very expensive meal for someone that I have only known a short while, but I hope it is any indication of the future long-lasting and genuine friendship that Rich and I will continue to grow.  

Saturday.  Last Night.  The Shit show began.

I have never heard that phrase until I moved up here but I love it.  It is also the only phrase that could describe the insane events that took place last night.  

Kelly and I began the night.  We started with a drink at Fritz, where they make them cheap, but Strong.  We met the three gay dudes at the table beside us and I recognized one from speaking to one another online but did not mention it to him.  As we were leaving I saw the ONLY attractive guy on my way out so I went to introduce myself.  He said he was in town for a few weeks.  I said we should hang out.  Pause.  Only if you want to, I added.  He said No.  SHOT DOWN.  I thought to myself.  But then asked if he was there with his partner to which he said "No, My wife."  

What are you doing here?  Do you know what kind of bar this is?  Yes he said he had been there before.  He said that he was there for a glass of wine.  

Now folks.  I can tell you this much.  Fritz.  Is not an establishment best known for their wine selection.  I rolled my eyes.  Turned to wink at him as I left, and then shouted out what I would do with him if given the chance.  This is a public site.  So I will save you from the gratuity of my lewd behavior.  We walked to Club Cafe where we met up with Darren and Chris from work.  We danced to Single Ladies, laughed at people that smelled like Fish cakes, then left and went to Roxy.  

Steve.  Who I spoke with before 8 and said he would be ready by 9 showed up to Club Cafe at 1130pm.  On the eve of my birthday outing.  I had already expressed to him during the week that he needed to make up for his weekly actions and redeem himself this weekend but I guess he did NOT get the memo.  

At first I did not speak to him, until I came up later and whispered to him that he was a Shit.

On the way to Roxy I cussed him out.  Pouted.  and Tried to hit him in his face.  

Kelly stood between.

We walked in and stood in line and I spent the entire time yelling and cussing at Steve.  Darren and Chris took turns alternating which sides to take as Darren stood with Steve, and I stood with Chris.  When we got inside every one went to check coats and I stood there alone with Steve.  I calmed myself and cooly told him.  

"You know.  I don't mean to be dramatic.  But I guess that when I think about it, I am the one to blame because I guess that I had higher expectations for how this week would have gone than compared to what really happened.  I also guess that all I can do is acknowledge that you are one of the most selfish people I have ever met in my life and that if I want to remain friends with you I will just have to accept it and move on"

This made things take a different turn.  Steve still acted like a weirdo.

We had too many drinks.  Danced to every single song.  Got lost from each other.  Found one another.  Then we headed home.  In the car Chris had to ask me for directions and I kept telling him "GO STRAIGHT, TURN GAY!"  He drove around in circles before figuring out where to go.  It felt good to hang out with Darren and Chris because they act, now, how I acted when I was their age.  It is a great way to live vicariously through them without having the future filled with regret of acting like a whore.

Brunch was amazing.  Stella's.  My favorite.  I got the french toast, which will now be referred to as "the best french toast I have ever had in my entire life".  We had a table of 10.  I felt very special.  They toasted to my birthday.  I gave a toast to them.  I admitted that I felt blessed and lucky to have found such wonderful and genuine people in such a short amount of time and that I looked very forward to sitting at a table with them again this time next year and toasting all over again.

It was a wonderful birthday.  It looks as though the late 20's are going to Rock.

And at least now I have a few pairs of jeans that fit.

The Quicker Picker Upper

Bounti-ful.  Bountiful is what I wish I was when it came to having a handful of proper pickup lines.  If you know me well enough, you will know that I am not the type of guy that exudes confidence when there is live bait in my presence.  Meaning.  If I truly like a guy.  then I have the HARDEST time trying to flirt of pick him up. 

In my head.  When I am in that moment.  I keep telling myself over and over things like "flirt with him more"  "Smile more"  "make better eye contact" "compliment him".  I can't help it.  It is the only things that go through my head.  If I do not repeat these lines over and over again then I wind up insulting him or making him think I am full of myself because I SOUND too confident, even though I could admit to him aloud that I am SO INSECURE!

TWO EXAMPLES

One.  When my parents came to visit they decided to help me get my vacuum cleaner fixed.  Mostly because I was too lazy and cheap and so much that I did not bother taking it to the Oreck Store that I pass EVERY SINGLE DAY on my way to work.  When we walked into the store my mouth almost dropped.  There was this beefy muscled arabic looking guy working there.  Wearing a polo that was not tight, but just tight enough, if you know what i mean.  The kind that looked as though his biceps were exploding out of it, but you couldn't tell if it was fat or muscle until he moved around in it and you realized that it.  Was clearly.  Muscle.  WHEW!

So he smiled REALLY big as I walked in.  It threw me.  He fixed that vacuum cleaner quickly.  Charged my dad for the repair and we were on our way.  

I get home.  It works once.  Then broken again.  

I take it back.  He wasn't there.  I leave it.  Two weeks go by, no phone call so I walked in this morning to check on it.  He was there.

He smiled really big at me as I walked in and I walked in and said hello and began to explain why I was there, but paused and said "Do you remember me?"

"Yes, of course I remember you"  He said, and smiled from ear to ear.  

I was almost so thrown off by this that I couldn't even bother trying to flirt.  That is how shocking it was that this beefy arab dude was flirting with me, if that was even it.  

So I tell him no phone call and he goes to check on it.  He finds my vacuum with no notes or anything and says that this is why he could not fix it b/c he did not know what was wrong.  He says to wait and that he will fix it.  In the store it is only me, him and one other dude.  The other dude looks as if he is in the process of packing his car to leave, and I begin to pray that he is.  What a perfect situation this will be when this little asshole leaves us alone in the store.  

He leaves.  The Arab comes out.  Vacuum fixed.  He tells me.  He then goes on to say that he is supposed to charge but will not charge me.  He smiles more.  I shake his hand and thank him 3 times in three different ways to say it.  I pause slightly.  But realize I have nothing else to say and thanks and a fourth handshake would just be odd at this point.  I turn to leave and he says "You can test it out here first if you want"  So I oblige.  

I am careful as I make my way to the plug in the wall.  I know that on this particular morning I am wearing sexy underwear and low rise jeans and that if there is any Bend - and - Snap action, a waistband underoo shot is on the horizon.  I take my type to plug it in, and use my peripheral on the way up to see if he is checking.  He is not.  It is weird.  I can't tell if he is being nervous, or a gentleman.  Or if, in fact I am making this all up in my head.  I thank him again.  I am on the verge of saying "how can I pay you back?"  But sanity prohibits me from doing so.  

I leave.  Big smiles exhanged.  I had tried to have a conversation with him, but a conversation does not exist that is 5 minutes long and leads to "Boys or girls?"

I leave toying with the idea of calling him and thanking him over the phone and admitting that I feel bad, which would hopefully give him the chance to say "if you feel bad then but me a drink".  Looking back I could have acted like I had not JUST gone to Starbucks and offered to get him a coffee or something.  

Two.  This customer came in one night looking for a suit.  It was an average beginning.  you could tell that he was repulsed by salespeople.  I weaseled my way in.  Admitted to him that our prices were higher than Macy's but then admitted that we match and are never undersold.  I told him about the competitive sales that we had going on and he left very happy.  He came back later and bought the suit we had looked at.  Then he came back for the alterations later.  He seemed more comfortable with me this time (did I mention that he had a stutter?)  The first time he had been with his father.  This time he was on his own and seemed more comfortable in his own skin.  

This is why it is harder being gay.  Unless I meet whores and pig-daddies out at gay clubs, bars, and bathrooms, then I partake in a mindboggling guessing game of who's outta da closet.

I am rarely ever a winner.

But I thank myself for playing.

Nonetheless he is more comfortable.  I find his stutter increasingly more attractive.  If you talk to close friends of mine the would admit to you that I have made it my life's work to find people that are uncomfortable in this world, and to put them at ease.  I have made a career out of calming people down, as well as turning bad days into good.  So the fact that he has a stutter, which becomes his verbal rating scale of his comfort level when working with me, definitely has begun to turn me on.  He stutters less and less the more we interact.  In person.  on the phone.  I love it.

He came in to pick up his finished suit.  He tried it on.  I tried to act professional as I tugged at the waist to "make sure" that it fit appropriately.  Then we figured out that he needed a new belt.  When he tried it on he put it around his stomach and I made him put it through the real belt loops.  ((For the record - you can never tell unless you do)).  When he lifted his shirt I saw his "happy trail" and as low as his 2 sizes too big pants were hanging it appeared to be closer to his "treasure trail" instead.  I joked with him about how big his pants were.  Made him get new ones.  He laughed.  I loved his laugh.  I can't stop thinking about him.  This would be the kind of guy I would want to go on a date with.  If we were in high school together I feel like he would wear those coke-bottle glasses with the tape in the middle, and I would swoon.

I tried to have a conversation with him (again, I am a soc-tard when it comes to this).  I talked about wear he lives ((which is the up and coming gay area of town)) I mentioned that my friend lived there and made me go to a sports bar ((giving an opportunity to him, which he took)) and he mentioned that he wouldn't be going to a sports bar.  

Okay, Okay, I thought to myself, now we are getting somewhere. 

I didn't want this banter to end so I sold him something else that he would have to come back and get later.  This would give me another visit at a later date, and enable me to call him again as a reminder.  During our earlier conversations I had mentioned to him that I had thought of moving to the area that he was living in cause of friends there, so as he left I casually mentioned, "Yeah, and maybe if I move over that way I will see you around".

I feel like I was beating it into his head.  My lack of subtly was deliberate.  But I am not quite sure he took the bait.  It is almost harder to tell up here in the New England area if gay or straight.  All these smarty pant nerd boys from MIT and Harvard are not making the debate any easier.

No Excuses...

I feel like Miranda.  From Sex and the City.  I always do.  In most ways I aspire to be more like her.  I think she is amazing.

But in particular.  Tonight.  I feel like her because I fit into my SKINNY JEANS!!!  Just like when Miranda fit into her Skinny "No Excuses" Jeans.  I really have a pair of jeans that I have kept for a few months now.  Actually.  A full year now.  A year ago I took them from my floor.  I folded them up and put them in a stack at the top of my closet.  I put them in a place where I could easily take them and try them on periodically to see if they fit again.  And tonight.  They did.  I mean.  I MADE them fit.  But I got them buttoned all the way and without feeling like I was on the verge of having a hernia.  I took my Evian Spray in a Can and Sprayed them down so that they could stretch out better.  Girls, you should try it.  It really helped.  And it helped so much that I only ripped them a little.  You know, in the thigh area, where you would use a sanitary wipe if you had one.  

But it felt really good to button them.  This summer I could not button them all the way.  and Tonight I could definately do that.  Sans Evian.  

So I put on my jeans.  

But this came after.

It came after working a full night shift at work.  After impressing customer after customer and wowing them with my know-how.  It came after running around the store with my head cut nearly off and trying my hardest to gobble up everything that I could.  I did a good job.  

As I walked out of the store, keep in mind I walked out early.  I walked out and left my employee who encouraged me to leave on my birthday.  I walked out with the bottle of wine that my OTHER employee had brought to me.  I walked out and made my store manager feel bad for not wishing me happy birthday earlier.  I walked out knowing that I had made this the first birthday that I ever felt truly special.  I felt so, because If I had been in Charlotte, the city that I was born in, I would know that the people wishing me happy birthday HAD to.  I feel like this has been a contributor to why I have never enjoyed a birthday in the past.  

But doesn't everybody hate their birthday?  It is like a holiday that everybody else wants to celebrate except you.  Like New Years or Halloween.  A holiday where if you don't act excited you are made to look like an asshole.  Except the difference is that if you choose to stay home on this holiday, you look depressed or weird.  Its a holiday that you cannot escape.

A holiday in which you depend solely on your friends to make sure that you don't regret.  Your friends are supposed to take you out, buy you a drink and make sure you don't remember how you act the next day.  

Instead my friend Steve, who I personally invited to my private shopping event at my store met me outside when I LEFT EARLY, and said "I'm really tired, I'll go out if you convince me"

Are you kidding me with this?

I have had total strangers treat me better than this.  I get home and I call him.  When he answers he sounds like shit and asks again "Do you REALLY want to go out?  I'm tired".  

Yes Steve.  Yes I really want to go out.  You have bitched and whined at me all week asking if we are going out to Latino Night at Venu this week after you come to my private shopping event and I have gotten it in my mind that it is what we are doing.  Even though I hate to go out during the week.  Even though I knew that I would not get out of work until nearly 11:30PM.  But I had planned it this way.  I had worked my December schedule so that I was off on Thursday and not going in until 2Pm on Friday.  

When I hung up the phone I was livid.  I hate this word.  Livid.  But it is the only word that describes the anger I felt towards Steve when I hung up.  I got in the shower.  Afterwards I paced my room looking for jeans that would not make me feel like the fattest piece of shit on the planet.  

When I didn't find those I became more angry.  I called him and let him have it.

I told him that it puzzled me that I have known him since I moved here.   I have known him for a year.  I felt like I had to convince him to celebrate my birthday.  I explained to him AGAIN that It was the first birthday that I have ever been away from my family.  I explained to him AGAIN that I was just a LITTLE confused at how a person that I have befriended named Rich, that he used to date, who I have only hung out with on THREE occasions has been more thoughtful and caring concerning my birthday and holidays that Steve has been after knowing him all year.  I told him that despite any jealousy that he might have regarding my hanging out with Rich that there were no feelings of that sort on my end towards him, and that all joking aside the only reason I would ever bring up to Steve that Rich was so thoughtful was not at all to make him jealous that I was talking to Rich but more so to make him feel guilty for how little he has acknowledged my situation.

Steve was silent.

Are you still awake? I asked him.

He said yes, and that he did not have anything to say back to it.

I asked if he liked to celebrate his own birthday, because I know that when it came he did not want to make an ordeal of it.  He said no.  

I told him that I have hated celebrating my birthday for as long as I can remember, and that the only person who has made me not want to celebrate it was Steve.  Everyone else that is a part of my life here, and every single person that I have contact with from home has made me feel more special on this day than I have ever felt before.  Mostly thanks to Facebook, but hey, I will celebrate the wins.

We went out.  We squashed the problem.  We are good to go cause I put him in his place. 

I appreciate all the people in my life dearly.  All of those who have made me feel like these 27 years have been lived by no means in vain.

I love you all dearly.  And because of this, for my future, I will make No Excuses...

Sleep in Heavenly Peace

Silent night.  I'm not alone.  My roommate is in her own room.  Nonetheless, it is a lonely time of year.  I have spent this year getting to know new people.  I have invested time into them.  Hard time to make them all worth while.  The scary thought is that the effort has been in vain.  You can only hope that you will get back what you put in to these relationships.  

I think that is why I was so satisfied in Charlotte.  I got back what I had given.  I had put in a lot.  It had taken a very long time.  So it is scary to be at a point in life where you look around and realize all the hard work it took before.  You also realize how easy it has been.  Well, not so much easy, but at the least, in a very short amount of time.  

I can't help but feel cared for here in Boston.  My friend Steve calls me pretty much every day.  My buddy Rich called me on Thanksgiving from New York, to wish me well and mentioned my birthday (without my reminding him).  He said that him and our friend Mike would like to take me out to dinner.  Johanna has offered to organize (by way of making reservations) brunch at my favorite fancy restaurant in the South End, Stella's.  I have an employee that put in their notice and brought me 4 Cannoli because she heard me mention my PASSION for them.  Another brings me leftovers to try and help me save money, and he also gave me one of his old suits that doesn't fit him anymore.   In less than a year I feel engrossed in a mass of people who care dearly for me.  I feel loved.  

It feels good to have left Charlotte in a state of almost uncertainty and have now arrived more sure of myself than I had ever imagined I would be before.  

I know that money problems are smoothing out as we speak.  I know that eventually the economy will turn.  When it happens, I will be that much more satisfied.  

Tonight I began watching "The Family Stone".  When I first saw the movie, it became an instant classic in my mind.  I had no idea that it would be such a heart-shaking movie.  It dealt with a mother whose Breast Cancer had returned.  It makes me thankful that my mother is a survivor.  It makes me cry to think what life would be like without her.  There is another scene in which an outsider from the family (aka Sarah Jessica Parker future daughter-in-law to be) makes a comment about gay people.  The comment is slightly offensive, and she keeps digging the ditch deeper trying to pull herself out of it but makes it worse.  Craig T. Nelson plays the perfect role of the father that slams his fist on the table and demands, "THATS ENOUGH!".  The movie is about a less than ordinary family that knows good and well that they all have problems.  The tie that binds is that they are family.  They accept each other no matter what their differences are.  This scene in which Craig T. Nelson (aka COACH) takes charge is followed up by the mother (Diane Keaton another A+ choice for the role) aggressively and passionately tells her gay son, "HEY!  You are MORE NORMAL than any asshole at this table!"

Aside from my sexual orientation, I have done a great many things that I can think of in which my family could have chosen to abandon me.  To disown me even.  It makes me think of the woman that I met on Thanksgiving day whose family disowned her for her weight.  She has problems.  We all do.  Her family chose to abandon her instead of holding her up and supporting her in order to help her overcome her problems.  Not even to help her, but they are not even there for her to say "I love you" even IF they disagree with every single choice she has ever made.  And I just think.  Those choices are JUST to put food in her mouth.  Once we got her mind off of things it was time for dessert.  I asked which dessert she wanted, and she laughed and said "I'll have one of everything".  I felt like saying "thats the spirit!".  But I knew that it was not a habit that should be encouraged. 

It makes me so thankful to be a part of a family that accepts me.  and.  Loves me.

These are the important things.  That make a family, just that.  A Family.

Love.

Silent Nights and Holy Nights...

Twenty Seven

I can't believe I am almost 27 years old.  I remember when I was 21 and felt the need to lie about my age.  I told people I was 27.  What was it about being 27 that was so intriguing for me at such a young age.  Now, granted, there are only 6 years that separate the two ages from one another, but it feels like a life time of lessons learned in between the two.  

It seems like no matter how old you get people still refuse to take you seriously no matter what age you are.  I find that I still feel it necessary to lie about my age from time to time.  I tell people I am 33.  An Odd number is more believable than an even one.  Also.  Getting over the 30 year hump is the make or break difference between a gay guy that is still looking and a gay guy that is ready to settle down.  This is, at least, how most over 30 gays view things.  I don't really understand why I just can't seem to find anybody on my side of the 30 year old fence to date or settle down with.  

It seems like the guys my age that are interested are rail thin.  They have no meat on their bones.  They guys that are thicker want thinner guys and the guys that are muscular want OLDER muscular guys.  They go after the older muscle guys who have reached a point of frustration in their lives of being rejected that they are no okay with taking steroids.  Or Hydroxycut.  This is what results in the form of an old face with a young body.  I see it on so many online dating profiles.  First of all.  You know something is wrong when I am pretty much only seeing pictures of peoples body parts.  Most of which are vulgar.  The others are showcasing what would seem like a lot of hard work through diet an exercise but is actually just the result of a crystal meth addiction and a jones for diet pills and steroids.

I don't get it.  All my life I have been longing to grow old gracefully.  Now I look around me and there are all these guys who are too caught up in their physical image.  

The guys my age with bodies like these are either blessed with that genetic disposition, or are lucky enough to have not hit that point in life when you reach a certain age and your body just doesn't respond to everything the same way it used to.  Instead of being able to keep the weight off you only seem to be gaining more of it by the minute.  You begin to find that you are too tired after work to partake in the workouts that had once kept you thin and you find yourself straining to button your low rise jeans.

It's a damn shame that you can't just be surrounded by people that want to wallow in your wake.  It would be nice to find a group of people who enjoyed living life and being happy.  

Just that.  Being happy.  Nothing More.  Nothing Less.

Don't make No Sense

I don't understand.  I just want to find someone.  Around my own age.  Cute.  Not too cute.  Handsome.  Not too Handsome.  Active and Athletic.  But not too much.  

The search continues and I am secretly lonely.  Lonely because I want someone to hold on to at night.  Lonely because it would be really nice to have someone to wake up with on a Sunday morning.  You know.  More often than just one random Sunday morning.  

All those little cute things that about a boy that turns you on are really starting to get to me.  There was a guy at the store the other night.  Shopping.  He came out of the fitting room and was waiting on some more shirts to try on, then when he headed back towards it, his jeans were sagging, just enough to be sexy and not so much too look sloppy.  You could see his boxer briefs bunching at the top of his jeans waistband.  SO SEXY!  I want a boyfriend that has that.  Just so I can rest my hands on his waist at the top of his waistline, and just flirtatiously feel the waistband and cotton from his boxer briefs.  Also so that after our date night.  (we would have many even after we had become an item) We would go back to his place (because it would have a view overlooking the Back Bay (my favorite part of the city).  He would pour some wine, and meet me on the terrace.  (I of course would be looking at my favorite view).  He would smirk, and I would smile.  Then he would tell me "I'll be right back" and come back without his shirt on so that I could flirt a little more with his waistband.  He would know that it drove me crazy.  I would love this about him.  The way he chose to drive me crazy.  Because in turn it drove him crazy.  It made him absolutely nuts to turn me on and to make me happy.  

This is what my relationship would look like.

If I had one.  But I don't.

I don't understand why it is so hard.  I feel like Charlotte York "WHERE IS HE???"

My birthday is next week.  I will be single.  I have reached the point in the year when it is not enough time before Christmas to find someone to date that would buy you anything worth while by the time the holiday rolled around.

I guess I will just ask for a big pillow this year.

a giving of thanks...

Thank you.  Thanks a lot.  I really appreciate all that you have done for me this year and the things that you continue to do for me on a daily basis.  Mom.  Dad.  Everybody.  I love you.  I am so thankful that I have found people in my life that I know will always be there to support me.  

This year has been awfully long for me, and yet has gone by so fast.  In a weeks time I will hit the Anniversary of what started this all, which was one phone call from my new manager.  I had no clue that at this time, this year, I would be sitting at my computer in Boston.  (Well, Malden but same difference).  I remember that at the time I had felt surrounded by many people that loved me.  Not only just my family members but also close friends.  I had managed to do what had felt impossible for the most part of my life.  It was always hard for me to find great friendships.  Growing up I seemed to encounter an ongoing dilemma when I would make friends with someone and finally open up to them, they would move away.  

So needless to say.  It is odd that once I finally had what I would refer to as a plethora of great friendships in Charlotte (that had definitely not come at a small price) I decided to leave all of it behind.  I guess, in a way, it was my version of having the upper hand.  It was a way for me to start putting myself first for once.  I had taken great pride in being an extraordinary friend to those around me.  I found joy in making people smile.  Putting people in a good mood, and hearing the laughter of my friends and family members that I really and truly cared about.  

I told my store manager that I did NOT want to move to Boston.  I said that I was not ready for the promotion and that I had things in Charlotte that I was not ready to leave.  She chuckled and asked who I was dating (she was wrong).  As she usually was about hunches that she had.  But in a different instance she had a hunch that I was being silly.  She expressed to me that she knew that I was ready for a promotion and to not let this stand in my way.  I assured her that it was not my only reason.

Nonetheless.  A phone call.  A Month's wait.  and the answer that my new residence was Massachusetts!

I am happy to be here.  When the opportunity came up I realized that I should really consider what it was that I was holding out for.  Was I waiting around for friends that were moving elsewhere to move back?  Was I waiting on friends that were getting married and starting families?  It seemed like all of my friends had things going on in their lives that were booming.  The only thing that seemed to make sense was for me to search for my own booming sensation and luckily I found it.  Or it found me.  Who knows?

So tonight.  Is the night before my FIRST Thanksgiving without my family.  It seems like all of the other Thanksgivings leading up to this one were foreshadowing what was to come.  Slowly family members branched out.  Promises were made to In-laws and Thanksgiving was half-full or half-empty, whichever way you choose to look at it.  

I remember last year how you work all week and then have this feeling of "Man, do I really have to wake up early on my ONLY day off this week?"  Then when you spend that time with your family you eventually reach your threshold and start to give thanks that you have your own place.  I remember my Mom, Dad, and Aunt Deborah asking me to stay a little longer last year.  But I was tired.  I was ready to get back to my apartment.  So I apologized.  Hugged.  Then Left.  

This year I can't leave.  Cause I'm not there.

So I have decided to fill up my day with all the people that I know up here.  In order to cloud my mind.   Forget about the fact that I will not get to make Gobble Gobble Turkey noises with my nieces.  Forget about the fact that I will not get to help my mom put the finishing touches on the cooking, or remind her to turn the stove off, or for that matter, and knowing my mother, remind her to turn it ON so that the food can actually cook! 

I will cloud my mind so that I don't have to think about how my dad manages to follow up every family meal with an arm around my shoulder, a side-hug squeeze, a proud look, and an "I Love you".  

Tonight I made Sweet Potato Balls.  Its a Paula Dean recipe and I definitely wish that it had a different and more enticing name.  I did all the prep work so that tomorrow I can just through them into the oven.  I also made a Broccoli Casserole.  When I finished and was cleaning up (keep in mind that I was only cleaning up right away because I have a new roommate) I caught myself.  I thought "Let me make sure that I turned everything off," then proceeded to touch all of the buttons on the stove and microwave while confirming, "Off, Off, Off, Off, Off!"  

My mother always does this.  She has done it since I was a little child.  It was her little way of making sure that in all the chaos that had clouded her mind for the day that she AT LEAST managed not to burn down the home that she had built for her family.  It was an idiosyncrasy that had always conjured a roll of the eye.  Not only from me, but Angie and Tommy as well.  It didn't matter.  Even Dad gave one from time to time, but by no means was it meant for judgement, it was only a subtle expression of our love for her.  

Thanks a lot everybody.  Including you Mom and Dad.  Even if I did turn out just like you.

Like a 50-year-old Virgin

When I heard that Madonna used 36 designers for her Sticky and Sweet tour I was so anxious to see what iconic fashion wardrobes she would be sweating and jumping around in.  

When I saw pictures from her show I thought "eh, maybe next time."  It was sad to me that designers of the ranks of Givenchy, Stella McCartney, YSL, Dior, and Jean-Paul Gautier all contributed their ideals to her "collection" and yet that collection included pink gym shorts and a sleeveless hoodie.  Really?  Sleeveless AND short-shorts for a 50-year old woman?

Whatever happened to aging gracefully?

If you only took a look at this one individual concert you might say that I was being a hater.  But hate not.  Want not.  I am no one to throw haterade around.  Hell, I don't even drink it, I'm on a cottage cheese diet for God's sake!  But if you had been to her Confessions tour you would...or moreover, SHOULD understand where I am coming from.  

Madonna's Confessions tour was Chic, to say the least.  The very least, for that matter, because I am absolutely repulsed by the usage of the word chic.  It serves as the only word that nails it on the head of what the costuming for her Confessions show entailed.  It was amazing.  It was dark, sexy, and mature.  As it should be for a woman, who at the time was APPROACHING 50.

Cut to her concert - @ 50 - in scantily clad get ups popping her white girl ass out while chanting "see my booty get down like..."  The line goes great in the song.  But it would have been more impressive had she let big booty black girls shake their asses while she made it rain on them.  Madonna as the pimp matriarch is more enticing than Madonna the desperate divorcee.  

It was just a thought.

My opinion would mean nothing to her.  Chump change.  But to me this show was an exit.  It was the end of an era.  I have long had a fascination with her that has yet to be understood by the common man.  She has always amazed me and been a pillar of strength and encouragement.  At this show she flushed it down the drain.  

Her entire career has been a tour de force, knocking down one new venture after the other.  I stuck by her when she kept acting, even though she was awful.  I say "Next Best Thing" the day it came out.  Even if my face did have a look of distain during the entire movie.  

But the Sticky and Sweet show was a big let down for me.  Only when you compare it to Confessions.  Seriously.  If you have not already done so, Go buy Confessions on DVD.  Make sure you watch it on a big screen with great picture and surround sound.  But it is absolutely astonishing.  

I took a friend with me to this show and it was really great.  I was really glad she got to see how over the top a Madonna concert can be.  But it is weird to know that it was only halfway over in my opinion.  Confessions left me jaw-dropped for the entire show.  It was shocking, it was passionate, it was high-fashion.  

If I had to rank in order of greatness the Madonna Shows I have seen it would be in this order...

Confessions

Reinvention Tour

and THEN....

Sticky and Sweet

The theatrics and pull of the Sticky and Sweet show was mainly that a fifty year old was brazen enough to bare most of her body parts that she shouldn't have (that underarm area, thighs, and loose neck skin area - plus close ups that ((if i was her)) would have strictly outlined in my contract NOT TO DO! that showed up on the big screen) but also the fact that a 50 year old could be that energetic for an entire hour and a half.  You walk away thinking "Man, she is really fit" or "Damn she's got some good Coke!"

Blogging

Okay you guys.  I will try my hardest.  To begin to post a blog every night before bed.  In order to live up to my title "Bedtime Stories".  It will be very hard for me.  Sometimes my mind draws blank.  Other times my mind decided to wander.  But I feel like there is a lot in there to get out.  So I might as well begin to put it all on here.  Right?

So please get the Word out about my Blogs.  I have the link posted on myspace and facebook so hopefully I can gather some more followers (which encourages me to write more often).

even the devil wouldn't recognize you...i do

In other bloggings I have mentioned before that this has proven to be one of, WAIT, strike that, this has proven to be THE toughest year of my life!

I moved into an apartment complex that I could have afforded LAST YEAR.  

THIS YEAR, however, I am making the same amount of money in a very much higher cost of living area.

SO it has proven to be a challenge.  I welcome the challenge though.  I love an obstacle.  If you don't have any obstacles to rise above then how will you ever grow?

Whether or not I have actually grown that much is another story but the truth of the matter is that I have learned a lot.  I have learned what it is like to pay EVERY SINGLE BILL LATE!  

I have learned what it feels like to have a threat of eviction.

I have learned about what happens when you let someone with bad credit be your roommate.

I have learned what it feels like to be in over your head. 

I have learned what it feels like to have a family that loves you.

I have learned what it feels like to be dearly missed.

I can tell that I am missed by how many people have asked when I will be home for Thanksgiving.  A time when you give thanks and honor the things you are grateful for.  People have asked me not realizing that I work in retail and that if I was to take the energy to travel home for Thanksgiving then I would not have the energy needed to come back and deal with Black Friday.  The secret holiday of the retail world.  What will hopefully NOT formally be known as, "The biggest shopping day of the year".  With the way the economy has been I am scared to see what Black Friday will look like this year.  I feel as though it will set the tone for the entire shopping season and if it does not go well then I feel utter depression setting in.  Hard.  Cold.  and Fast.

I feel like the kids will be home from college and they will whine and complain and force their parents out into the malls to shop for Christmas wishes.  Don't let me down you godawful brats!

I just emailed my leasing office in order to "leave a paper trail".  Its a life lesson I picked up somewhere along the way.  Something I had heard before but never listened to because it never applied to me.  It is weird how you spend your life "hearing" things and then one day out of nowhere you begin to "listen".  They begin to register and really make a lot of sense.  Luckily you remembered them because they seem to be in place to save your ass from harm.

This Thanksgiving will be my first away from home.  Away from my family.  The past few years Thanksgiving has become so cliched for me that I had really begun to take it for granted.  Do I really have to wake up early on my day off?  Do I really have to spend the ENTIRE day with my family?  Last year I had no clue that it would be my last one with the gang.  At this time last year I had told my previous store manager that I did NOT plan on moving.  I told her that I had too much going on in Charlotte and that I wanted to stay and figure some things out first.  

Who knew that I had NOTHING going on?  NOTHING compared to my life this year in Boston.  

Last year there was Thanksgiving, followed by the week when I first spoke with my new store manager.  It was a Wednesday morning.  I can remember.  I had just gone to Yoga.  It was warm in Charlotte.  I had on shorts and short sleeves as I left the gym.  That could never happen in Boston right now.

So for my first Thanksgiving in my home away from home I will be serving food to those in need at one of my favorite bars in town.  Located in Cambridge.  We will make a quick stop over to my apartment to pick up my Sweet Potato Balls (a Paula Dean recipe) and my Broccoli Casserole (from my father's Wadesboro, NC Cookbook) then head over to our store managers house for a manager's Thanksgiving spread.  Then we will head to my new found "kindred spirit" friend's place for a southern Thanksgiving with my new Bostonian family.  

It will be a full day.  It will start at 9am.  and it will be the first time that I have ever been so excited to wake up early and start giving Thanks.

Money, Money, Money, Always Sunny...

In a rich man's world...

I have none of it.  I had a roommate move in and am barely going to squeak out of the water of drowning in my own debt that is funneling in on top of my head.  I think that mid to late December it will take a turn.  Hopefully retail sales will pick up and I will be able to generate some commission out of this slowly dying economy.  

Thanks to those naysayers like Suze Orman (Go eat a carpet) there has been little to no business for me lately.  I need it.  Badly.  

It doesn't help that I feel the need to spend what money I do have.  I can't help it.  I was raised this way.  I was raised on a basis of want now, get now.  If I wanted a CD I bought it.  If I wanted a CD player and speakers for my car, I got it.  I got.  Everything I ever wanted.  When I look back.  I can admit that I was spoiled.  I would personally not refer to myself as a spoiled "brat" but I guess in some circles, that is how I would be known.  Now that I am turning 27 it is finally time to get the silver spoon out of my mouth and make a name for myself.  

BOR-ING!

Whoever said growing up was fun OBVIOUSLY still lived in their parents' house.  

Growing up is for the BIRDS.

B-I- IRDS!!!

When I finally pay all my bills.  I take one deep breath and then they start to show up again.  I don't even get a chance to exhale.  It seems like there is always some bill out there nagging me.  "Pay me this month!"  "I'm Late" "I have interest" "Late Charge added".  Geez.  Give me a break already would you?  

With all this talk of a bailout I can't help but think that the BEST idea for a bailout would be that all credit cards declare bankruptcy.  Or whatever they would have to claim in order to just bailout all of their customers.  ELIMINATE ALL DEBT!  Just stop it.  All together.  Maybe freeze debt.  No more interest.  No more late fees.  Freeze Debt for a year.  Don't allow more credit.  But freeze Debt.  And Credit.  Then we will wait a year.  Work.  Make more money.  We will learn how to buy things with cash.  You know.  The old fashioned way where you save the money.  Budget.  Then Get.  Paid immediately.  All Money Down.  Debt Free.

This is my solution.  It's pretty impressive if you ask me.

Then again.  Nobody asked me.

It is so interesting to me that a year ago I had paid all my bills and had $20 dollars left in the bank to last for a week, but it was only because I had purchased jeans that cost $300 at the time.  Now the jeans don't fit because I took a promotion to move to another city.  A promotion that pays Less (equivalently to where I was before).  A promotion that has opened my eyes to such GRAND opportunities such as eviction threats, late payments, Over $700 in overdraft fees, another credit card that is now $500 over limit, and many other little nuggets of life that I never thought I would see the day when they had occured in my own life.  I guess THAT is what growing up looks like.

It looks this way because you still talk to your parents.  And even though you feel like you are growing closer and closer to them, your lies get worse and worse so that they don't for one second think that you need their help.  This is what it looks like to BE and adult.

Faking your way through your parents hallways.  In order to get out of their house altogether.

There's no place like home.

Boy Don't try to Front

Britney Spears is making a comeback.  It's official.  If you have seen any of the photos, ads, or interviews surrounding her upcoming album, entitled "Circus" then you know good and well that she is doing it right this time.  She got in shape.  She appeared naked in the womanizer video to prove it and she is not saying stupid shit while being televised.  

I am happy for her.  She was born THE DAY before me.  So just know that the day that her Circus album drops is the DAY BEFORE my birthday!  

I will be 27 years old and I cannot wait to be another year older.  Wiser?  That is yet to be seen.  But at least numerically I am increasing with age.  It is tough making the final decision about whether or not you have matured or aged appropriately.  I can look at some of my best friends around me and see that OBVIOUSLY time is not taking a toll on them.  So it makes me question myself.  I sometimes feel more mature than the people that are around me.  But is it because I am conceited?  Is it because I take time out to think about the difference in me and them?

Who the fuck knows.  More importantly, who cares?  I keep using them to learn from my own mistakes.  It is easy to see your friends make mistakes and get caught up in a situation that you, yourself have experienced.  The easy part is telling them what to do.  The hard part is to do it right the next time you fuck up and fall into the same pattern all over again.  

I told a friend tonight that they had expectations that were too high.  This frustrated my friend.  I could tell.  We have known each other long enough for me to know everything that sets their nerves aflame.  I know that this friend knows the same buttons to push for me also.  I know, because they did it to me when I called them on Sunday to talk about a guy.  

"You are over analyzing it" they said to me.

It was exactly what I needed to get under my skin.  The reason it was so obnoxious was because it was true.  But this friend knows that I over analyze everything.  It is what I do.  It is also why this friend calls me when they need help figuring out a situation.  

It is also why I blog.

And why you keep reading them.

It made me mad that they called me out.  I know that they knew it made me mad.  Like I said, we have known each other for ever.  It made me mad because it is what I do.  Over analyze.  It is what I know how to do.  

I don't know how to feel my way through it.  I don't know how to go with the flow.  I need a plan.  Structure.  I want a timeline and I want to know what to expect.

I guess that is where my biggest problems lie because in this life, you may never know what to expect.  Ever.

Roommates

It's so weird.  Having a roommate.  The whole process gets to me.  Really.  I am  in a new city.  I am all on my own (besides the $500 a month I have borrowed from my dad since moving).  But I need a roommate.  So that I can be on my own.  For REAL.

So I got one.  I went on Craig's list and luckily (?) got a reply from a girl that seemed pretty to the point when it came to finding a place to live.  She was interested in it being furnished.  Asked me no questions about my sexual orientation.  She seemed pretty laid back for the whole time that we processed the move-in.  We did not really talk much at all before she showed up this past Sunday with all of her belongings and brought them into what was formerly known as MY apartment, yet now may be known as ours.

I feel obligated to talk to her since she is here and I can sense that she feels somewhat obligated as well.  

Before meeting her face-to-face I decided to look her up on Facebook to see what she looked like.  She was cute.  Is Cute.  So that was a plus.  Instead of getting some nasty dirty fatty smelly Roommate, I got an attractive one.  I feel like having an EXTRA attractive person in the apartment enhances the value of the apartment overall.  

So far things are pretty smooth.  Except right now she is listening to Pearl Jam.  "Can't find a better man..."  

NO.

It gets on my nerves.  Pearl Jam.  Dave Matthews.  And all the other grungy, spring break, high school, drinking margaritas type music that you listened to in college but ONLY because everybody else did.  Then you grew up.

I feel like I am being rude when I close my door all the way.  But then I feel rude if she can see my computer monitor when I am checking out gay porn.  Lots and lots of gay porn.  

Now that someone else lives here it feels as though I look at it more often.  The saddest part about that is that more than likely my frequency of porn looking has probably stayed the exact same as it was before, only now I listen to my headphones instead of turning the volume all the way up.  Also I feel dirtier knowing that there is a nice innocent girl in the other room and she can possibly hear my little moans and grunts.  

Speaking of innocent girl.  When I looked at her face book I found out that she has an extra last name.  I also found a picture of her wearing a Mrs. ******* Est. 08-15-07 shirt as well.  So I am assuming that she is a recent divorcee and does NOT want to talk about it.  When I first met her I told her I had never lived with a stranger before and she immediately agreed "Me either!"

While we were unpacking her kitchen stuff I brought it up again for conversation sake and asked "So you have never lived with a roommate either?"  

Pause..."Well, no...Not a roommate"

And that was that.  She did not elaborate whatsoever and made a grand effort to avoid leaking any personal information.

We will see how this goes.  

Gay America's MOST WANTED

The gay dudes I know that are in a couple are TOTALLY not monogamous.  The ones that say they are, are cheating.  The thing that these guys that are cheating are doing that is worse than just cheating itself is that they are being OPEN about it each other.  But then lying about it to their sex partners.  

I met up with this guy one night.  Through our conversations and a part of what his profile described he had just gotten out of a really bad breakup.  He was ready to be single for a WHILE, yet he loves to cuddle.  So mostly thats what we did.  Without too much sexual energy b/c he was tired and had to work very early the next morning.  I liked the idea of it at the time.  It was nice to have the comfort of a boyfriend without all the pain.  But at the end, I was trying to exert more sexual efforts than he had originally intended for our particular encounter.  I wanted one thing and he wanted to fuck me.  I don't fuck EVERYBODY.  So he made it out to seem if I considered it "Special" which I went along with even though the truth of the matter is that it just doesn't feel that good.  The pain/joy of anal sex is not 50/50.  The pain outweighs the joy.  So I don't enjoy it.  Or moreso, to receive it ;-)

A month or so later I walked by him while with a friend.  I said hello and he acted like he didn't know me.  Two weeks following this he txt'd me and said "whats up".  Through our correspondence I found out that he was horny.  Then I called him.  I mentioned walking by him and he said he didn't want to offend if that was my boyfriend or something like that.  Then I said I would love to get together sometime soon but not that night and he said his boyfriend was back.  Back.  From where?  Dude.  It made no sense.  I asked if he had decided to get back with him even though it was a bad breakup and he acted like he didn't know what i was talking about.  "No, He's just back"  

I was confounded.  If he is "back" then why the fuck are you txting me?  

These dudes make no sense.

Another suitcase in Another Hall...

I am getting ready to embark on what feels like an incredibly long journey.  I posted an ad on Craigslist for a roommate and had received no replies until tonight.  Javier.  I replied and said he was interested.  27 and working for Bank of America.  Sounds good on paper, but on the phone he didn't sound like my cup of tea.  I told him I would meet him and show the place tomorrow night anyway, I figure that money speaks all languages so if he has it, we can talk.

Soon after this phone call ended I began to clean up my apartment.  Moving shit around.  Hiding dirty laundry.  Getting ready for someone who would eventually see it this way anyhow.  Then my friend Kelly txt me.  Said she had someone that was interested.  Which sounded better that it being someone I knew, at least, through someone else that I knew, already.

It is nerve racking though.  You state your terms and close your eyes, you hope that they'll say yes.  When they do, you think to yourself...holy shit!  you have that kind of money on hand???

I sure as hell do NOT!  I am broke like no joke.  So it is very important that I find someone who can move in ASAP and give me LOTS OF MONEY UP FRONT!!!

Life keeps moving on and on, but I keep on bumping into another suitcase in another hall.