Chasing Pavements

I wasn't stood up.  As soon as I finished typing my last blog...

the phone rang.

i hit "Publish Post".

it was him.

He started off apologizing.  He said he would take me to the nicest - not that nice place in the area.  He said I could order whatever I wanted.  He mentioned a steakhouse, PF Changs, and Cheesecake Factory.  He said it was totally not his style and that he felt awful.  

We ate sushi.  He ordered for us.  I liked that.  

He looked ten times better in person than in his pictures.  I was nervous.  

I would like to say that he was as well.  I patted him on the shoulder at the end of the night and he flinched.  

At the end it was scary because I never know, should I kiss him, should he kiss me?  Should we wait.  When we chatted the first time we mentioned dating first.  Actually there was a slight typo and instead of saying that we could try the dating "angle" he said we could try Dating Angels.  We coined it as a phrase and joked back and forth about being Dating Angels with one another.  Somewhat playing on the fact that gay men are all but angelic when it comes to dating.  Most of the time for gay men the term "Dating" actually just means "fucking".  So.  It was nice to find someone who wanted to be Dating Angels.

On the way home we past Barnes and Noble.  He said one of his favorite things to do was to grab a bunch of random magazines and a coffee and read all the best articles from each magazine.  He said that WE should do that together sometime.  I loved it.  He said "Unless you think that is stupid".  

I didn't think that was stupid at all.

Instead of a kiss, I got the next date option.  He asked my schedule next week.  He looked disapproving when I didn't know it by heart.  I told him I was off on Saturday and he said that could work.  

So now I am writing a blog. 

I am making sure that you know that I did NOT get stood up.

I sent him a txt.  

"If we get the chance to hang out next saturday...maybe we can start the morning off with magazines and coffee at b and n"

He replied.  "I would like that"

Then I said.

"youre even cuter in person...the magazines sound fun...keep me posted on ur schedule...if you are lucky i might make french toast"

We'll see.  Hopefully I don't run out of Nutmeg

Get Up Stood Up - Stand up for your Rights

He is officially one hour late.  

About One hour and 10 minutes ago I was nervous because I knew that I was running late myself.  I knew that I would not be there when I said that I would and this would mark me "Undependable".  We would be off on the wrong foot and it would be a bad start to what I would hope could have the possibility of a beautiful relationship.  

But now....

but Now, here I am.  In my apartment.  Alone.  

It started with an "I'm running late..."  You have gotten that phone call before.  At first I did not think anything of it.  He said "Yeah just wait for me in the parking lot, I will be there in 10 minutes."  After 20 minutes had passed I called.  "Listen, this is TOTALLY not me, I am so sorry, I got tied up doing this thing for a friend, and blah blah blah blah blah."  

"It's okay," I assured him.  I didn't want him to think I was anxious on our first date.  He told me that he would meet me in 5 minutes.  That was 40 minutes ago.  He told me to wait in the parking lot and I told him I thought I should just wait at my apartment.  

Now I am glad that I am not still in the parking lot.  20 minutes of waiting and I was already on the drug store to buy the razors, Lord knows what would have happened if I had been stuck waiting any longer.

When I got home I made myself busy.  I did all of the dishes in the sink (including the ones left by my roommate).  I cleaned off ALL of the countertops in the kitchen and then cleaned off the sink and countertop in my own bathroom.  I have already made my bed.  

After 30 minutes had passed from the initial 5 that I was promised I decided it was an ample amount of time for me to have waited to call him back.  

I called.

It rang.

Voicemail.

It's official.  I am being stood up.  

Now I am hungry.  I did not get to go to yoga.  We had originally planned on going to a yoga class together.  I had been excited about this for a number of reasons.  I have not been to a class in over a year and I need to get back into the swing of things.  I had rested assure that if I did not turn out to be all that he had hoped for in person then I would have at least gotten one yoga class behind my belt.  

Now what do I have to show for this night?  

An empty stomach, a flabby ass, and an overwhelming emptiness that creeps up when shit like this happens.  

The empty feeling doesn't spring from the fact that it was THAT individual that stood me up.  It really doesn't even come from being stood up.  The origin lies within the simple sadness of the idea that nobody out there wants to be with me.  Its an idea, not a reality.  Of course I understand this part, but you have to know what feeling I am talking about, when all you want to do is get into the bathtub and stay until it goes cold on you and your skin wrinkles up.  

I'll call one more time.  

And then I will call Domino's (he's the only boyfriend that ALWAYS delivers).

GF/BF Fight in Boston Vs. GF/BF Fight in Charlotte

Okay.  So I just heard this girl yelling at her boyfriend outside my window.  That's what you get when you live in Section 8 approved housing.  Don't get me wrong.  When I moved in they were called Luxury apartments.  In Massachusetts once a complex gets to be so big they have to start offering a certain amount of Section 8 Government housing.  So if you can imagine...my neighbors are not the classy young professionals as pictures in the brochures that I was handed upon arrival of my first tour.  

They definitely have a section 8 level of class about them, as witnessed just moments ago by moi outside my bedroom window.

There are a few differences between a boyfriend/girlfriend fight in North Carolina and the kind that they have here in Boston.

In Charlotte you might hear...

GF (sniffle, sniffle) "But BRAAAD, I LOOOVE you SOOO MUCH!  I never meant to hurt you"

In Boston it would translate to

GF (Hysterical crying and yelling) "Tony, you FUCKING ASSHOLE, who the FUCK do you think you ARE, YOU THINK SHE's BETTER THAN ME? FUCK OFF you Piece of Shit I will FUCKING KILL YOU ASSHOLE!"

In Charlotte you can hear the girlfriend's sincerity, whether the fight at hand is her fault or not, she accepts the blame.  She admits faults even if her fault is that she reacted too harshly, because a Charlotte girlfriend's worst fear is loosing the boyfriend and being all alone.  Forever.

In Boston the girlfriend will NEVER accept fault.  Even if, in all fairness, she is wrong.  She is not.  At least in her eyes.  That is why her tone and demeanor is more aggressive and verbal.  She feels as though if she keeps yelling and cussing right through it that eventually he will cave and be the one to ask for forgiveness.  The problem is when the boyfriend is Italian because they just don't give a fuck.  They know that the girl likes them so much that she will get it all out of her system and then when nobody is watching will come crawling back.  The italian men here have a "go fuck yourself" mentality, and it really works in their favor.  Although the girlfriend will cuss him out until she is "through" with him, she will stay away long enough to have a celebratory night with her girlfriends where they swap stories over martini's and talk about how small his dick was ANYWAY.  (this happens, even though you know that at the end of THIS night she will call him for angry break up sex, at the VERY least).

Everybody loves and Italian Boy.

Queen of Hearts

Four years ago, Today, I came out of the closet to both of my parents.  It feels like only a year has gone by since coming out to them but over dinner with a friend last night I did the math and realized that it has been four years to the day.  

It was Valentine's day of 2005.  I was at a friend's apartment, house and pet sitting for him and his partner.  I got the phone call from my dad, and the rest is history.  

It seems almost TOO fitting that the day I came out to them was on a holiday that centers around celebrating Love.  Since coming out to them four years ago they have done nothing but offer their love to me unconditionally.  I woke up this morning and had forgotten about the fact that FOUR YEARS have passed since that awkward weekend of way too many uncomfortable questions from my parents.  

After my usual latte I had a quick thought and figured that I should shoot them a Happy Valentine's Day email before I forgot to do so later.  Plus I like to get to them before they get to me.  (I win).

I a response from both of them.  Dad, a man of few words, reiterated "I Love you too" but my Mom however went a little further.  

The opening line of her email read "Four years ago today, you came out of the closet to us..."  It went on to talk about how much she loves me as her son.  She spoke of crushed dreams and broken hearts when realizing that the traditional white picket fence was no where in her son's future (at least not with a woman).  She talked about the pain and hurt that she had to overcome, and then went on to admit that it was time for her to come out of the closet as well (NO.  My mother is NOT a lesbian!).  She admitted that she had only shared my being gay with close friends to whom she trusted dearly, and as for others it was just not something that she talked about.  She went to lunch with two high school friends last week and decided it was time to share.  One of them was a nurse who comforted her and told her that it was something that you were born with, and not cause by parental influence (this is something that I know has always been a fear of theirs since my coming out).  Another shared that of her three sons, the youngest was gay, and then the third woman said that she thought her grandson was gay and that regardless of it he was or comes out, she would love him either way.  

This made me immensely happy to know that my mother has friends that share her struggles and can give her the comfort that she cannot get directly from me or my father.  It just seems all the more fitting to wake up on Valentine's day and realize just how much my parents love me unconditionally.

Mismatched Attached

I don't get it.  I really just don't get it.  I feel like when I look around, all I see is mismatched couples.  Straight or Gay.  Of course I focus on the gay ones to get upset with for myself, but it still kills me that there are straight ones as well.  I see the most handsome guys walk into our store, and their girlfriends are awful looking.  Aside from not being naturally beautiful to compliment their handsome male counterparts, these guys have chosen to be with girls that just don't take care of themselves and flat out look like shit.  They aren't wearing sexy outfits, or even clothes that flatter them AT ALL, and they don't keep up their appearance by way of proper makeup application or hair styling.  

Now on to the gays.  It is weird for me to have been single for my entire life.  I have never dated anyone.  Well.  Longer than a month so technically that means I have never dated anyone.  I am a really attractive guy.  The only reason I know is because my friends have had to convince me of this, and they are tired of explaining it to me, and quite frankly I am also tired of listening.  I don't want to have people tell me I am attractive, I want someone to FIND me attractive.  

Its hard when you see couples where one guy is really hot, really great body, handsome face, and great personality, and then he is PARTNERED (not just DATING) an extremely fat, or an extremely skinny guy that has no attractive qualities about him.  Typically in a  mismatched pair it is almost as if it is a symbiotic need being met by the lesser looking of the two.  This seemingly innocent person has no self confidence and is in constant fear that his boyfriend will leave him for something better at any moment.  It is as if the attractive one feeds off of this knowledge and uses it to his advantage.  It makes him more confident.  Not only is he attractive but he is showing to the world that he can hold a relationship.  No matter how broken down the bond is between the two on a deeper level.  In the gay world, isn't it just the surface that really counts anyhow?

I see it all the time.  These kinds of pairs.  On hunches I take guesses and on most occasions I am right.  The attractive one is always cheating.  As I mentioned before, the surface seems to count the most.  So on this attractive male's resume of Love he has the "Committed Relationship" box checked off.  All the while, behind his boyfriend's back, he is flirting with EVERYBODY and exchanging numbers.  He spends his days txting flirtatiously with other men while chatting with them online as well, before abruptly interrupting to say "I have to go, my bf just got home" and signing off without responding to final emails. 

It is truly disheartening to think of what it is that I would be aspiring to.  Am I longing for a relationship that just isn't a real relationship?  What is the purpose of seeking after someone to date or settle down with if we will just be going through the motions and not letting our actions speak louder than our words?

It also bugs me to think about if I would be the attractive one or the less than guy.  I mean of course initially I think that I am attractive, so does that mean that I need to start looking for an ugly guy to date?  Are Mismatched pairs the only way to go these days?

And on the other hand, I don't want to be the less than guy by any means!  I would love to find someone who I found devastatingly attractive but I would hate for them to be so hot that I had to worry every time he went to the bathroom alone whether or not he was planning on making a run for it and leaving me for someone hotter and younger.

It's a dog eat dog world.

Bow wow wow, yippie yo, yippie, yay...BITCH!

Everywhere you Turn is Heartache...

I can remember the first time that I was in the same room as her.  My body was overwhelmed with excitement, anticipation, and most of all fear.  That's the thing about being in love with Madonna.  Fear follows your love for her wherever you go.  It is scary being in love with someone so powerful.  Investing so much passion and energy, all the while never knowing if she is truly good, or actually quite bad.  

My adoration for her has been going on since I was a child.  I can't really explain it exactly but when asked I say it is because I admire strong women.  Aside from the crazy stunts she has pulled or the ridiculous ways that she has chosen to seek attention, the one thing that Madonna kept consistent throughout all of it was a high self esteem.  She kept her head up.  Even if in Truth or Dare or "I'm Going to Tell you a Secret" you get to see a glimpse at the sad reality that she is just a whirling dervish without true focus, at least she made great songs about having confidence.  

Don't go for second best, put your love to the test, Express Yourself.

If they can't raise my interest, then I'll have to let them Be-e, Material Girl.

I don't know.  It just seems like her songs had an undertone of flirtatious passion.

Loving Madonna through my adolescence was mirrored by my being in the closet.  Madonna was the gayest thing about me (besides my voice and the way that I threw a baseball) yet I still wanted to keep as much a secret as possible.  So it came as no surprise, to everyone but me of course, when my friend Lindsey suggested we go to Madonna's Drowned World Tour.  It was officially the first tour that I would have been able to go to on my own.  The one before it would have been the Girlie Show and there were MANY MANY years in between the two.  

It was a great idea when I look back.  I had more money to waste then than I do now since my dad was depositing money into my bank account left and right that was solely being used for grass and alcohol so why didn't I go?

I was actually afraid.  I was scared that there would be lots of gay guys at the concert that would make me feel uncomfortable because they were out and I was not.  I was scared that I would like it.  I was scared that I might spontaneously come out of the closet if I was around all of them.  I can remember this fear.  I was also afraid that if I bought tickets and actually went to the show that people would REALLY start to think I was gay (aside from them already knowing I was all along).  So I didn't go.  I missed out.  It was a badass show, I have it on DVD.

The first show I actually ever saw was the ReInvention Tour.  This was an amazing show.  It was one of the most incredible things I have ever seen in my life.  I took my friend Adair.  She is my best friend, and soul mate.  We saw her in Atlanta, and had floor seats.  This was because of my handy work of hard work and preparation by joining the Madonna fan club and getting to buy presell tickets.  I sat at the computer 5 minutes and counting before the hour struck at which the presell began.  

When I submitted my order and the seat section came up I was confused.  We only paid 165 for the tickets each and from the look of it they were on the floor.  I was in disbelief until we gave our tickets to the usher and he took us down to the floor.  It was unbelievable that my FIRST MADONNA show would be ON THE FLOOR.

There was this huge contraption above the stage in the shape of a V that would come down and connect to the stage.  Madonna and her dancers would spend various songs dancing and trotting down the isles of the V until reaching the point which was about 10 feet above my head.  I made eye contact with Madonna throughout the entire show and she even gave me the finger during American Life.  Adair and I held hands during Crazy for You when Madonna dedicated it to her fans.  I cried during all the ballads.  I sang every song.  I went to the bathroom when Madonna showed pictures of Afghani children during the cover of John Lennon's "Imagine".  No one should EVER cover this song (especially Madonna - well, actually Jack Johnson did a version that I really really like, but NOT MADONNA).  

Before we headed into the arena for the show when we got out of the cab there were protesters with signs.  They yelled at us "Turn, or BURN!" and waved Bibles in our faces.  This could not have been a better Pep Rally for what was about to begin.  As I mentioned before, fear is a constant in the midst of loving Madonna.  After hearing that we would all burn in Hell and taking our seats in the arena the lights went down and the stage lit up, the show was about to begin.  The video screens came on and an ominous baseline filled the speakers as Madonna's voice came over head.  She was reading from the book of Revelation from the Bible, which to date, is the scariest story ever told.  For a split second I thought, for sure, I am on my way to hell now, just as those protesters had mentioned.  I felt as though this was wrong, and that I should leave.  Then the screens parted ways and the lights went from dark to bright as Madonna came up from the stage..."Strike a pose"...She did a Yoga headstand and then it hit me.  All my life I have danced in my room to her music.  I have learned all of her dance moves and I was her backup dancer for Halloween.  Finally, I was in the SAME ROOM as Madonna.  Energy surged through my body and I felt electric.  I lost my voice when it was over.  We left the arena covered in sweat. 

I know a place where you can get away, its called the dancefloor,

and here's what its for...

Good Ol' Days

Whatever happened to them?  You know, the classic story of boy meets boy at the coffee shop?  Or rather...boy meets boy in the public park restroom?  Either way, these old fashioned tales seem like ancient mythology nowadays.  

I try not to think about it too often but when I do, I have to admit, that the chances of my future husband being a mouse-click away on some Man-4-Man website are slim to none.  So where am I supposed to meet him?  If I go out I find the guys that only want one thing.  Then I stop looking in at myself in the mirror and look around and see all the other guys that only want one thing.  

In a room full of men that all only want one thing, there is really only one thing left to do.

So it is really hard to figure out where you are supposed to meet a decent guy these days.  I go on the websites.  No takers, and none I'm interested in.  Then I check out other web venues.  I browse the missed connections on Craigslist like nobody's business.  If you have not checked them out yet...DON'T.  Because you WILL become addicted.  You will fall into this pathetic category of the old cat lady that checks CL missed connections every time she comes home from running an errand.  

The missed connections link on CL is a place where you can post...well...obviously, a missed connection.  Some ads might say "We are in line together at Starbucks almost every single morning.  We always give a casual nod to one another and on most mornings the look seems to linger a little longer than expected.  I would love to sit and chat a while next time.  Reply if interested".

Of course, the actual ads that are posted are not HALF as cute as the one I just conjured up in my head, but on the contrary, mine would definitely be some sort of situation along those lines.  I have shown up on the list before, but unfortunately it was a posting from a closeted married man from the gym who's proposition I had already refused in person.  

Missed Connections sucks though because the people that post on there do not realize how specific they really should be.  They will post ads like "Saw you on the Orange line today and you had on a green shirt, felt we made a connection"  I mean, can you imagine how many people with green shirts rode the Orange Line in a day?  Really?

Then it gets really messy when you read them and you FEEL like they are talking about you but you aren't sure.  It is hard to tell whether or not you are just flattering yourself or if you really just have a big head.  I read one today that listed the location as the bar I went to on Saturday night "Who was that guy with the beard and the nice chest and arms?"  

Ha...Ha...ha...I really did for a second think that it MIGHT have been about me, but that is only because there were a ton of old fat men staring at me that night making me slightly uncomfortable.  Not because they were old.  Not because they were fat.  But more so because I really felt like they were going to come up and talk to me and I would have to figure out a way to get rid of them without letting them know that I wanted to beat the shit out of them for thinking that they should have the nerve to talk to a guy like me.

(Don't get it twisted, I'm not nearly that confident when I am actually out in the world on my own)

He's Just NOT that Into Me

I went out this past weekend.  I ended up at Roxy, of course.

It was fun.  I didn't bother calling Steve.  He would make me wait until midnight to return my call anyway so I managed to go at it alone.  My friend Rory wanted me to meet her at a place, called...The Place, but by the time I was ready to head out, it was pretty late in the night.  

So I ended up at Fritz for a start.  I had a drink with myself.  I attempted to enjoy the scenery.  There was not much to be seen and then Paco showed up.  It is nice to see familiar faces every now and then, especially when there is no one in sight to flirt with or make eyes at from across the room.  We ordered another round and then headed to Roxy together.  We both took turns bitching about Steve not returning phone calls and then Paco got a call and found out that Steve had already had too much to drink.  Needless to say we knew there was no point searching for him that night.  

At Roxy I mostly galavanted around the arena on my own.  I tried to make flirty eyes at certain guys but nothing really took.  This one guy in particular seemed to keep "bumping into me" in the bathroom.  On the third occasion he followed right behind me as I left and when I looked back at him I let out a laugh.  I thought it was funny.  This whole tribal mating ritual of sorts.  Show off in the bathroom.  Indicate obvious intent.  But then stay mute for the remainder of your opportunity.  

"Why are you laughing at me?" he asked.  I told him that I was not laughing AT HIM, but I was laughing WITH HIM.  This was one of the many AWFUL attempts on my part to be flirtatious.  I do this often, since I am a bitch at heart, I feel, on my end, that I am being flirtatious, when often times I come across overconfident and overly assertive.  When the truth of the matter is that I am just nervous and talk to make the time pass.

He went on to tell me how hot and sexy he thought I was.  He said he could not stand it.  Then he pushed me against the wall and began to kiss me.  We took turns feeling each other up, and for the sake of censorship, I will just say we made it to Second (and a half) base.  I asked if he wanted to come over but he looked disappointed when he told me that he had driven his friends that night and would have to take them home.  I asked if he would want to hang out some other time and he enthusiastically said "YES!"  I asked for his number.  He gave it to me.  I read it back to him to confirm the number, and he affirmed "Yes, Yes, Yes," while nodding.  We kissed and parted ways.

On my way home I sent him a txt that said "You are so damn sexy...this is Justin".

No response.  

I figured that he was with his friends or that he was possibly already home asleep.  

The next morning I woke up and txt him a simple "whats up?"  

The reply said "What's up? you, sexy!"

So I decided instead of the txting back and forth I would give him a call to see if he was free to hang out and when I did the answering machine said, "Hello, this is Kate, leave a message!".

His name was Matt.  Not Kate.

So you can imagine my disappointment when I first thought that it was his girlfriends cellphone (or worse yet his mothers), then realized that more than likely he just gave me the wrong number on purpose.  

This guy was great.  In usual fashion I tend to throw myself on guys that are only mildly attracted to me in return.  This guy however, practically threw himself on me, and I definitely found him attractive.  His clothes were too baggy to tell, but after passing first base, I realized that he had everything I would be looking for (yeah, that too).  On top of all of this, he was MY AGE!  This was finally a guy who was attracted to me who's diapers I would not have to change!

I felt enlivened that I had finally met an ATTRACTIVE guy MY AGE that was interested in me FIRST!  

Then I got the wrong number.  I will have to wait to see if we run into each other again.  To find out if it was on accident or if he meant it to be wrong.  

Then after that guy left, I saw a really hot guy in line for the coat check, I had seen him earlier in the night.  Really built up dude, with tats all down his arms (not my choice of style, but i'll take it at 2pm).  He had a hat pulled low and to the side, and scruff across his face.  He was rugged and hot, the kind of stuff, that mechanics are made out of.  I wasn't even paying attention to him until I noticed that he kept looking at me in the midst of checking his txt messages.  On his third glance in my direction I said, "Hey, hows it going?"

He laughed.  A bit embarrassed.  And said, "Sorry, I was just checking you out".

After this it is a total blur.  Back to normal since bathroom guy.  I fumbled on it.  Did not act on it.  We exchanged names and then I dropped the ball.  This guy just verbally told me that he was checking me out and my balls just dropped out of my pants and on to the floor.  

WTF is my problem that I can't acknowledge when a guy actually finds me attractive?

In the end I wasn't that bothered by it.  I really don't get into tattoos, especially full sleeves of them.  They are very Metro, very Cheesy, and a little too Jersey Shore for my taste.

Besides, I was just NOT that in to him.