Have a sexy season!

Okay.

Time to regroup and reform. In response to my last post, a friend said "I read about FA's infidelity in your blog. Karma is a bitch, isn't it?" I have to admit, it took me abak for a couple of minutes, but then I started thinking. Yes, Karma is a bitch. I'll have to do better in the future. Maybe I'll go pet a puppy or something.

Regarding some alleged infidelity: Perhaps that was a bit premature to mention. After all, I don't have concrete evidence that it happened. All I have to work with is the observations of a friend with some insight into his behaviour. After a bit of detective-like footwork, I was able to sort things out, and come up with a dialogue to have with him.

That happened, and I think I got the answers I was looking for. Any of my ex's will tell you that I hate doing maintenance on my relationships. I'm far more content to let them sail along. However, in reality, that just isn't an option. All relationships, no matter how wonderful and functional they might be do need an occasional nudge to make sure everyone is on the same page. I needed assurance that I was in a monogamous relationship, and not in some dreadful "open" nightmare. In my experience, open relationships foreshadow the end of relationships. Sometimes, they work out well, if the parties involved have a complete understanding of the situation, and equally involve themselves in it, which is the case with the Wife and his new beau.

The end of the story involves me saying "Yeah, I do love the guy, and at this point in the discussion, the plan is to have him hang around for the forseable future" Wheather that is forever remains to be seen, because I do still have a nagging doubt in the back of my mind wheather he is the person that Elton John sings about in his song, "The One." Time will answer that question, but I remain optimistic.

What is this nagging doubt? It can't be defined, but in my soul, I can feel it digging in it's heels. I know what I want from this relationship, and I believe it to be the same thing that FA wants as well, but I'm just not convinced. Don't get me wrong, a lifetime with FA in it wouldn't be a bad thing. I think we compliment each other very well, and we certainly are compatable as a couple. As previously stated, there is a great deal of optimism in the equation.

I'm sitting here looking at the most perfect Christmas tree in the known universe. It really is a simplistic thing, in a single gold colour scheme. I'm a tad melancholy--as I normally am this time of year for various reasons. It's not the grand tradition that RR re-creates each year in his salon, but it suits me nicely. It's also the first tree I've had since I left him, which makes me finally feel like some unknown wound there has healed. Combine that with the fact that it was put together when I was at the lowest of my feelings about FA, and it has a special added meaning in a way.

So, that's my thought for the moment. I'm well, and happy. I'll close with a prayer so oft repeated in my youth, Pax vobiscum.

Christmas is run by a big eastern syndicate

When he said "April is the cruellest month" he obviously didn't know what he was talking about. So, with all apologies to T. S. Elliot, we'll change the context a tad:

December is the cruellest month.

I'm depressed at present because of an overabundance of knowledge. It seems that just when you have your feet firmly pressed on the ground, the rug is pulled from underneath and you find yourself flat on your ass. I thought I had found a man I could trust, a man that completed me, but now I'm not so sure. I doubt the fibre of his being, and I feel betrayed. Why? Infidelity.

In other words, look for a bevvy of posts in the near future, because after crying myself to sleep, I can honestly say that my life kind of sucks right now. I'll be better soon, though, fret not.

Happy Christmas to those who read these words.

Bob to Rob

Transitions in life are important.

As previously noted, I have abandoned the field of medicine in favour of something that is less of a vocation and more of a lifestyle. It's absolutely true; being a flight attendant is not really a job, it's a lifestyle that one has to adapt to.

Currently, I am in classrooms, studying and being my usual chatty, brilliant self. The people that matter in my class (and there aren't many of us--we number 23) love me and such. We're a nice cadre of people, and I sincerely hope that all of us graduate in 2 weeks. I have a sinking feeling that we all won't for various reasons, but it is not in my nature to wish ill on people.

Nonetheless, I am really happy in my business life, and excited about what the future holds for me. In case you were wondering, the answer is "Yes, FA and I work for the same company." Consequently, we will fly on many of the same trips, and will have the opportunity to share an experience or two. Frankly, I was a tad apprehensive about the possibility of being together 24/7/365, but in reality, that won't happen. It is well documented that I do love my alone time, and I don't anticipate that there will be drastic changes there. The thing that will change is the time that we spend apart when FA took his 4 day trips...Hopefully that will be minimized to some extent, because I really hate being alone from my sweet Boo for extended periods of time.

So that's where I am now.

For those of you who are paying attention, I've made a bit of a switch in identity. My given name is Robert, and as such, very few people actually call me that. Mike is, in fact the only person who consistently addresses me in that way. Even Mother has taken to calling me Bob, which sounds oddly plastic and forced.I became a Bob in High School during a drama thingie. The instructor started calling me Bob for some reason, and it stuck. From that point, I became Uncle Bob, after my propensity for helping people. That was shortened to UB, and my nickname was then Eubie.

When I went on to college, I dropped the Eubie, but Bob stuck from convenience. Bob really hasn't been a name to which I was particularly fond because it brings to mind men with grease under their fingernails...Something I certainly am not one of.

Turns out that FA loathes it. He told me as such one day, so the decision was made to revert to the name that was so prevalent in my youth--Rob. I couldn't have that moniker at my previous job mostly because there was another fellow who was called Robb in my work area, and the confusion would have just been too much to think of. As it was, the "Robb/Bob" thing was difficult at best. So, with my transition to being a flight attendant, I switched to Rob again. It's odd hearing my classmates address me, because I've not heard it in common usage for quite some time now, but my ear is becoming tuned to it, because I have been introducing myself to everyone using that name. Of course, friends still call me Bob, and I think they will for some time.

Rob...I'm liking it

Death day

Today is the designated "death day" for me. It's a day of transitions, one where people, pets, and things come to an end.

Today was no different than previous years.

Today I became unemployed. Death of my career for the past 15 years, baby!!

Now, I'm off to cocktails with those I care about. Ciao!

Smarts Vs. Action

Knowing the right thing to do is not the same as doing it.

That's today's theme. I read it in an interesting book about black men playing around with other men. It's a topic I've broached in the past in my discussions of my dating rituals, and a topic that I've been interested in even before actively dating an African American male.

Seems some time ago, there were a series of studies done in Boston to try and discover exactly why young men were becoming infected with HIV despite the best efforts to counter the spread of disease. It became known as the young men's study popularly because it dealt with that demographic exclusively.

I remember an animated discussion at an epidemiology workshop that I attended at UCSF some time ago They presented the YM study, and it's findings. Several people in the audience, including the fellow I was sitting next to (who happened to be Antony Fauci--Google him, it's fun!) suggested that some enterprising soul ought to sponsor an adjunct study called the Old Men study to approach the demographic that I belonged to.

One of the interesting things that the YM study unearthed is that 99% of polled men knew precisely what transmitted HIV. Impressive to be sure, but the folk shouldn't rest on their laurels quite yet. Another function of this study was to draw blood to detect incidence of HIV and syphilis. Another question in the study was "What is your (HIV) status?" Taking into consideration that the researchers were later able to compare the number of positive people with their responses, the result is startling. 71% of those who tested positive for HIV admitted that they were negative or did not know their status. That's right, children, 29% actually knew the truth.

Sooooo it's not enough to know what the right thing is, you actually have to do it! True words!!

I'm offering the above merely as a suggestion to demonstrate my theory. The same maxim is true for things in relationships. For instance, you don't need to simply acknowledge that monogamy is necessary in a serious relationship, you actually have to keep your dick in your pants. In the field of employment, you must do more than make promises to your employees to placate them, you actually have to follow through on them.

This brings us back to Bob...and after all isn't it all about me? You don't like it, get your own fucking blog! I had a moment at work the other day when everything came to a boil. I got tired of being micro-managed. I got tired of my boss running around asking about me instead of confronting me and actually managing me. Most of all, I just got tired of not having much to do to occupy my day. It's all well and good being paid to sit on one's thumbs, but I would rather have something more substantial to occupy my time.

Long story short, I quit. Now, I'm on my final 10 work days and welcoming my going away party Shortly thereafter, I enter the wild and wooly world of flying. Uh huh..we're going to be a 2 f/a household, keeping the exit rows clear of obstruction.

Can I keep the 'perma-smile' and offer to take airsick bags with poise and grace? Uhhhhhh yeah. It's what I do right now, or at least used to do. Besides, according to the Social Security Administration, I have 25 more years of useful work left, and it's high time I did something fun like traveling to exotic places like Syracuse.

I'll say it one more time, because it's so important. Knowing the right thing to do isn't enough. You must also do it.

Torch Song Trilogy

I'm thinking about the fabulous stage play and later on movie penned by Harvey Feierstein today for several reasons.

First, because it was a favourite film shared by Derrick and I (don't know him? He features widely at the end of Realm 1) and second because there are so many amazing quotes in the movie.

TST is like comfort food for me. It's solid, dependable, and amusing--perfect for moments when you feel less than optimal. At present, I'm in one of those moods. I feel unwell thanks to having about 3 hours of sleep last night, and also I'm having some career stressors. I've been thinking about a change in jobs for some time now, and I think the opportunity for changing may be in the immediate offing. I'm also grumpy about something in my personal life, which I'll not discuss now for various reasons. Let's just say that I'm horribly embarrassed about something recently observed.

Today has also been a day of walking out. I walked off my job because of fatigue, and I walked out of my apartment because I was grumpy and didn't want to subject others to my attitude until a moment could pass to allow 'tincture of time' to take effect.

For that reason, and a couple others, I'll quote:
"What am I worried about--with a voice and a face like this I can always drive a cab."

I hate money sometimes, and that's part of what's giving me angst. The uncertainty of career changes also has the uncertainty of having a steady pay check. I hate that. I also hate things over which I have no control, because try as I may, I tend to be a control freak, and like to "Wish I was on sure footing before the romance ends."

I need a fucking Prozac and 2 weeks. I'll return to "happy bob soon." fear not, children.

"How Alice Faye is this?"

Da Katrina Blues

Ugh--who would have thought that the tragedy that has berift New Orleans could have happened in America? In the way that it does, the media has skewed the image of a proud city so that the average viewer of the 11 o'clock news would have to believe that the only people in the Big Easy are black, poor, and filthy.

Granted, the demographic of NOLA is decidedly of African heritage--the statistic I heard was 60%. That creates a majority, but the thing that has been missing from television coverage is caucasian faces. Of course, there are the faces of Stone Phillips et.al. but I mean beyond the face of a anchorman in Metarie using a collapsed Citgo station as a backdrop.

Naturally, I can explain why the faces we have seemed uniformly dark--it's the classic seperationist statement that we as a nation have suffered under all along. White people have advantage. They have cars and don't depend wholly on public transportation. They own insurance policies because they have the ability to pay State Farm and buy milk for the baby. they are a group who live in the Garden District in an antebellum home, switching on a computer and actually looked at a tremendous storm tracking directly upon them.

In short, the white folk packed up the Suburban and got the hell out of town.

In her blog, Margaret Cho calls it racism, but I disagree. I believe the fact is the people that were left behind, the people that had to remain were the lowest, most poverty stricken and unfortunate demographic in that city. "Forgotten men," if you will. As a matter of coincidence, they are nearly all black. People who are looting are people who never have had much. At the outset, they were ravaging department stores and lifting luxury items from Canal Street boutiques, which is just wrong under any circumstance. Now they are looting Piggly Wiggly for necessities. It's probably morally wrong, but I can live with it. My point is if an expected evacuation of ANY major city occurred, the exact same thing would happen. People with the ability to leave would, leaving Ezra Pound's 'huddled masses yearning to breathe free...wretched refuse of your teeming shores' behind as fodder for the CBS evening news.

Turn the tables and drop a catastrophe wholly unexpected--earthquake or terrorist attack for instance. The vision that you would see on your television screen would be so different. As the song says, "Everybody bleeds," and that would be evident. Campbell Brown would be speaking with people of all different ethnicities and experiences. She would stand not only at the NOLA convention center seeing a slumped dead man in a wheelchair clutching a note for his next of kin, but also in front of one of those amazing mansions with a Charles Street streetcar sticking out of a bay window and perhaps a really scratched up 7 series and a handful of Polaroids for the adjuster who is pulling up in his Explorer.

But that's obviously not the case. I'll give W snaps for his chat on his way south this morning. Obviously, he looked at the evening news last night (as I did) and saw an environment that was not fit for dogs. Perhaps it was a visual of unfortunate souls in shock, obviously dehydrated and about to become horribly ill. Maybe he heard Harry Connick Jr. from Baton Rouge saying "I don't understand--we drove right up to the convention center, no police blocks, and no problem." Could it have been a field reporter describing people that wanted to nation to see their desperate situation so that aid would come, describing a peaceful yet frustrated attitude. W said "It's unacceptable" and strutted off to Marine One with his secretary of Homeland Security. One can only hope that he will use his now infamous 'kick ass and take names' bravado to get some assistance down there.

Had I known that I wouldn't be a hinderance, I would take time off and drive down south to assist in whatever way I could. I was so affected by what I have seen over the last couple days and the apparent apathy that we as a nation have displayed. It really pisses me off because things like that aren't supposed to happen here.

and rightfully, they shouldn't.

Sumthin new

Okay, I'm tired of the black background. It's too funky to try to read.

So, the clean, crisp look of white and black. Isn't it beauteous? Thought so. Some of the posts might be difficult to read due to the fact that the colour was chosen to contrast with a black desktop. So obviously, the white lettering on a white/new background is going to look translucent.

I'm in another transitional phase. It seems like I'm FOREVER moving from one stage in my life to the next. I've always embraced change, and thought of change as evidence of life, so this is no different.

The change I'm referring to isn't personal, it's a professional one. My personal life is more than fabulous. Having FA around has proven to be better than I would have anticipated (yeah, I had a bit of silent trepidation before the event--after all FA and I have only known each other for about 6 months.) In the long run, I followed my instinct, said hell yeah, and now I have no regrets.

Of course, it's just been a couple of weeks of cohabitation, and with FA's schedule, he has been in a training program, so he has been home every night--just like a real 9-5 gainfully employed hubby!

The profession is wanting a change, though. I'm not really at liberty to discuss the whys and hows of it, because I don't think that discussing work issues in a public forum is wise. One never knows who might read these words, and who might take offense.

No comment, then. I'll sat more later if it comes to fruition, but for the mean time, I'll be mum.

Back to FA, though. There is one thing that makes me feel amazingly secure with him, and in a way slightly codependent. Point is, I feel so amazingly secure with him, it scares me in a way. I cherish my independence, and the idea that I am somewhat reliant on another person to make me feel complete is a tad unnerving. It imakes me feel vulnerable, and I hate that in a way.

So to fight back, I stole a photograph of him looking happy as hell with an enormous smile (those who know FA know he has one of the most amazing, sincere smiles) and wearing his cute jacket that I hope to steal one day. I took said photograph, framed it, and set it on my desk at work.

When I walked in this morning, I sat at my desk and looked at my computer screen, and was frankly startled by that cute-ass face looking back at me. All day while I was running around putting out little fires and doing things for other people, my sweet Boo was looking back at me.

I can't tell you how happy it made me.

Therein lies my feeling of uneasiness. I have this feeling that if one day in the near future he turned to me and said "I'm through with you and I'm leaving" I'd fall apart for a couple days. Of course, I'd pull my shit together, but something would be misusing in my life, and there would be a hole where he fit so snugly.

It comes down to this: He makes me nervous for all the right reasons. I love him loads, and love the feeling of it. So, in the same way that I overcame the roughly 30 seconds of uneasiness at the prospect of FA moving in with me, I'll fasten my seatbelt low and tight across my lap and remain comfortably seated for the duration of the flight.

Because it's bound to be a long one....

The latest update!

Okeydokes, it's been a while since I've written in this thing. Fact is, I haven't had much interest in updating it.

That said, we'll revisit what I've been up to recently. FA and I are still going strong, which is very good news for me and not so faboo for the slutty, slutty boys of Naptown. I have to say (and I believe I've said it before) FA has been such an amazing influence in my life....well...words can't describe it.

He makes me giddy
He makes me feel like I'm the most important person in the world
He respects my need for alone time
He respects my need to be clingy and romantic
He's an amazing kisser
He's better in bed
He supports my silly thoughts
He's as close to a 50% partner than I've ever come across
He comes with travel benefits
He is cuter than a bug's ear
He doesn't come with the baggage that I've encountered with the other black guys I've been with
He is absolutely unafraid of PDA
He doesn't laugh at me when I dance

This is just a short summary of why I'm still digging on this guy. Shift up to a recap of my previous relationships, and I think you'll understand why FA hits a home run where my previous ones have left me slightly dry.

OH! We took a vacation together. Add to the list:

I can travel with him without wanting to kill him

It was a short sojurn to a place he has history in, Richmond, VA. Nonetheless, I had the opportunity to meet some friends of his, and also I missed the chance to meet one of his closest friends, a fact that still bugs me a bit. To add to my glowing list of FA reviews:

His friends, without fail, tell me what an amazing guy he is

That's perhaps the best review of all. I was almost tired of hearing it after a while. By the same token, it was an incredible thing to hear over and over again, and it made me feel like the luckiest guy in the world to call him my own.

God, I just made myself nauseous.

Before I continue, I'll issue a caveat that if that previous post made you woozy in the tummy, you're gonna blow chunks after reading this next one. Wrap the keyboard in Saran....

Now, I'll admit, and most guys who know me well will unequivocally admit that I am...uhh...community property That's polite parlance for saying I'm sorta slutty. Not in a vicious way or anything, but facts is facts. I like sex.

a lot.

As such, I can honestly say that a lot of guys have seen my pee-pee on webcams, etc. it's something that excites me in a way because it's an exhibitionistic thing that one can do without the threat of being arrested. (this is another story entirely, and one that is saved for a better time.)

I had to tell you that story to tell you this one--I'm totally monogamous with FA. To the point that I can look at a cute guy, and think--man he's HOT! But I don't want to shtup him. Again, for them that know me, you'll realize that this is totally out of character for me There's just one that I want to boink, and it's my dear sweet FA.

Enough of my blathering...Be well, and be loved.

In which Our Hero confesses he has a cute boyfriend

Quite a lapse in time has occurred with these three postings. They were all unceremoniously uploaded at the same time, but they actually span nearly a full month. I've had a glorious weekend, and am at present basking in "afterglow" for the lack of a better term.

I took a hot minute and re-read my previous words about FA. In a brave moment of 'compare and contrast,' I truly examined what it was that I'm feeling about him, and I've come to the conclusion that I'm twirling into an abyss of pink taffeta Harlequin-style romance. It's not a bad thing, trust me--it makes me weak in the knees and giddy in a way that is quite uncharacteristic for the Bob.

I've been retaining an en guard stance with my dear FA for several reasons, mostly stemming from a self-protective point of view. He is a flight attendant, and as such, he travels a great deal as part of his usual routine. Because of this, there is a lot of time that he spends away from me, and during which time, I play the 'pensive wife sitting at home" doing two things First, I wonder what it is that he's doing out there in exciting cities like Hartford where a boy can't help but get into trouble. (that's a direct slam on the city of Hartford, btw) Foremost, however is the fact that I sit back here in IND and count minutes for his return.

Barbara Cortland, eat your heart out.

I had a moment that really made me start thinking about stuff, though. We were out at our local haunt. I had had a bit too much to drink and was in the process of sobering up (being drunk in public is something that I really hardly do) and we were in the middle of the dance floor with another drunk individual, screaming at each other, as one is want to do in the middle of a dance floor. I heard some really scary shit.

Scary not in a 'wake up in the middle of the night in a frost of sweat,' but scary in the way that at that seminal moment, you realize that everything that you've been fretting about and puzzling over has really been unfounded and life is actually really, really good. Again, I've learned about discussing one's love online (a lesson from Hot Toddy) so I'll spare the details and a certain intimate exchange, but this drunken woman's tirade just made it all seem so right. At that moment, I wanted to just melt into every fibre of him, and for probably the first time in my life, I feel as though I may have found someone worth spending a lifetime with.

That's what I've been thinking about.

Love is a funny thing. It was totally unexpected, and FA certainly walked into my life at a moment when I wasn't expecting to be paired with another. Then again, that's how I've always imagined it would be. That's the reason that I didn't aggressively date anyone, and the reason I didn't go off and find someone to be with. It's not for a lack of suitors--there are certainly boys out there who would like to swallow my unborn children, but I have always maintained that I want more from life than that. I need a partner, and one that shares my life within the fiftieth percentile. It's an aspect that I've missed in the past, and it's always been a point of contention with my past relationships.

With FA, I see that, or at least I have a strong belief in the possibility that it can happen with him.

Another thing that is making my believe in the possibility is the fact that I'm seeing pairing happening around me. FA's roommate (aka the sister in law) has met a very nice boy, and they are getting along swimmingly. They make such the cute couple, and their interaction is nothing short of inspiring. They are following in FA and my footsteps, and are almost constantly together when their time allows It's beautiful to see them together and interacting with each other--much like an old married couple, and yet still in the throes of romantic love. It just makes you feel all wired inside, to quote Harry Nilsson.

So anyway, I've probably said more than I ought to, but what can I say? I love me some Chocolate Negro! (Uhh--Spanish for 'dark chocolate,' PC Police.)

The Sabbatical

It's disheartening to find out who your friends really are. I thought that I had a very decent friend, but he lasted as long as my internet connection. That's right, he was unable to communicate without a computer monitor--how sad is that? Picking up a telephone to go have dinner was a chore. The one time I did actually catch him off guard, and was able to communicate, he was unable to come out for drinks because he was "chatting with friends on gay.com"

Such a blow to the ego. I've been outclassed by online chat.

It's been nearly 2 months that I have been internet-less, and I'm rather enjoying it. As previously mentioned, I used to camp my ass in front of a cathode ray tube and zone out into nothingness for hours on end. Occasionally, I used to do off-colour things like look for sex (which I was usually unsuccessful at) but for the most part, it was pretty mind-numbing.

Of course, I do miss some aspects, such as reading online journals (something I dare not do at work) and of course, looking up movie schedules and reading what the drink specials are at OPs. Instead, I feel paper between my fingers and glean entertainment from newspapers and such. As for having knowledge of the drink specials at OPs, they are usually vile, fruity things that I never drink anyway. Now if they had Campari and tonic as their special...well! (Visual of flying pigs.)

Anyway, suffice to say, I'm digging it. I'll appear back online in the future--maybe in a couple months, but I just need a teensy little rest at present. I'll probably blather on, as I am now, with my little bloggie. I still like doing that, but it has to run a little circuit of emailing files and uploading using a friend's PC.

It reminds me of the dildo story that was penned by Alan Gurganis. I'm probably misquoting, because I've loaned the book to my cute boyfriend. Viz:

"There are just two kinds of people in the world: those who will help you and those who won't." Get out and do something. Anything. It frees the mind.

In which Our Hero discusses his past romances

It's been a rather topsy-turvy couple of weeks in the house of Bob. I've been keeping myself busy with work issues, and also with relationship issues as well. As previously mentioned, I tend to overindulge in things that pique my interest, and this point in my life has been no different.
Perhaps it's a clue into an addictive personality, which I will freely admit to possessing, or perhaps it's just life as it is led at present.

I've been virtually absent in the gay.com chatrooms recently, and my absence has been noted by any number of boys I've met outside of the 'hallowed halls of cyberspace.' For a lack of a better descriptive, I'll call it a sabbatical. In other words, a break in the routine that is usual to re-assess one's life to reorient and refresh. I think it's important to make a break and determine whether change is necessary.

For those who aren't accustomed to my 'online persona,' I formerly spent a great deal of time idly perusing the chatrooms. For the purpose of definition, a 'great deal of time' is more than 2 hours a day. I've always maintained that the internet sucks the personality out of a person, and that the entire online community is introspective by it's sheer nature. I'm quite reserved, and downright conservative in person, (read: shy) but in the online world, I'm quite the opposite. This creates an interesting facade that is often shattered when you actually meet someone outside of a computer monitor.

That isn't an absolute, though. Some people are very much the same. For instance, I had dinner recently with one of those online people. I had known him via the chatrooms for quite a while, and through the opinions of others, had built up an opinion which was honestly less than savoury. Don't get me wrong, I've always thought of him as a very nice bloke. He has always been civil to me online, but in the real world, he would barely acknowlege my presence. This led me to label him in the 'twink-y'category, that odd breed of youngman who doesn't think that life exists outside of either a bar or a gym. Of course, corresponding with a guy over 30...oh dear, do people really live that long?

Last night, it was all discarded. In a more intimate setting, I was really impressed by this youngman. Again, he was quite courteous, and picked my name from context. He later introduced himself, and said when I divulged my online name, said, "Oh yes, we've talked a lot." So, my perception that he was effete was unfounded. The fact was that we hadn't been properly introduced. It's always nice to have one's faith in human nature reaffirmed.

Anyway, with my personal life, I've been applying all this time that I would normally spend in front of the computer 'blah, blah, blah-ing' has been applied to more important things, such as cleaning (my hovel really needed it) and organizing the various items that define my existence. (I don't know what that means, either.) I've been catching up on my reading lately, which is such a pleasant pastime, and one that I've sadly neglected.

What of FA? I'm not actually going to talk a great deal about him, because I'm still having some questions about him. The point of the matter is I'm not one who falls in love. I'm quite romantic by my nature, and I'm a strong believer in the idea, but the idea of love somehow escapes me. I've been thinking about past relationships, and remembering how I felt about each man (for the record, I've never had a romantic attachment to a woman--I'm such the fag.)

With my first boyfriend, I loved him deeply as a friend, but the relationship should have remained platonic--it would have been far stronger. I've noticed that my relationships are like lift bridges. Once you cross over the "boyfriend/romantic love" point, the bridge opens, and it's virtually impossible to pass back. Then again, with "the Hot one," (and yes, he was H O T!) our relationship was one built of teenage angst, with a strong hormonally driven lusty component thrown in for size.

Next, was my odd college fling, which served two very nice purposes. The first was that he was one of a pair of identical twins, so great fun was had messing with people's minds. The other was the fact that I really liked N, but I never really loved him. He never made me giddy when we spoke, and I guess in a lot of ways, he was like a shower cap in a hotel room--a nice amenity found almost universally, so he's always there and dependable, serving a unique purpose.

Next we come to RR, the longest of my relationships, spanning 13 years. There was a slight disadvantage at the outset, he being several months older than my mother. Truthfully, though it never really entered into the equation because we were so closely matched as a couple. That's the secret of our longevity, I think, because we lived very independent lives otherwise. Save one month-long trip, our vacations were always separate, and our careers were on very different tracks. Did I love RR? Yeah, I did, and the fact that we split up under fairly unpleasant circumstances still haunts me. His parting words at the airport were "You're making a huge mistake." I'll take that to my grave, because I really think I broke his heart with my departure. I have no doubt that RR truly loved me, and had found his 'soulmate' in me. Even five years later, I still harbour a twinge of guilt when I think of the last awkward month we spent together.

I then fell into a rebound relationship with J that lasted far longer than I would have imagined. It was almost exactly the opposite of what RR and I had together, with me being senior this time. Again, we had independent lives, and I have to say at moments, I really loved him, but it wasn't constant. I had some lapses where I really had to sit down and say "What the fuck am I doing?" Here, the age difference became apparent, and bothersome at times. Other times, it was transparent, which made for some very pleasant times that we spent together, but at other moments, it was bothersome, which led in very veiled circumstances to the creation of this, my "Realm 2." If you've read "Realm 1" with any gusto, you'll understand why I write these things.

Enter FA. He strolled into my life under a fairly unsalubrious circumstance, and I have to admit that I can't say I'm not happy he's come into my life. His schedule being a flight attendant is costing me a small fortune in cellphone bills, which I pay gladly. His quality is unique, and he's making me happy beyond description. My outlook on things has changed, and I am for the first time in a long time, really happy.

but...

He's unleashing a pile of emotions and behaviours that is really surprising to me, and it's frankly a little scary. My dear confidante has told me to be careful, because apparently FA and I were quite a topic of conversation at dinner recently. The truth is I'm more emotionally available to FA than I have ever been previously (ask RR, who at one point in frustration uttered those famous words, "I'd love to sit and listen to you breathe, but I have work to do"). I'm obviously not one who wears his heart on his sleeve, but I really feel like it's there tucked into a French cuff. That's got me a tad....scared? Excited? Vulnerable? All of the above? So, I'm stuck with an odd conundrum, trying to decide if I should just shut up and let my heart lead the way, or if a more appropriate course of action would be to remain conservative and restrained, keeping this man as a friend above all.

I'm not going to go into intimate details about experiences that FA and I have shared, but one amazing thing that really made me weak in the knees:

He bought me flowers. Nobody has ever done that for me before.

The Plan

Something has gone terribly awry.

I've established a very elaborate plan for how to live my life, and it's all gone topsy-turvy. It's not a bad thing, and in fact, I must say that the last couple of weeks have really been pleasant, to the point of distraction. I met a boy!

The shocking thing is he's more than a boy. He's really, really special. Why? I can't define it, but he's got that cute thing going on, he makes me laugh, he's a dog person, unafraid of PDA, a really good kisser (and yes, other stuff too), he's intelligent (although I haven't asked him to use avarice in a sentence) but more than anything, he puts up with me and my quirks. He misses on one thing that I have constantly mentioned as a necessity for husband material--the age thing.

Over and over again, I've said that I need to date within my own demographic. He does miss there, on the younger side by more than 10 years. I guess I shouldn't bitch about that because age is truly arbitrary in the whole schema. It's a number, and nothing more. None of the guys that I've had successful relationships with have been in my age group; they have either been much older or much younger than I am. Maybe it's not such an important thing after all.One of the defining reasons that I'm starting to feel serious about this guy is something that happened when we had a little out of town jaunt last week. A friend climbed in the car and said, "I was puzzled when he said 'Bob and his boyfriend because Bob doesn't have a boyfriend.'"

That started my mind in motion--does Bob have a boyfriend? Has FA stepped over this tenuous line in the sand and become more than the latest guy I'm seeing casually? I'm thinking yeah, maybe.

It was another thing that made me think this, namely the fact that upon our return to Naptown, we were both tired, so we decided to get Chinese, a very nice bottle of wine, a log for the fire, and just curl up in front of the TV and become vegetables. FA had to go to work early the next morning, so I decided that I should do the gentlemanly thing and go home for the evening so he could do what he needed to do the next morning. He asked me to stay, saying "I'm not going to see you for the next week!" Yesterday, he said that plans had changed, and that he was going to come back on Wednesday. My heart skipped a little beat, and my internal dialogue screamed "Yow! I get to see FA!!" I wanted to do that little 'I get a treat dance' thatdogs do when you show them a bit of bacon.So, yeah. I'm pretty freaking happy. I keep thinking "do I love him?" I can't answer that one quite yet. I prefer to categorize it as some "I really REALLY like him."

The further thought is that love can't be far off, because of how I'm starting to think about him all the time, and how nervous that I am that I'll manage to fuck it up. I've talked him up to all my close friends, and we've been seen in public being very chummy. I was even admonished by

one friend, who said "FA is really digging you--You had better treat him well because we have tender hearts."

Well, not to worry, because I'm really digging FA. I'm happier than I've been in a mighty long time.

Oh, and on another note, due to circumstances QUITE beyond my control, I am sans Internet access at home. It's a long and not very entertaining story, so I'll skip it. In other words, if you want you some Bob, you better call the cellie. *groan* Odd thing is I don't miss the Internet access thing. I thought my world might come tumbling down, but in fact I've focused my energies on other things, so it's been really good. Of course I can't download porn at work, but somehow I've managed to survive! Go me!

Racing pulse

Okay, so here's the deal. I'm out the other night with my dear friend, FA, and we are observed from afar. I don't know that I am attentive to a person to the point where we look like if someone came up and said "Hi, Bob" I'd fall into a fit, but apparently that's the case.

So "no nickname friend" says "I didn't know you were into black guys." I answered, "I'm not. I'm into guys."

So, in prime Bob-like fashion, it launched me into thought. What is it about people of different races that intrigue? Okay, so as previously mentioned, FA is black, African American, or whatever you want to describe him as. I know that he has a penchant for Caucasian guys, or as I prefer to be addressed, "generic cracker." As such, he has seen men that have that fascination with black men, most recently living with a fellow that was actually kind of psychotically so.

So I started thinking, do I have a thing for black guys? I launched into my usual thought, and came up with this conclusion: If I do, then I have a thing for Filipino guys, a thing for Hawaiian guys, a thing for Chinese guys, and (oh yeah) that thing for generic cracker guys such as myself.

I really do have a thing for "just guys" regardless of their ethnicity. Now, it's true that I've seen quite a bit of FA recently. He enjoys my company, and I have to say he is fun to hang out with. He looks good in clothes, carries on an interesting conversation, and has managed to capture my attention.

These days, that has been a difficult thing to do for some reason.

But more than that, he is not a typical person. One of the things that kind of makes me crazy about men of African descent is the fact that a lot of them don't feel comfortable in their own skin. I'm referring to the "dl" thing. Men who have sex with men don't identify as gay, but they identify as being on the "dl." Well, I have news for you. If you sit on it or suck it, you're a fag; it's what we do.

Of course the dl thing isn't restricted to black guys--it's something that is shared across the racial board. There are lots of guys that are "straight, and just in town for the weekend" It causes more damage among men of colour for some reason though. I even saw a book about it at Borders yesterday. That's neither here nor there. FA seems to lack this particular trait, so I don't think of him along ethnic lines. He's just a guy.

and I like guys...mmmm (Homer voice) guys....

My Sudafed expired 4 months ago!

Breathing is highly overrated.

I can say this now, because since Sunday, I haven't been doing too much breathing. It seems that EVERYBODY in Naptown is sick AGAIN. This time, I've joined the ranks of the unclean at the appropriate time instead of doing my usual "I'm just going to be tired and grumpy instead of being sick" thing.

Bleh! I'm NEVER kissing boys again! NEVER!!! (Okay, maybe cute ones)

That was probably part of my problem, because when I went out last Friday, I kinda swapped spit with a couple boys on the dance floor, but you knew that already by reading the previous entry. I'm convinced that my hedonistic decadence was to blame for my illness of the last week. Oh well. I'm on the mend, and besides, I had fun.

I've been reading Todd's three-part mini-series of his relationship with a boy named Theo. All along, there was a question whether Theo would read the account and flip out, hate Todd forever, etc. Turns out that Theo did read it, and (sorta) typed out a rebuttal which wasn't surprising.

Relationships always have this "He said, She said" thing going on, no matter how close you are, or how fantabulous your communication might be. Theo had a different perspective of how things happened because he didn't occupy Todd's skin. Perfectly natural, say I. It makes us individuals, and makes for pithy conversations.

But that's not what I was thinking about.

A while back, I wrote about relationships. I was blathering on about my "Perfect boyfriend" and how he would use obscure words in ordinary conversation. I also introduced a concept that works much like my little red Sudafed pills (by the way, were you aware that you can't just stroll into a store and buy Sudafed anymore? Pisses me off!) Expiration dates. My Sudafed expired in 10/04. Conventional wisdom says that I shouldn't be popping these pills into my mouth after 11/1/04, but screw that. I can't breathe. I'm willing to risk disfigurement to not be a walking snot factory for a few hours.

I digress. The just of that entry was that relationships have expirations. When they are over, they're over. Some have long dates of play (the Rolling Stones of the relationships, if you will) and others are more Manilli Vanilli hot weekends. (You know what I mean--we've all hooked up at one time or another)

The problem is being able to be the OmniOmni and look at the box on the first date. If you can see that this thing aint going to last more than 6 months, maybe the split-up would be easier knowing that it was supposed to be a fling. Unfortunately, we don't get the chance to see the date until we eat one, and know from that certain queazy feeling that it's a little past it's prime....

I just re-read this, and couldn't help but think of what a fatalistic approach it is. It's a fun theory to bounce around, though. Besides, I need something to think about in bed tonight.

Be well.

Statuesque

What a Thursday we had!

I've come to the conclusion that I'm rapidly becoming a barfly. Perhaps it's my genetic makeup that provides a propensity to drink--as far as I can recall back, there was alcohol available in my family, starting with a particularly memorable party spent in a here when I was just a wee thing. It's one of my most vivid memories, because I ordered a grasshopper. I got this instead.

Good times. Anyway, back to Thursday.

It started off easy enough. I was playing around on the computer, and chatting with various people, including a fellow what I occasionally have random sex with. Apparently, he was already engaged, because he asked how I felt about 3-somes. Truthfully, they haven't been a popular thing, because of the odd number. In my not so vast experience, someone gets bored early (usually me) and retreats. I'll stop there in the interest of avoiding an 'overshare.'

I began a conversation with this other fellow, whom I'll call FA. One thing in particular impressed me about FA-he said "I'm horny, but I can carry on a non-sexual conversation." Lotsa points for that!

We continued to chat about this and that, and time came for the usual Thursday night drinking fest with the gay.com group (effete bastards that we are.) Normally, there's quite a crowd, which is odd, given that Thursday is technically a 'school night' This Thursday was not typical.

Nobody was there.

I take that back, there were a couple chums there, and I socialized and made proper introductions when I remembered to. The balance of the evening was spent in polite conversation, with occasional bouts of "white boy on the dance floor." But that's not what made this evening so noteworthy.

Early on in the evening, I noticed a tall, dark, mysterious yummy-looking drink of water leaning on a wall. At first, I thought he was someone else, but his stare confirmed that he was indeed a stranger. Well, Dark Mysterious Cute Boy (DMCB) sauntered over and held up a corner of wall a bit closer. I felt like a freak, because every time I looked up, there he was, staring. I checked behind me to see if there was some broad flashing her titties behind me, but none. We made a lap of the bar, and continued conversation, when I noticed that *poof* he was there again.

This chase continued, and for the bulk of the evening, provided some uneasy amusement. Later, it dawned on me--why do I only see hot interested boys when I'm with someone else? Bizarre. Granted, FA and I weren't more than casual acquaintances, having known each other for just a handful of hours. Still yet, ditching your date in a bar is just rude, especially when you provided his ride.

Every time I turned around, DMCB was there. On the dance floor, shaking his ass (well, I might add) so I kept looking. Now, to my credit, I did look cute. I had a new outfit on (so much easier than doing laundry) along with my awesome new glasses which I'm REALLY liking more and more. (DMCB also had cute glasses--more points) At one point, DMCB was very close, and I'm sure he was close enough to overhear our conversation, because that's when he departed for quite a while. I was nearly tempted to talk with DMCB, but for aforementioned reason (being out with FA) it might have seemed odd. Besides, experience tells us not to talk to boys who have exhibited stalker-like behaviour. Reference the entry on my cell-phone "Psycho Stalker Bitch."

Time passes, and DMCB saunters off, being replaced by a fellow standing under the balcony where Peron and I stand to judge people unfairly. To say he was playing pocket pool would have been an understatement. My thought was that he didn't actually have pockets in his trousers, and was in fact masturbating.

Ucky tuh!

If that wasn't enough to top off an evening's entertainment, there was a terribly dramatic exchange involving pushing and some girly punches. I was tempted to run over and tell the girls to go get some fighting lessons and try again, but resisted. The girly twink-y boy was pulled of the frumpy twink-wannabe boy, and words were exchanged. Suffice to say, Girly twink-y boy was soon seen curled up on the floor in the fetal position sobbing uncontrollably. Oh to be young and drunk at 21. Pretty tragic. It hails back to the days at the old Abbey, where drama was served up with your latte.

The balance of the evening was pretty low key. I called it quits and was home by 2am, and for the record, FA and I exchanged only the briefest of kisses. We made up for that on Friday, when all of the effete wankers from gay.com were out in force. Out on the dance floor, and quite swept up in the happiness of it all, FA and I enjoyed a major liplock. Whee!

I was incredibly random that night, and for some reason wasn't able to focus on one individual, so I just kept trading people off, dragging various people on the dance floor (and no, the music wasn't all that good) DMCB was there, but he wasn't attentive at all. I guess I wasn't as stalkable as he had thought.

I wasn't even drunk, as my darts score reflected. Again, we left at 2am for breakfast at Canary beneath the fluorescent lights. Nobody looks good in fluorescent lighting. Not even DMCB, I'm sure, but by the same token he would have looked mighty hot over eggs and toast Actually, FA would have looked good too--he's got the cute thing tied up. Then again, black men fare better in fluorescence than we pasty white boys do.

Home alone, and slept alone in my bed. I know that sounds kind of tragic, but I'm really growing fond of it. Being single is really an awesome thing, I've decided. Of course, I'll probably change opinions in a few months, but for the time, I enjoy the solitude and the ability to stretch out over my whole bed and curl up with my bankie without fear of freezing out another soul.

...but it is still nice to curl up in the arms of another in the middle of the night, feeling his warmth on my back and his arm on my chest, and his breath needing a tic-tac on my neck. Yes the dog-breath thing may sound cruel, but just remember these words:

In the middle of the night, everyone needs a Tic-Tac.

Grey days

It's a grey day today. I'm not being bored, but I am being uninspired, so I updated my gay.com profile.


Whee! Don't I rock? (don't answer that.)

In which we speak of being contrite.

With the previous post, I mentioned penance. Dear reader #3 (aka Craigers) inquired about that wacky Catholic habit of confessing one's sins. I'll tackle it now, and hopefully in a way that is understandable, and at the same time will make you aware of why I really don't have a need for organized religion.

First, what people think. The popular conception is that you can kill a busload of nuns and orphans, go around kicking puppies and get off the hook by walking into a phone booth and uttering those infamous words, "Bless me Father, for I have sinned." Not exactly how things work. First, the words of Father MacGuire, the child molester that wrote the catechism that everybody seemed to have. (Catholics, remember the clothbound green books? Yeah!) He came up with a clever way of illustrating sin, and it's effect on your immortal soul.

The milk bottle.

When we are born, our milk bottle is empty, thanks to original sin. It's true that God is like my friend Riley--he's a grudger. This one is over that Eve chick using her ability to make independent decisions. Proof that God (and organized religion in general) is full of bosh. If God had really wanted the Adam and Eve thing to work out, he would have whipped up a bunch of Stepford Wives and not free thinking people like he did. (and yes, God is a guy.)

So we have all these stillborn babies in limbo because their milk bottles are empty, and devoid of God's grace. Baptism is the first sacrament we are exposed to, and it's the one that seals us. It is also only a "one time good deal," and it doesn't make a difference into which church you are baptized, because you are made a disciple of Christ, and last time I checked all Christian churches followed that same dude.

But I digress. To be a REAL catholic, you need to join that Holy Roman and Apostolic thing. *shrug*

Anyway, we have a full bottle of milk at baptism. Then, we go through life having fun and draining our bottle of milk. Little transgressions, such as stubbing your toe and saying "FUCK!" are probably a teensy sip on the straw(venial sin). Murdering a busload of nuns and orphans will pretty much up-end your bottle(Mortal sin). Obviously, you can have a whole shitlad of venial sins, and you'll probably get into heaven eventually, but you'll have to sit in the waiting room first (purgatory.) While in purgatory, people can pray for you (kind of a Sally Struthers thing) and with each prayer, a little squirt gets popped back in your milk bottle.

That's where confession, and another sacrament, Extreme Unction, come into play. These are mechanisms for running to the dairy for a nice quart of 2%. The process is really pretty simple, but a lot of people don't really understand it fully. Confession (and to a great extent, Extreme Unction) is highly individual. The key to being forgiven for your sin is being contrite. Only if you are really sorry for having sinned will they be erased. God is no dummy. If he knows you're just kneeling there jerking him around, your milk bottle is going to have a big gulp taken out of it, because you pissed him off again.

The actual confession part of the process is like the first step in a 12-step program. "Admit you have a problem." That, for most is actually the hardest part, and the one that takes the most effort. Thus, for the sinner, admitting to another person that they have boinked their best friend's wife, shame is created, and hopefully, they realize that they really have fucked up, and they really are sorry for having done whatever they have done.

That's when God removes your sin, and fills up your milk bottle again. "Only God forgives sins" (Mark 2:7) This brings us to penance.

Many sins wrong our neighbor. One must do what is possible in order
to repair the harm (e.g., return stolen goods, restore the reputation of someone
slandered, pay compensation for injuries). Simple justice requires as
much. But sin also injures and weakens the sinner himself, as well as his
relationships with God and neighobur. Absolution takes away sin, but does
not remedy all the disorders that sin has caused. Raised up from sin, the
sinner must still recover his full spiritual health by doing more to make amends
for his sin: He must "make satisfaction for" or "expiate" his sins.
This satisfaction is also called "penance."
Catechism of the Catholic Church, Sec. 1459, 1994

Enough! Although it is a grey Sunday morning (not to mention the first Sunday of Lent) I've rattled off enough church doctrine for one sitting.

Obviously, I don't agree with many of the church's standpoints on various processes, but I don't poop on the beliefs of others. SBC attends church weekly, and I have no doubt that he was present in that bug buff building outside of my window (Cathedral of Ss Peter and Paul.)

Now to matters of myself. Have I mentioned how much I love my little friend Peron? He's that guy that I go out with on rare occasions, dance with, and sit up on the balcony of OP's and talk smack about people with. That's what we did a couple weeks ago, and a good time was had by all. There was breakfast at my favorite dumpy place for breakfast at 3am, Canary Cafe where we had a lovely civil conversation without the hazard of bad techno music. Yeah, I like him, but for various reasons which don't bear discussion (read: boyfriend) he's not datable. He's going to stay comfortably in the realm of good friend.

That's ok--I like him there ;-)

The other thing that has marked this week is the misery of various colds floating around. Everyone I know has been ill this week, which is the reason I'm sucking on a zinc lozenge and eating something called L-argenine, which is an amino acid which is supposed to pump out white blood cells and make one superimmune.

That means I can go out and swap spit with someone! If only...any takers?

Penance

The subject is penance.

We all have to pay the piper in the end. It's inevitable. For instance, I stayed out a little later than I should have last night, so I'm TIRED now. I had a couple beers with the girls, and even saw that cute skinny boy that doesn't have a nickname. I need to work on that.

Maybe I'll just call him cute skinny boy. He certainly has the flattest tummy I've ever seen. I mean it's like KANSAS!

Growing up Catholic taught me all about the concept of penance, and what a purifying effect it has on the soul. For me, the concept is simple, and downright karmic. You fuck up, you pay for it. You don't feed the parking meter, you get a $12 love note from the City of Naptown. You don't show up at work, you get canned. You take it up the butt with out a rubber, you get the clap. It's really very simple.

penance is humbling by it's nature. Of course it's irritating when you begin the process, because you're mad at the various elements that placed you into this bad situation. someone narcing on you, then eventually kicking yourself for placing yourself in the path of badness. That's the goal, ultimately. You realize that it was YOU that screwed up, and you'll do a little thinking about what YOU will do to not deviate in the future.

This is a short post, and one that's a bit overdue. I'll write of adventures recently in more detail later, but now, sleep beckons.

Coming soon:

• An adventure with Peron
• The dangers of swapping spit
• Yo, Vito!

Be well, my friends, including those I have yet to meet.

Venues (Part 2)

Okay, since the brick and mortar venues are not so available to me for reasons previously discussed, I turn to an electronic means of meeting. Some times, I really wish I lived in a perfect universe where everyone was pretty and smart and considerate.

That isn't reality. Sometimes people that you think are pretty have been secretly praying that the whole Dorian Grey thing can play out. Guys who present as literate are actually insecure messes with no real social skills, and those why appear to be nice are in reality snappy, ignorant people who live to torture service industry workers.

Aint it amazing?

The anonymity of the internet does hide a multitude of sins. For instance, I can assume a totally fictitious facade and walk around cyberland completely undetected. In fact, at one point, I tested the theory and whipped up a profile that was a total fabrication just to see what sort of trouble I could get into.

Turns out you can really create havoc, but I knew that already. Again--trashy fun!
When you take a look at the whole idea of being on the internet, I think it's a lot easier to just stick with the truth. The main reason I do this is because it's just easier to keep my story straight. At least with my life, I remember the happenings verbatim. That's a really good thing, because I get confused and distracted easil...whaa?

I don't do the personals for various reasons, mainly the whole interaction thing. Therefore, I chat. Sometimes, I think I spend too much time in these rooms, and I wonder what purpose it really serves. Then I think, and realize that it's social interaction on a very small scale, and that's why I do it. I can sit around with a huge slice of garlic bread, fart and scratch my balls to my heart's content, and it doesn't offend even the meekest soul.

It masks things though. It's amazing what a filter that the internet provides, and what a tight sieve it offers. Part of the problem I fear lies with me, and my propensity to talk to random people who chat back. I'll talk to anyone, but only to a degree. If the conversation turns into a grotesque pile of un-fun steaming sexual innuendo, it ends. If people attack me, or are just unkind for no particular reason, out they go. Be polite, literate, and have something worthwhile to say, and yeah--I'll talk your ear off. Keep the dialogue up, and I'll be intrigued enough to actually meet you. Only the truly awesome get nicknames and/or are immortalized in the bloggie thing, though. If you got mentioned--go you!

You don't like it, get your own fucking blog

Then, there is the expectation thing. I know I do it--the process of making a mental image of a person. You know snippets of a person's life, and you take those small patches and stitch them into a mental crazy-quilt that makes up your perception of what that person is like in real life. Most of the time, it's not far off base if the person was honest in their description, but it always seems to lack just a bit. I think the reason for that is because it is, after all just a fabrication. There is no great basis in fact for believing that this person is who they claim to be. That is usually a stronger indication of who they are, versus who they claim to be.

Then there's the personality thing. Sometimes, you can pick up things through their ability to come back with a witty response, rather than answering every line with "lol" In the same thread, spelling, grammar, and usage are good indications of how educated a person might be, but that's really secondary. Some people may not be book-smart, but still fascinating to have as friends. To dismiss someone on that basis is just arrogant and unnecessary. It's just part of the process of collecting those bits of information.

By the same token, the person that shoots me this private message isn't going to get very far at all:

You: Hi
Me: Hello
You: How are you?
Me: Well, thanks.

(silence)

You: what are you up to?
Me: Hanging out, chatting. You?
You: Same.

(Much silence)
(I die of boredom)

Jeezuz! Have something to say! Talk about the weather, tell me how cute I am in comparison to yourself, and how in some cultures I may be even cuter. It's not difficult. They're called social skills.

On the other hand, there are people who you chat up, they seem especially vibrant and interesting, but then become drama-heavy and somewhat self-absorbed. I'll admit that I can be the first one to do this as well, if for no other reason than the sun is always shining on Planet Bob. But you know, what fun is it to listen to someone whine incessantly about how unhappy they are, and why everybody hates them because they are worthless. Get yourself some freaking Prozac and get that seratonin moving, for gods sake.

Physician, heal thyself!

Linky loo fun!

• Man it is true that you can buy anything at Costco!
• Proof positive that Bob needs to lay off NPR here
• Proof that god is a vengeful, PMSing bitch

Venues (Part 1)

The lack of social places for me in Indianapolis is troubling to me currently. I'm not sure if there is something that I'm missing or not, but I'm writing this in an effort to sort through my thoughts and observations in an attempt to decide if there is maybe something that I have missed or perhaps overlooked.

In other cities of size, there are obvious places that people can be social. Again, it might be a personal fault, but I really feel like I'm missing the boat somehow. Granted, I need to be in the mood to be social, and sometimes, I just want to sit and listen to music, or whatever is there to amuse me.

First in this effort, we'll have a look at the places I've identified. The most pleasant, and interesting is my dive-y coffee house, The Abbey. Recently, the A moved to a location not too far down the street from my home, so it's now in walking distance. Of course, do I show up there more often? Not really. First, how much coffee can one consume? Second, since it is a place that does not serve alcohol, there are quite a few young/underage/jailbait people there.

Normally, that really doesn't bother me--it adds to the overall feel of a place, and contributes to the colour, which is always good. Food there is also decent, but there's an undertone that one might find in a restaurant. The "I'm here for a specific purpose, not to hang out and chat with you." People are huddled over computers, or chatting quietly with the group they are in. I have to admit that I've done that more than one time with my friend Peron. More often than not, I take old copies of Variety and catch up with the goings-on in the entertainment industry, and zone into my own private Idaho.

Bars are the next venue, and they don't amuse me so much. People go to bars with the express intent on getting drunk, which is a thing that I think I've moved past in my life. There are other reasons that I dislike the bar scene, ranging from the fact that I want to burn my clothes afterwards from the cigarette smell, to the dysfunction that is so evident. Someone really really smart first said "Alcohol makes good times better and bad times worse" I think it was a take on Madame Ponsardin's infamous "I drink champagne anytime" trieste. Anyway, I believe it for various reasons, so I avoid getting drunk in bars at all costs. Instead, I drink beer, for two very good reasons:

First, beer comes in glass. I like to touch glass to my dainty lips, not plastic.

Second, I really don't get drunk on beer. There's something about the dilution of the alcohol or something, but I can drink it all night and not get more than a good buzz and a constant need to run to the restroom.

Some bars have very positive things about them, like my haunt, OPs. From time to time, they have decent music, so dancing is an option. They have Heinekin dark, which is a favourite of mine, and one that I drink often because they serve alcohol in plastic cups. It makes me want to go all Leona Helmseley. Barring its proximity to my home, the compelling reason to hang out at OPs is its where my friends congregate.

There are others that attract my attention for various reasons. The Varsity is a wonderful dive bar, with greasy food, sticky floors, and dive bar patrons. The Metro has dreadful food, but an advantage in that alcohol is served in glass, and they make a decent martini (sometimes.) Talbott Street is an expensive place to go to watch pretty, vapid boys attempt to dance to bad music. Of course, the 501 is just trashy fun where if you go an entire evening without seeing someone's dick, you are obviously blind.

That's about it. Those are the mortar and brick places where one can go to meet a person. For various reasons, it can be difficult to make that step and become conversational with someone. You might be competing with 10,000 watts of bad techno masquerading as good dance music, or you might be fighting cliquish behaviour. More oft than not, I battle myself and my recalcitrant self.

In which Our Hero summarizes the weekend

This past weekend was eventful, but not in the productive way. Still yet, I managed to enjoy myself a great deal, and even managed to get myself groped.

Starting off, I went to the frozen wasteland that is Muncie. 40,000 people are still without electricity in that town, and after my trip up there, I can see why.

When I woke up on Saturday, Naptown had about 3" of snow on the ground, which made everything look absolutely amazing. There was no colour; everything was a monochromatic shade of grey and white. It had already begun to melt by the time I dragged my lazy ass out of town at noon. That was a good thing, because the roads were clear, and for the most part dry.

Muncie however....Ugh! When I got into the city proper, I was amazed. Not only had they received about the same amount of snow we had in Indianapolis, it was caked onto a good inch or so of solid ice. The city was a mass of tangled...tangle. Trees were toppled, power lines were on the ground everywhere. In short, it was a freakin mess.

Worst part was the traffic signal issue. Now every good motorist knows that when a signal-controlled intersection is not operating, it becomes a 4-way stop. First issue I had with this is the fact that if I don't see a red light, my feeble little brain assumes that it is safe for me to bomb through the intersection. This occasional lack of signal electricity forced me to actually apply conscious effort to driving. How boring is that?

I managed to finally make my way to meet my friend, the Pianist for lunch. This was the first time that he and I had actually met, and it was quite pleasant. We build people up in our minds from the snippets of interaction we have, and I do have to say that Pianist didn't disappoint. He's cute, (looks good in clothes, and I have a suspicion looks good in shorts as well) literate and well spoken, and quite polite with a very gentle nature.

Because we had such a pleasant time, I had to start asking myself about the dateabity of this guy. I think he has the seal of approval. If you have been paying attention, you know this has been rare lately. Whether it actually comes to the point of dating is still a point of contention right now. I'm enjoying being single at the moment, and besides that, there's always the potential that he thinks I'm a total yutz. Time will tell. Anyway, I enjoyed wasting a day with him in cafes.

Shopping is so much easier than doing laundry, so I stopped by Target and bought a cute outfit to wear out (including sexy underwear that nobody saw, dammit) when I met the girls for cocktails that evening. We started off with darts and amusements at OPs then went off to trashy fun at the 501, which is a leather bar of sorts. In our group was a novice, so we kept an eye on him so he wouldn't be gang-raped in the washroom. We had a nice time standing around, chatting and stomping. Myself and two others decided that breakfast was in order. On my way out, I saw a friend who kind of fell all over me and felt a need to find my penis with his hand. I beat a retreat.

We wound up at the Canary Cafe, which is in an odd little building--the food is good, cheap and available in the middle of the night. We had beat the bar crowd by a good hour, so we were able to be slightly obnoxious in our fun and happy way. When I got home, I was still buzzed, so I flopped my ass down in front of the computer and proceeded to chat until 5am.

Think I got things accomplished on Sunday? Think again. I did feel a need to accomplish something, since Saturday was such a wash. I did some light shopping, and eventually came around to meet the youngman that kept me up chatting all night, my dear chum Todd (who formerly had a blog over there.) Like the pianist, Todd and I had traded electrons, but not meaningful glances across the table, so that was remedied. He's a lovely guy also, and I had a nice time with him as well.

Then I came home and fucking collapsed. In summary, I managed to buy some way cute jeans, a couple tops, some food, and hang out with two incredible friends. All in all, not the worst weekend on record.

Think you know me? Prove it!

Take the TEST

I'll take 'Human Retroviruses' for $500, Alex

Okay.

I was thinking about HIV and the impact it's had on my life. I won't be global in my thoughts and reflect on the Rock Hudsons and Liberaces that have left an unaccountable void in our society. Rather, I'll be selfish and make it about me. After all (as I am so fond of saying) if you don't like it, get your own fucking blog!

I started thinking about the whole HIV question when a friend of mine was called out in a chatroom recently. Said friend happens to be poz, but that's no reason to say a word about it. Truthfully, he's been as open about the subject--in fact more so than others would be expected to be. I wasn't in the room at the moment, so unfortunately, I wasn't able to defend the integrity of my buddy. Damn it all! I hate it when my peeps are attacked.

Notwithstanding, it made me start to think about various HIV-associated things. It raised the question, "What if I am poz?" Lord knows I haven't been celibate, but on the other hand, I haven't done anything that might place me at apparent risk. Then again, these are microscopic bits of protein, so as far as I'm concerned, all bets are off.

Some guys who are Poz have said that it has opened up an entire new facet of their life that they didn't know existed. Others have been devastated to the point of suicide. Yet another faction kind of shrug and press on with their lives as though it was only a small rut in the road of life. How would I react? I have no idea. I really haven't been faced with my own mortality. Until someone really realizes that one day they are going to die, and that might happen within a matter of years, I don't think that you really get a taste for it.

Of course, men live relatively normal lives with HIV now. It's become more of a major inconvenience rather than the death sentence that I dispensed in the mid 80's as a public health worker. It's not something to take lightly, and it's not curable by any stretch of the imagination. It is, however a manageable disease, which is a godsend for so many different reasons. Again, I like my friends, and want them to be around for some time. As previously mentioned, it's all about Bob.

Then the question popped in my mind--would I have sex with a guy I knew was poz? Wow. That's a hard one to answer. On one hand, I look at every potential partner as being infected, so I tend to sorta lean towards the "Yeah, I would" side. On the other hand, I have to think about the whole "ticking bomb" concept. Condoms break and shit happens. Would that thought affect me? Possibly. I'd be a fool to say that it wouldn't. There would be that thought in the back of my mind from time to time, and it would probably come up during a sleepless night at 3am.

As long as we are talking about shtupping a "happy boy," why not examine the next logical step? Would I date him? That one, I'm really tempted to say yes to. It's an odd reaction, given the milquetoast response to the fucking question. I've always said something to the effect that we are all entitled to love, regardless of the circumstances, and I believe it. I'm not personally tied to any single physical trait in selecting a person I'm attracted to, whether it be as a friend, a fuck, or a romantic interest. My current thought is that if I were to meet this incredibly sexy guy, fall in love, and think seriously about spending a long length of time together, his seropositivity probably wouldn't enter into the equation.

My "hag" said that I was probably too picky. I told her that my standards for dating were high for a very good reason. I'm really tired of men who are with me for no particular reason. I really need more in my life. I really need someone to share a life with. I'm really not finding these guys here, and it's mildly upsetting. Speaking with others, I'm not alone. There apparently really is a shortage of good men here. Really!

That's comforting. I thought I was going insane for a bit there. (I digress) The fact that I would be willing to date a HIV positive guy tells me that I'm not too picky. My standard for men is not unattainable, because it's not limited by the action of a bit of virus. (reading that sounds a bit cocky--it wasn't meant to be)

Hmm more to think about for me. Am I too picky? Do I place a bar so high that you have to have a 3 meter vertical jump to touch? Perhaps I should disregard small things that bother me abut a guy and focus on a larger picture.

Scroll up to the top, and read the words in the box. "It's all about the internet as therapy."