Back to Dating

I found out last night that my ex is dating again.  Not the casually-meeting-guys-online-and-having-sex kind of dating, but he met someone that he thought he might be able to have a relationship with and dated him for a couple of months.

Honestly, the bigger emotional jolt was just talking to my ex.  When he responded to me from Shanghai then started actually talking to me, I started crying, and by the time he mentioned this new guy (Joey) I was done with the tears and didn't feel the need to start up again.  I have to wonder if that's a normal reaction to have.  I think that most people would freak out more about their ex dating someone new even if they stayed friends and are on speaking terms.  That's not me though.

I've been doing mostly the former kind of dating.  I wouldn't mind the latter kind of dating, but I just haven't found anyone.

More specifically, I've found a couple of guys that like me and one guy that I liked.  The guy I liked had a very serious different of opinion about what should comprise a relationship than I did, and so that didn't work out at all.  The other guys, the ones that like me . . . I'm just not interested in them for a variety of reasons.

My relationship with my ex taught me a lot about what I'm looking for in a relationship.  My breakup from my ex has taught me other things.  The thing that has surprised me the most is that I no longer like being the smartest person in a room.

Almost all of my ex's friends had Ph.Ds, MDs, or JDs.  One of his best friends did not, but that friend eventually became a VP at an international bank based on mad skillz.  I have a BA in English and not a lot of other stuff going on.

Don't get me wrong, I never felt like I was out of my depth hanging out with them (well, I mean, except for the drinking, but I never tried to keep up with them anyway).  They all had their subjects, but I had mine.  I know science fiction and fantasy and publishing.  I have stories about meeting GRRM, Neil Gaiman, Jo Walton and working on Polar Express and The Little Prince.  I follow politics more than enough to know what I'm talking about and have specific opinions that I can generally defend.  I know enough about economics, religion, science, and technology to be able to have meaningful conversations with people actually working in those fields.  I've also traveled extensively, love weird historical bits and pieces, and can talk a bit about art.

All of the people around me in Boston were exceedingly successful, and the people that I've been meeting here in Albuquerque . . .

I've retreated into my head a little bit.  I don't feel like I can be myself around a guy that thinks that the movie "The Immortals" is a good representation of Greek myth.  I have to carefully tailor what I say so that I don't slip up and imply that he's an idiot for not understanding why I don't think that Zeus and Athena having sexual tension is appropriate, or that I've been to Greece and know that it's not a featureless desert.  I have to explain brief references to popular media that seem obvious to me.

This is just frustrating.  I look at these guys and know that it would drive me absolutely insane if I tried to date them over the long term.

A week or so ago I did exchange a quick series of texts with my ex and mentioned that I was talking to a doctor, and he said, "Oh, so you're dating again."  That was nice of him, but it just reinforces this point, that I guess I can't date below a certain intellectual threshold.  Maybe I could, but not without a set of other positive attributes to make up for that huge lack.

So, I'm sleeping my way through Albuquerque, to see if you can do a relationship that way.  Waiting for a decade for a friend of a friend to introduce me to my next boyfriend seems like too long to me, and even then, it would be ridiculous to assume that it will last all that long.  My ex and I lasted for seven years, but that was probably longer than it should have lasted.

I am open to alternatives.  We'll see.

A thought that is entirely internal to the framework of Christian logic

I don't think that Andrew Wilson really understand what "sin" is, at least in the context of this clip. He badgers Ron to admit that homosexual sex is a sin, which Ron doesn't want to say because Ron knows that admission is damaging to his relationships with gay people (absolutely true, because gay people have been so long singled out as special sinners). However, Andrew doesn't acknowledge that heterosexual sex is very often a sin to God too and that men can commit the same sin just by looking with lust at other women (Matthew 5:21-30). All men, heterosexual or homosexual are sinners in the view of God, and I suspect that it would not be too great a leap to say that all men are sexual sinners in the view of God.

So he's asking Ron if homosexuality is a special sin, one that must stop when accepting Jesus Christ to the extent that many preachers lie and say that God will remove the temptation. Obviously that's wrong, because salvation doesn't work that way. Accepting Jesus doesn't stop men from lusting or coveting or anger, and those states of mind are, in the words of Paul, just as bad as the sins themselves. Christians have to accept that in accepting Christ, they will find salvation after they die, and in their efforts to live better lives on Earth, He will help them live better but not perfect lives.

My question is then, what life better exemplifies that of a Christian with homosexual attraction? Drugs, casual sex, and suffering the persecution of the church, or the embrace of the church and blessing of a stable sexual partnership in a homosexual marriage?

My final thought on this conversation is that Jesus said: "Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate." The context was divorce, a sin, but it seems to me that those who actually know gay people know that they may habe been joined to their loving same sex partners by God. Let no one demand the separation of two gay men or two gay women as a prerequisite to joining the fellowship, as they have also been joined together by God.

Last One to the Train Wreck

I've got a job here in Boston and I'm not sure how well it's going. Most of the people that I work with are polite, nice people put in a bad situation by a company that cares nothing for them.

It's a lot like some of the other hotels that I've worked for in my life and so I've been having issues with one of my bosses in particular. I recognize that I'm not perfect but I have enough experience now to recognize a bad situation when I'm walking into it.

The focus on the company seems to be on the employee's interaction with the guest rather than technical training. Service, in the hospitality industry, is important. Especially if you want to maintain a high quality hotel.

But you can't ignore technical training. Computer skills at the desk are vitally important to the job. You need to have a working understanding of the hotel layout, the answers to common questions and know what you can do to resolve a problem as well.

This hotel took days to train me in any of that. I didn't even have a chance to see a guest room until my fourth day and only because I actively tagged along with a manager.

They're not particularly excited about me doing the job that the hired me to do, either. I still haven't started training for that job. Instead, I'm training for positions that I won't do and don't challenge me.

But it is a job.

Otherwise, the last week has been insane. I've been working to the point of exhaustion, of course, but I've also had a birthday and met my boyfriend's mom. And I've been trying to spend time with my boyfriend. I guess I never really truly realized what a massive time commitment a boyfriend is. I've been enjoying reading on the T though. It's everything that I imagined that it could be when I moved to a big city and gave up driving. Hallelujah.

I Need A Girlfriend

I went out to a bar called Barracuda today. Not in honor of Sarah Palin, but because it was the only place on a list of five clubs that I was planning on going to that I could actually find.

Still, I'm alone in my room now, typing on my computer because one of the only two people that acknowledged my presence tonight was one of those girls that likes to hang out with gay guys.

I know what the term is. I just don't feel like using it right now.

The other person was the coat check guy, so he doesn't count.

I wish I had someone like that, who I could call and take to a gay club that is willing to go but probably won't end up leaving with the guy that I like at the end of the night. Someone who will talk and listen and laugh at my stupid jokes.

The reason that I went out is because I just feel so alone here in New York. The irony is staggering; I'm in probably the most densely populated English speaking city and I'm alone. Well, I am.

I didn't stay long because I suddenly felt that it was futile. Well, that's not quite true; it wasn't sudden. I've felt that way for a solid week now.

It does feel futile. The people that I know are . . . well, not like me. I suddenly realize how completely stupid it was to think that I might be able to recreate the happy times in my life by moving back to the same city as Elliot or to a place with gay guys. I could barely talk to gay guys in New Mexico; talking to them here in NYC is going to be nearly impossible.

Of course, with this depression comes the mindnumbingly stupid behavior: I bought real meat today and ate it. I'm putting on weight again, and I don't have a gym membership. I spent money that I don't have buying books (The Watchmen, actually. It was amazingly good. I just finished it just before I started writing this entry).

What am I going to do with myself?

I don't know how I'm going to meet people. I can't meet people through friend one because he's Jewish and gay Jewish guys don't date the shiska equivalent guys. I can't meet people through friend two because he exists in an extremely superficial and wealthy world that doesn't contain people, only objects that move and speak. I don't seem to meet people by myself because I can't connect in clubs or just in quick random moments.

So that leaves work, and I'm having trouble finding a job again. Of course. Why would the universe gift me with good luck? The economy tanks just as I start searching for employment.

I will say that I am in a now confusing long distance pseudo relationship, which is making all this even worse because now I have someone that is theoretically there for me even though I'm alone nearly all the time. And I've lost a valuable vent toward looking for a relationship or even figuring out what the hell kind of relationship this long distance thing is.

The lesson here, of course, is that if you only have one person that you feel that you can trust to talk to about relationships, make sure that you don't go and inadvertantly start a relationship with that person.

He once suggested that I would regret having sex with him. Do I regret the sex? No. I regret the relationship. At the same time, I want to grab hold of the relationship so tightly that I can't let go and close my eyes and imagine that the rest of the universe has disapeared. Douglas Adams once suggested that the entire universe can be examined through the measurement of a slice of fairy cake. If I could, I'd make that guy my slice of fairy cake.

Of course, that has three significant drawbacks. First, as my first sorta relationship taught me, these things are like snowflakes and holding them too tightly will make them melt away so quickly. Second, it's not healthy to withdraw from the world. Third, I don't know that this relationship has a long future. I try to imagine pushing it out in the future, and I just don't see it.

Perhaps the relationship would be simpler without sex, if it was a girl instead of a guy. Or perhaps I just need both at the same time, without overlap. Or I need to find it one person at the same time.

Another Extended Update On Me

So I finally did it. Tuesday I let my boss at work know that I'm only going to be in town for a few more weeks. After that I'm going to go to London and Ireland for a couple of weeks, and after that I'm going to going to move to New York.

Wow. New York. I'm going to make it happen this time. No more neck injuries.

Yeah, I've been terribly nervous about all of this. I was nervous about quitting right up until the point where I walked into my boss's office and the first thing out of his mouth was "Are you leaving us?" Uh . . . well, yeah. I'd had a whole little speech planned, starting with the line "I just want you to know that this is by far the best job that I've ever had" but that works too.

It is the best company that I've ever worked for though. I just want to make that clear. They've treated me great here and I feel bad for leaving them. It's just that I don't want to wait around for someone above me to die of old age in order to advance. That seems to be how it's normally done here and, while I love the fact that they can keep employees for that long, I need to find something more challenging.

So yeah, I've been thinking of doing some traveling before I move. I was torn between a gay cruise or Europe, and I've opted for the ga--, no wait, I'm going to Europe. I'll be in London for the third week of July, and I'll be in Ireland after that (although I'm still working on where in Ireland I'm going to be). While in London I'm going to hook up with an online friend who is going to be attending a conference there, and hopefully I'll also see Doctorow, so that he can sign my copy of Little Brother.

Heh. It's going to be a signed first edition. Awesome.

Other than that, I figure I'll just be bumming around London and Ireland. I'll be staying near the city center in London, hopefully within walking/Tube distance of most of the interesting things to see. If anyone has any suggestions of things that I absolutely must see, let me know.

My mom actually recommended County Cork, which is apparently where my family on her side of the family is from. Perhaps I'll stop by the Blarney Stone.

Gay Pride is coming up this weekend. I did mention that Pablo broke up with me at Pride, so I'm hoping to avoid that this year. As such, I doubt that I'll be taking a date with me. I'd rather take a straight friend (incidentally, thanks so much straight friend). At least I know he won't break up with me there.

Just like usual though, as soon as I have plans to leave a place I relax to the point where I actually have some fun.

In this case, his name is Harrison. Last weekend there was a Gay Pride train ride on Saturday and a pool party on Sunday. I had a nice time on the train so I decided to go to the pool party as well.

The pool party was sort of funny. First of all, it was empty when I got there about 2:30, even though it was supposed to start at 2pm. I know that there's straight time and "gay" time ("whenever you'd have a most fabulous entrance") but the fact that there seemed to be nobody there was annoying.

Second, all of the gay guys avoided the pool. Not quite like it was acid, because they would go over and dangle their feet in, but for two hours it seemed like I was the only person willing to get in the the water. Then there were a few dark clouds and some thunder and the gay guys realized that it was now or never (or maybe they all just had a death wish) and they swarmed the pool until it was like a concrete can of sardines.

Third, I met a guy, M., on the train, and he was nice, but the more I thought about it, the less attracted to him I realized that I was. He was at the pool party, and with encouragement from sympathetic lesbians I finally nerved up and apologize for not being interested in him.

I met Harrison at the pool party. He was older, but he was older in a really cute way. Short spiky blond hair, muscles without being Schwarzenegger about it, and a pair of really cute little swim briefs. He struck up a conversation with me and I thought, hey, at the end of the day he's not going to be interested in me, but I can enjoy his attention while it lasts.

Except then it lasted for a couple of hours, even after I bashfully got out of the pool and M. arrived and I had to tell him that I wasn't interested. About a half an hour before the end of the party, I asked him if he wanted to do dinner.

He said yes.

It's odd, the last person that I can remember saying yes to dinner was B. back in college and that was a fiasco. And now I've got another thing with Harrison tonight and so I've got knots in my stomach again.

Here are the two anecdotes about Harrison that I've added to my permanent repository of stories. First, at some point he asked me to guess his age, and suggested that I'd be off by ten years. So I took a long look at him, took a guess (39ish) and then revised that up by five years.

And I was still off by more than ten years. Wow. If only I'll look so good in my fifties.

Usually people older than I am is something that I have a problem with. I've never dated or just had sex with someone more than a few years older than myself. I think the largest difference prior to this would have been A. back in Miami, who was seven years my senior. Back when I worked for the gay B&B here in Santa Fe, I got a couple of offers, but that was back when I was eighteen/nineteen, and none of them were from guys that I was attracted too.

Harrison if nothing if not physically attractive and unlike Gabe, they psycho, he has some actual personality as well. For some reason, I just don't feel uncomfortable around him.

Second little anecdote: He invited me back to his place to watch television. I acquiesced, under the impression that this was a gesture similar to inviting someone back for coffee. HD setup, 5.1 surround, all of that, but eventually I realized that he wasn't making a pass at me. He was just really interested in watching television. Uh, okay. A friend said that it was a generational difference, but really, isn't that kind invitation universally understood as a come on in the gay world.

So, here's hoping that this thing tonight goes better, and I don't mistake an invitation to watch television as a pass.

This post is already running long, so I'll make a few final comments about books and then head out. It's funny, but I haven't felt as though there has been anything to write about for days, perhaps weeks, and yet when I sit down suddenly I'm pouring what easily must be a thousand words out.

(Note: My review of the "Rainbow Boys" books was getting long, so I've split it off to here.)

I just finished Where Late the Sweet Bird Sings by Wilhelm, and I liked it. It started off a bit slow, but by the time I got to the end I understood why it needed to do that to create the emotional impact of the second and third part.

Interestingly, this is the second sci-fi book that I can clearly recall that deals with multipart humans. The first was More Than Human by Sturgeon. Where I liked Wilhelm's book I despised Sturgeons.

It has something to do with the way that the multipart humans are depicted. In Sturgeon's book, there is the powerful "head" of the group, which leads through a combination of dispassionate manipulation and a desperate need from the other parts toward him. In Wilhelm's work, the various parts are just genetically identical clones that are raised in groups. One of them seems to have a dominant personality, but they treat their fellows as extensions of themselves, while Sturgeon's characters lacked that.

True, in Where Late the Sweet Bird Sings the multipart humans have problems which eventually lead to a schism and breakup of the Miriam group and they exploit the expelled member and treat her as a non-person curiosity, but separate from her parts she regains something of the individualistic experience that her human ancestors did. I can never imagine Sturgeon's twins ever gaining the same independence.

Both instances of multipart humans consider themselves to be, well, more than human. The next stage in evolution, as it were. However, despite the fact that Wilhelm's groups exploit, enslave, and degrade humanity more than Sturgeon does, her flawed characters were also the ones that I empathized with at the end of the story. Perhaps it's just a case of better writing.

That seems to basically cover what's been going on with me recently.

Looking Back

Ah, so a while ago I realized that I'm suddenly uncomfortable posting details about my sex life on this blog. Maybe it's the first hint of realization that people actually read this blog, or perhaps it was the Beaners making fun of me over on their blog.

Well screw that. I'll talk about what I want to talk about.

So, yeah, I had sex with Pablo. Probably too soon, so he pulled away and that's why we broke up. I'm starting to realize why people "take it slow," because that gives them a fairly good excuse to break it off with someone that they've slept with too soon.

I don't really like that explanation. It's dishonest almost to the point of stupidity. It's almost like someone has to prove that they aren't an adult before they'll be considered worthy of a long term relationship.

Right, so he ended up pulling away, and I was sort of ticked. I could have "taken a break" or something, but the fact that we didn't really talk about it ticked me off. Every time I saw him I . . . er . . . got worked up, and then nothing would happen.

I've mentioned this to a couple of people, but he broke up with me at Gay Pride which sucked. S. said that it was like breaking up with someone at prom, which I agree with, but I was about to deliver an ultimatum as well. Either he had to have a sex with me, or I was going to drop him. So he dropped me first, but it wasn't like I wasn't already mentally preparing for it.

And, er, yeah. I would have cheated on him. Either sooner or later. He just wasn't a physical person, and I haven't lived through my "slut phase" (as Thomas so quaintly put it) yet. I need a physical relationship, if I'm going to be in a relationship right now.

I really need more practice at this whole sex thing, and especially in the long term. Of course, I'm already 25. It feels like I'm already out of time to be learning new things. I'm worried that people are going to just expect me to know things that I have no way of knowing.

I Am Really Uncomfortable

When, or more accurately if, you see this post, you can be sure that it wasn't written on the listed date. It will either have been moved forward or backward to mask where and when I am and who the other person involved is.

I met this guy at work, and he seemed like a nice enough guy. We didn't really get to know each other right away, but a few weeks ago I had an opportunity to spend some time with him outside of the normal course of my job and so I did. I've always been too quite and shy, and I'm always talking about how I need to get out more.

So I ended up going over to his house and we watched a movie. He was just so amazingly nice although I wasn't all that physically attracted to him at first. Still, last week I went back again and we played video games, watched another movie, and talked until 3 a.m. about the stuff that two gay guys talk about until 3 a.m.

The next day I was thinking about it, and I decided I like him. Maybe not enough for a serious relationship, but definitely enough for some fooling around. Cause, let's face it, I don't have nearly enough sex.

So I mention this to him the next time and he's sort of happy and strangely muted at the same time. I knew that he liked me, but his previous relationships were all long term committed relationships (the shortest that I knew of was 1 1/2 years), and I wasn't sure he was the kind of guy that would be up for fooling around outside of a dating relationship. He basically told me that he had to consider it.

Yesterday, I went over again. We watched another movie, we played some video games, and after that it was about midnight but I still didn't want to leave so we went out to eat, came back, and watched another movie, during the ending of which we started making out. Okay, this seemed to be a consent. He was interested, he was willing to fool around without a relationship, and great, I really wanted it to happen.

Then he pulls away from me and tells me that he's HIV positive.

My first reaction was just confusion. I couldn't figure out if I'd heard him correctly but when I played it over and over in my head that's what he said. Straight out and clearly. So then I couldn't figure out what my reaction should be. There's this gut reaction when you've been swapping spit with someone with a communicative incurable disease to just run, but I couldn't do that. He shouldn't have to deal with my irrational fear.

Besides, I know this disease and letting my fear get the best of me is pointless. If I could catch it from kissing him, which is highly unlikely anyway, then the damage it done. I'll get a test in a few weeks, and another at the 3 month mark when the antibodies would have shown up.

So, at this point I'm quickly weighing massive amounts of probabilities in my head. What factors influence seroconversion? Do I have any cuts in my mouth or on my skin? Does he? How much exposure have I had and is there anything that I can do to further limit my chances of transmission?

Somewhere, something deep inside my head calculated the risk of protected sex with him despite the fact that I knew he was HIV positive.

I didn't have sex with him though. Thankfully something in my head was working properly. I didn't run either, which would have been something that I would have beaten myself up over later. I mean, he told me, and that's something that I have to respect. I can't imagine how hard it is to admit that you're HIV positive to a guy you like.

We sat around and talked about it, about how it happened, how he found out about it, and what it meant to his life. The thing that he was most scarred of was infecting someone else, and I can understand that. After all, one of the worst "sins" that can be committed in my own little personal version of secular humanism is harming others.

Eventually I told him that we'd still be friends, that I was coming back next week to play more video games, and that I was happy that he'd told me. Then I went home, and spent three hours shaking in my chair, freaking out which trying to take my mind off what had happened. Even now, the day afterward, my chest is painfully tight and my stomach is churning.

I don't think that I'm infected. I don't think so, and I hope so. If I was religious, I'd even pray so. I can't convince my body of that though.

Update: I took a few weeks for my stomach to settle down. At this point, whether I have had sex with this guy depends on what your definition of "is" is. Yeah, you all know that reference.

Safe? Absolutely. As safe as I can possibly be, but eventually when it came down to it I decided that I like him more than I'm afraid of him. That sort of freaks me out, but it's an undeniable compulsion as well.

Update: I got my test results back. I'm negative, which is a relief, but my body still isn't catching up to my intellectual awareness. I've got a headache. Where I am with him, though, I don't know. I think he's terrified more of the fact that I'd be willing to see him when I know he's positive, and I'm not sure he wants to see me any more.

This is a tough one, but this is the end of the story.

Pablo's Gone

Not that I wasn't sort of expecting it. Uhg. I don't feel well though.

Slow Down

Uhg. The guy that I'm currently seeing has determined that we were rushing things, and has decided that we need to slow down.

This does not please me because it means that for the last three weeks or so, we haven't really seen each other. We also haven't had sex in three weeks.

I'm sitting here, thinking to myself, when does slow down mean completely stop?

I'm wondering if I'm in the process of being dumped, or if he's trying to get me to dump him. I don't really want to do either, but I'm worried that I'm not reading him correctly.

Tonight, he did come over for dinner, which was nice. Not nice enough though.

Dates? Like the Fruit?

So, I met this guy. On Myspace, of course, just so that I can feel a little bad about it. He had an interesting picture, and he put up a few things that were really interesting about himself.

So we met at Book Mountain, and then we walked over to a nearby coffee shop. We talked for a while, and he was interesting and attractive. So, despite the bad weather, we shared a kiss on the side of Cerrillos road.

I've seen him a few times since then. A few dinners, a lunch of sushi in the park.

I think I might be sort of seeing him. As in . . . a relationship. I know, really strange, right? Totally unlike me.

Granted, I did sort of overexert myself on Monday evening. Tuesday I was so sore that I had to leave work early.

This is, needless to say, very strange to me, but very nice as well.

Thunder & Lightning

I'm going to miss the thunderstorms here. I can see the sky for forty miles or more behind my house. It's getting to be summer again, and I forgot how breathtaking the sky here is.

Yeah, they're destroying the skyline behind my house, but the sky is something they can't touch . . . for now.

I don't know why, but the area behind my house is the perfect breeding ground for thunderstorms. They boil up, filling the Southern sky with dark clouds, and then they sit there, throwing out bolt after bolt of electricity. Sometimes they look like they strike the ground, most of the time they don't. They flicker across miles and miles of sky from one point to another, writhing in white light over miles.

At night it's especially impressive because as the bolts flash they peel back layers of clouds revealing the towering structures floating in the sky. The special effects nebulae from Star Trek must have been inspired by the NM sky and they don't come close to the beauty that you can see revealed by the lightning.

Years ago, there was a night when my mom woke me up, got me a blanket, and we went out to the back porch and watched the thunderstorms. It usually doesn't rain here when the thunderstorms are going on so we sat warm and dry and watched the most amazing show from the back porch.

It's raining right now. It's been a wet winter and I think it's been a wet summer as well. This is going to be one of those summers where the fields have that rare tinge of green to them. Usually they're just brown and yellow but once every ten years or so we have a wet summer and the flowers finally bloom like crazy.

Another thing: New Mexico doesn't rot. When I lived out East, there was this smell of something that has been wet for weeks. Finally the fungus moves in and whatever it is, even machines or living plants, begins to smell like garbage.

New Mexico is too dry. Whenever it rains, the ground is so thirsty that it just slurps up whatever water it can touch. So whenever it rains, you get that delicious ozone smell of rain. If I could bottle that, I'd make a fortune.

It's past midnight here. My birthday is in four days. That's so odd. It feels like it was just a couple of months ago. I don't have anything to do. Last year I met a boy and we went out for drinks on my birthday. He was a jerk, but I think I'd like to do something like that again. Maybe I'll drag Stephanie out for drinks or something. I could always get a beautiful hotel room and spend the night in ABQ, right? It would have to be Saturday, because my birthday's on Sunday.

Hmmm. . . that's an idea.

The Lightning is still going, but it's further away than it was when I started this. The noise is a slow rumbling way off in the distance instead of the sharp crack of sound nearby.

I hope tonight I can go to sleep with the noise of the rain.

Physically

Slightly stronger than usual language warning. No family members, please.

What do I like?

I do have a thing for blondes. Not the white blonde, but the sandy blonde that’s closer to light brown than to yellow.

I’ve never liked long hair either. Even if it’s over the ears, that’s too long for me. Someone once said told me that they like long hair on guys because it gives them something to grab onto during sex. What? If you’re planning to pull on my hair while we’re fucking, you’re crazy.

Fabio became super famous selling romance novel covers. I’ve never seen the attraction, personally. The hair is long, limp, and much too feminine. I once told Elliot that I was gay because I prefer men, not because I prefer women with penises.

I am attracted to muscles though. I’ve always wanted to be in shape, but I can’t just do it. So, when I look at someone that looks like they stepped out of a Calvin Klein ad (and got a haircut) I respect the part of them that is significantly better than I am.

Body builder big is usually too big for me though. There are always extremes that turn me off, but John Cena is still hot, and that’s about as far as it goes. Arnold Schwarzenegger is his glory days was disturbing, not attractive.

Everyone is self-centric. We all are, to some extent. It makes us human. One of the principles of feminism, racial tolerance and even gay rights is that we should recognize when people are assuming that they represent anything.

Someone (straight) once told me that hey, he didn’t mind if I liked guys, but that everyone pretty much acknowledged that womens’ bodies are more aesthetically pleasing than mens’. What? I don’t agree at all.

Starting with the perfect legs, strong and curved along back to create this statuesque limb, up to the dimpled ass. The lines around a six pack are absolutely unmatchable on a female, especially the V running over the hips on a very athletic man. Then there’s the back. Curls of muscle running taunt under flawless skin creating an incomparable canvas.

Some gay guys like a woman’s breasts. I don’t. They’re sacks of flesh to me, and I think they’re about as attractive as rolls of fat. On the other side, men with muscled chests have the most amazing block of pectorals. The curves there are solid and strong, not bouncy, and I have no idea why straight guys don’t see it the way I do.

Obviously, from the comment about Cena earlier, I like broad necks, especially if you can see the clean lines that connect to the shoulders. No Cardassians allowed.

There are certain faces that I like, and some that I don’t like. Strong chins, great brows, and phenomenal skin are all great, but there isn’t a magic formula on faces for me. It’s rarely a deal breaker, or the clincher.

Altogether, when a guy moves, it flows like a perfect flowing line along a blank canvas. It’s a practiced and pitch-perfect sonata. When Michael Phelps swims, that’s poetry. When Jake from college jogged outside my building, that’s a Picasso.

I was going to point to a specific person that I really think is perfect . . . but I actually can’t think of one. Maybe Jeremy Penn the porn star five years ago. Mason Wyler four years older than he is now. Dan Wells, if he was my age. They’re about as close to physical perfection as I can think of, but there are different kinds of perfection.

Yes, I realize that all this makes me shallow. Haven’t you realized that by now?

Mentally

What do I like?

Religion and politics very much interest me. I’m not going to pretend that I don’t have strong views on the matter, because I obviously do. I think that it is more important to be earnest in your choices than to completely agree with me.

We need to be able to talk about that stuff though, and that’s a lot easier to do if you agree with someone. If we’re going to date, I need to be able to talk to you about things that interest me. Can you defend your religious beliefs without attacking mine? Do you understand the implications of military actions in the Mid East? Great, let’s sit around sometimes and just talk.

That’s part of my ideal, someone that I can curl up next to and talk with.

Another thing, I’m a geek and I’m proud of it. I play D&D, and read and write science fiction. You don’t have to love it as much as I do, but it would help if you’ve watched a couple of Star Treks before. Oh, and you’ll have to give me a night off once a week so that I can run my D&D campaign. You know how hard it is to schedule those things? It would be awesome if you actually played with me. DM’s boyfriend is a really great feat to have.

I have a really twisted sense of humor, too. You have to understand that sometimes I’ll say something to try to make a joke, and it doesn’t come out right. If I tell you that I was trying to make a joke, you have to believe me, even if you didn’t get the joke. Trust me, that’s not your problem, it’s mine.

I love guys that can mix smart humor with sex humor. That’s a trait I picked up on MIF. We used to switch between music and sex talk line to line, and I’d love to find someone else that keep up with a mixed conversation with a good sense of humor.

Right, occasionally I need some time alone. On the computer, or drawing. I understand if you need that too, but I don’t always recognize the need, so you have to tell me. I won’t be angry if you at least tell me.

Having a guy that would hold my hand in the street would be nice too, but not required. I don’t mind getting kicked off American Airline flights from time to time.

Finally, I don’t mind if you drink . . . but I don’t know if I can deal with the drunk accusing phone calls on date nights. I don’t think that I’m quite as drama oriented as my blog makes me out to be, and I just don’t like people that are bitchy and insecure when they drink. Oh, and since it’s come up before, I’m not that fond of people that do cocaine, usually.

The only deal breaker is that, at least occasionally, you have to be nice to me without feeling sorry for me. Maybe because I can’t always be nice to myself.

Weddings

As I start this, I’m several thousand feet above West Texas, on my way back from New York. I had a blissful time at the wedding, but it convinced me that some part of me must be a Jewish girl.

On Saturday, I spend some time with M. and her friends S. and A. in their apartment in a very, very Jewish section of the city. We basically just sat around and traded stories while M. tried on a few of the dresses that she’d picked up for the wedding and did a fashion show for us.

Actually, I thought she looked good in all of them, and I didn’t hesitate to tell her so, even though I had no idea how really attractive M. was until I saw her with her hair done for the wedding. Then, at the wedding proper, I spent most of my time with M. and Amy. As a fegala goyim, I felt like I had about as much place as M. and Amy in the men’s room, but it doesn’t change the fact that I seem to get along great with the tribal girls.

Like I said: some part of me is a Jewish girl.

This was my first orthodox wedding, but I haven’t been to many weddings so I don’t exactly know how much comparison I can bring to it. I went to one in Oregon when I stayed with my Grandmother on my father’s side. A cousin’s wedding in upstate NY, and another in central California. Oh, and Mike’s wedding in Albuquerque. So maybe five total, although I’ll parlay knowledge of various customs into knowledgeable sounding pronouncements whenever I have something to say.

The entire thing was very interesting, from the limo ride to the wedding in the morning, to the signing of the tsuba in the men’s room, and relative silence of the actual ceremony. Maybe I’m sensitive, but the lack of preaching was odd to me. Both of the religious Christian weddings used their time to evangelize to the gathered disciples. If it happened at this wedding, it must have been directly to the bride and groom when the microphones were turned off. I may not have felt out of place in the men’s room, and I certainly didn’t know the tunes or where I was supposed to go, but the ceremony itself didn’t make me feel bad to be a non-Jew. I spent more time thinking about Elliot and A.’s wedding than thinking through the theological justifications of twisting Pauline Christianity to fit a wedding, and that’s a good thing.

So, wow. I’d never been to a 500+ person wedding before. I’ve been to a big wedding before, but this was like being involved in something presidential. Some of the other groomsmen and I couldn’t help but to speculate what it cost to put it on, but I have no point of reference.

Oh, right, that’s another thing, I got to see Mark, Benjy and Julian again. I still don’t know if Julian was mad about the whole “You’re not my friend thing” from Miami (and if he is, I’m so sorry about it that I still remember it), but I was happy to see Mark and Benjy again, and meet the rest of Elliot’s inner circle. I had heard stories about them for years, and even now when I talk to Elliot, it helps me understand who he is to meet them. That and Bender is really cute, followed closely by Uri. Sorry Mark, I gotta love you, but you’re just not my type.

(Not that I would ever do anything along those lines. It would be like fooling around with an extended family member that I only see every couple of years.)

Incidentally, there do seem to be a lot of Jewish guys that are my type, without actually being, you know, “my type.” I’m sure one of the cute, successful Jewish boys at the wedding was (cough) my type of guy. Then again, there were some cute waiters too. Maybe that’s the whole “I’m not getting any” itch talking and not any kind of gaydar. Actually, Elliot’s always been more perceptive on that than I am, which drives me nuts. He doesn’t even need it.

On a slightly less shallow and creepy note, I don’t think that my toast sucked. I skipped this entire beginning section about how my Hebrew wasn’t that good (wink, wink) so please bear with me, but I also don’t think my weak kneed performance sounded careless either. And, no, I was never planning to actually tell any Miami stories. What could I say in front of all those distinguished guests (and Elliot’s rabbi)? That I was more worried about people thinking that you were gay than you were so I used to make sure to say we weren’t a couple? Or maybe about your favorite thing to do when running on the beach (“How many today?” “Fifty-four unique pairs.”)?

The only story that I could think of that would have been even vaguely appropriate would have been a slightly edited version of the Britney Spears story. Let’s see, it would have gone something like: You went to visit your Mom, Britney was a few beach chairs down. Your mom suggested asked why you didn’t go for you, and you say something to the effect of “She’s not nearly good enough for me.”

There’s be a laugh, and I’d get to create one of those great rejoinders about how you were right, and that I’m happy that you did finally find someone special enough in A.

At the time though, I couldn’t justify comparing A. to Britney. A. is simply to beautiful, respectable, and cultured (and that’s not exaggerated because she might be reading this). Drawing any comparison would have left a bad taste in my mouth, even with the quip at the end. Still, if you ever have a question, A., remember, this is the guy that refused to even pursue Britney Spears back when she was actually vaguely attractive. Elliot has always had impeccable taste.

Anyway, I wanted you to know that I put at least some actual thought into the toast. I just couldn’t get it out, and still manage the l’chaims. I think the reason I forgot the mental section was that I was saying “l’chaim, l’chaim, l’chaim” over and over to myself so I could pronounce it correctly. Or, at least that’s the story that I’ll stick to in the future if someone asks.

I overdid it dancing. I have some tests for my neck injury tomorrow, otherwise I would spend the next day (and probably week) in bed. But with hits like Dancing Queen and It’s Raining Men, how could I refuse?

Actually, I did get some nice slow dances with M. and A. With the broken neck, there we my speed, although I would have loved to try a few more of the faster dances. No one expects you to dance very well at weddings, and it’s a great time for me to make a total flailing idiot of myself without anyone being able to say anything.

I said something about getting up off my death bed to be there, and now after the fact, that still holds true. It was so nice to be doing something fun with real friends. It was by far the best thing that’s happened to me in the last three months.

So, the official wedding kitup is in my bag, and when I get home I plan on keeping it with the garter I caught at Mike’s wedding. I figure it’s a good way to keep my memories of good weddings all in one place.

Ah, right, one final point: flying sucks. You get there on time and they change the flights around on you. I’m not supposed to be doing wind sprints through secure areas with a broken neck.

Hunter or Hunted

So, the first psuedo relationship that I had, aparently I was overwhelming the guy that I was psuedo-seeing. I wanted to hang out with him, I wanted to know how he lived, I wanted to spend time with his friends.

Within about a month of our first date, we fought over me spending too much time with him twice, and then we psuedo-broke up from our psuedo-relationship.

So, then with my second relationship, I tried to stand off and not spend all of my time with the guy, but then he was upset and told me that I didn't want to be seeing him. Which wasn't true at the time, but about an hour later, when I called his phone and he had one of his friends blow me off, that's about when I started not wanting to see him any more.

Which brings me to this week's duality, whether to be hunter or the hunted.

I would much rather be hunted. Even if I say no, I would like to know that someone out there is paying attention to me. It's nice to feel wanted.

Except, what pursues me when I'm hunted is . . . always the same. Bad lines, nothing to back them up. I don't care about intelligence necessarily, because I bring enough of that to the table for both of us.

But dedication is something that I find amazing, and the dedication to take care of one's self is the sexiest thing, because I don't have it.

So, yes. I'm shallow. I care about the way guys look.

Neither of the guys that I mentioned above were gym bunnies. They were just normal guys, and I'm okay with that. But if you ask me what I like, I'm going to point to the jocks. That is what I like.

Someone once said that our tastes are influenced by our aculturation, and those sort of people would probably just sneer and say that:

1) I'm shallow, which I've already admitted to.

2) I've been influenced by Falcon and Jet Set and Bel Ami.

Which I may have been, but regardless of whether I've been influenced by the porn I watch, I like jocks. Argue with me all you want, but I like jocks, and you're not going to change my mind.

All of this talk about porn has a point. I act nearly predatory toward those kinds of guys, but really, it's just a sort of counterpoint to the way that straight guys act toward women. I don't actually chase them. My lack of sexual experience, and lack thereof, testifies to that.

Anyway, that's all beside the point. I like to be chased. I like being approached. That's what I'm down to now: You tell me. I'll be happy to spend all of my time with you, or not, but you have to actually tell me now, because aparently I can't read the clues.

Just so you know.

Wants vs. Needs

Issue 1:

I want for one of my best friends to not be dating my other best friend's girlfriend. Especially since it destroys what small fragment of a social life that I had left. I want to know if at any point I could have made things better, or if I did make things worse.

I need to be able to figure this out in a way where everyone isn't fighting again, and so that they'll talk and forgive.

Issue 2:

I need to move to go somewhere and do something.

I want to move to NYC and work at a beautiful hotel as an assistant manager while I write in the evenings. Or to Miami Beach (and do the same thing). I don't have enough money to do anything of the kind, but staying here doesn't seem like it's going anywhere. I could stay with E., but he's getting married. Yarg.

Issue 3:

I need to get into shape.

Okay, that's a lie. I want to get into shape. Kevin says he should be a personal trainer, and I wish I had enough money to hire him. I'm afraid if I say anything else, it will destory the semi-self improvement kick that I've been on recently.

Issue 4:

I wish I was published. I'm a writer, dammit, and I don't have a magazine article to my name. I need to do something or other. Publishing a book (or books) would be preferable, but publishing a movie review would be acceptable.

Issue 5:

As pointed out in issue 2, I'm leaving, and that usually means that I'm going to meet someone for some sort of relationship so that I can painfully break up with them (or at least the idea of them) right before I go. I'd like this person to be smart, funny, and a D&D player that looks like Mason Wyler. Realistically, I'd take someone that won't freak out about the fact that I'm leaving.

There's a to-do list in there somewhere (in order of screwed up wish fufillment priority):

1. Get published.
2. Get in shape.
3. Date.
4. Buy a wedding present and move to New York.
5. Play D&D. Somehow.