The Lucky Bastard...

I love Matt from Debriefing the Boys. Really, I do.

He was one of the two initial blogs that opened my eyes to the world I was missing out on...he gave a sense of actual reality in a position that I could identify with. I mean, all that 'time' ago, I still couldn't believe that people actually got to experience the things I'd only fantasized about. Or seen in porn movies.

But there are times, even today, when his nearly perfect life makes me want to scream. Not to undermine his pain and suffering discovering his sexuality and coming out, but that boy has horseshoes up his ass (among possible other things). I used to think I could never have what he had, way back when. Now I still think I can never have what he gets.

His latest story about the college soccer player, for instance, drives me mad. How does someone on vacation with his family pick up a nearly-straight soccer player who professes Matt will be his second male-male experience? I mean, come on! This is practically porn-quality plot material here. This can't be happening!

And to ice the cake, the way he describes the experience. "Nervous. Love it!" Good Lord man, how many boys do you nearly-deflower a month? If I'd just picked someone up , I probably would devote 2000 words to the experience...

The question is, what makes this happen? Is this a 'normal' experience for an out gay 20-something? Or does this happen only to the rich, beautiful playboys as dear Matt appears at times to be?

Part of what drives me crazy about stories like this is how completely unattainable they seem to be to me. Way back when, I'd read things like this about far more mundane encounters and feel that I would never be able to achieve the same results, and would feel a mixed sense of misery, jealousy and disbelief. After all, to the guy who lives in small-town-bum-fuck-nowhere, it seems like pure fiction that this stuff actually happens.

Even today, looking at the most recent story, I feel the same inadequacies I did back then. I can never see this happening to me, having this sort of encounter at any time, much less on vacation in the fabulous sun and sand. Now I know we don't have the gory details about the who and the why and the how, but still to the 'average' person, this seems like a nearly impossible thing.

Or is it just me?

The most annoying part of it all is, Matt seems like a genuinely amazing person, with brains and a good heart. He doesn't run his mouth about how hot he is, or how men fall at his feet...yet every so often we're treated to stories such as these.

Sometimes I think that people are just lucky like he seems to be. Other times I feel like some are just cut out for this, while others watch from the sidelines. It scares me, because while in principal I want to have the same things happen to me, I'm just not sure if I'm the one meant for it to happen to.

So Matt, hats off to you. Really, you should write some sort of how-to manual for us other guys who only get what you have in their fantasies. As I said, the hardest part of this to take is the knowledge that you're a bright, caring, loving individual, who also happens to have some number of pheromone-producing horseshoes up his ass.

What to do next...

I finally finished my essay writing, and now am once again free.

Not that it really kept me from doing anything to begin with. I'd get up, do nothing until I felt awake enough, then sit in front of my computer randomly looking at the following: CNN, BBC, porn, JSTOR research archives, porn, Microsoft Word, JSTOR and porn.

The life of a student is so fulfilling.

Every semester I promise myself to get more organized about essay writing. I'm not bad at doing the work at all, but I get very unmotivated when I actually sit down to get busy. When I'm not attempting work, my stomach stays slightly constricted and makes me aware that I have a pressing deadline to meet, and that walking around the house is not helping me research the French resistance during World War II.

So every semester, after I push the pencil as far as possible, I resign myself to the need for change. But change never happens...I think part of the reason that is, simply is because I don't know any other way. We don't get taught how to structure our time, how to research and start writing short bits weeks in advance. Besides, I never like writing the same thing that long, I much prefer to sit down and hammer it out, at least 1200 words a day. I 'spose if I even do an 'essay outline' next time, that'll help me know what the hell I'm doing.

Also, it wasn't very fun to have parents around while you're writing an essay. First time I'd experienced that, and I'm not looking to repeat it. When I'm living at school, nobody asks you several times a day how your essay is progressing...we all just complain about it, nobody needs to ask anybody. Plus I have the freedom to disappear for hours without eating, working madly while I have a creative streak.

Now that it's over, I feel at a loss for activity. Strange as it sounds, I enjoyed mentally exercising myself, and now that it's over my empty days seem even more monotonous. I live in mortal fear that I'm misusing my last month of utter freedom, but when I think, "What else should I be doing?" I draw blanks.

I had to take my paperwork to the post office, because this professor doesn't want emailed assignments...for some reason. So I got to spend $7.84 on priority mail to have it delivered by tomorrow morning. What a waste of money, considering he could get them all in his e-mail for free.

The highlight of the trip to the post office was feasting my eyes on a very cute and suspectly gay guy walking across the road from where I stood. He looked to be mid-20's, average height, light brown hair, wearing jeans (an obvious sign in these parts during summer), and a flattering green shirt that clung close to his body. I stared openly at him for several beats as he and his companion, a blonde girl, walked by. First time I've laid eyes on anyone from around here that set my gaydar flickering.

Oh, and I finished Harry Potter finally, nearly vomiting from the cliched epilogue...but whatever, Rowling is practically God, she can do whatever she wants in this world and nobody's going to complain too hard.

Well, now that that excitement's over...

Ways of the world...

I'll openly admit that I have the dating skills of a 15-year-old.

That would be the fault of several things...one of which would be my sexuality and being closeted. Almost my entire high school career was spent single, save for the actual girlfriend at age 15, and the short list of failed romances that followed. Even my one mildly successful 'relationship' with Brian was short-lived and not all together instructional.

So with all of this inexperience I don't know 'the rules' of dating. I don't even understand the mentality of the process. To me, my friend's have all fallen for other friends, and relationships grew over time. Very few people picked up phone numbers after a night out and followed through with them. It's all been very high school-esque, nowhere near the glitz of the fateful 'Hollywood meeting' between two people, or the sordid, lust-infused grinding between two bodies on a dance floor.

Though I'm sure some object to the idea, I would like to start dating when I get back to school in September. I'm not rushing out to find the first warm body, but it's something that I genuinely would like to pursue. All around me I see people who's happiness is multiplied by 'having someone', and after having a taste of it what seems like years ago I know that there is so much to life I'm missing. And it's not just sex. It's having someone's arms around you, and the touch and connection you can only get in a 'romantic' relationship.

So I've been occasionally checking out online profiles of people in Toronto, to see what the market is like for guys around my age. What I've noticed is a growing trend of egotistic guys who believe they are a gift to you, and not vice versa.

I understand where this comes from. People don't want to be treated like garbage, and probably having bad past experiences where they were not appreciated as much as they would have wanted, they put up the disclaimers to scare off the users and undesirables.

People build themselves up, they're "amazing, talented, sexy..." etc. As I flipped through a few of them, I would find one that looked attractive and read the profile. By the time I had finished, I was overcome with the feeling that I should be only so lucky to have the pleasure of his company.

Then I realized that it's a two-way street.

These guys, who are demanding such approval before they even meet their date, amaze me. Sure, they may be the most amazing person on earth, but what about the guy that's getting in touch with them? There's a whole second person who deserves as much respect as the person who is demanding it in their profile.

So does everyone enter the dating game with such an attitude? I would think that dating would quickly get narrowed down if people think so highly of themselves and set out parameters for their adoration so early on. Or is this something that people just erect as a smoke screen, something that builds confidence and helps protect them.

And do I need to approach life with the attitude, "Hey, you're lucky you know me, because I'm just that damn good!"

It came!...

The storied Harry Potter book arrived in the mail on Tuesday morning.

Seems my frustrations were more-or-less unfounded, but I was under the impression it wasn't going to arrive for a week or more. After spending half and hour on hold with Indigo, I finally got to speak with someone.

"I was wondering about my order, I placed it a long time ago and it looks like it hasn't shipped yet..."

The girl paused a moment, dread creeping into her voice. "Is this about Harry Potter?"

As it turns out, shipping went according to my plan, and I should have received it Monday morning. Because of the huge number of copies shipped, there was a slight breakdown in the system (not used to handling such a volume of books at once) and it took the extra day to reach me.

On top of that, they just stopped updating peoples orders online, so nobody had any idea if/when their book had shipped. "Do you know how much time it would take to update everyone's information?" the girl scoffed.

Oh, excuse me...I thought this was the information age...

Anyway I'm about halfway through, which is preposterous since I've had it two whole days. But I've only had the chance to sit down a few times and delve into it. So far it's very good, and very different from the other novels in the series. Hopefully I'll be done this weekend, but I've also been working on two essays for my trip to France that have to be handed in August 1st. Sadly they take (some) precedence over Harry Potter.

Thank you for all who were concerned about my mental well being during this time of crisis.

Sonofabitch...

It is Monday, July 23.

This is the third day the new Harry Potter book has been available.

My copy was ordered June 15.

It has still not arrived.

Shitty.

I'm now faced with the ever-growing threat of finding out what happens before I actually get to read it. Several friends have already finished it, or are well on their way to doing so. And I haven't even gotten my copy yet.

Now I curse Indigo Books, the Canadian version of Barnes & Noble, because they have failed me. The reasoning for my anger is twofold. I ordered two books, both of which had not been 'published' when I placed the order. The other title was 'Lean, Mean Thirteen' by the hilarious Janet Evanovich. Shocking even to me, it arrived in my mailbox on the day of release, having been mailed a few days before. I was very pleased, and expected similar results with Harry Potter.

So this morning I waited patiently for the mailman to drive by the house. I bounded down the driveway, dizzy with anticipation. Ripping open the mailbox door, I stared in at a few bills and the local paper. No book.

Instantly I went online to check my order's status. Indigo's web page says the order is 'awaiting processing'. Whhhaaat? This was supposed to be boxed up and mailed by now!!!

The ultimate piss-off (and second reason) is the fact that I interrupted tradition by purchasing it online. For the last two books, it has been a bizarre circumstance that I was always at a friend's party on the evening of the release. One year, I mentioned that the book was going on sale, and that it'd be funny for a bunch of tipsy teens to crash the local bookstore's midnight release party to get our copies.

Even funnier, I ended up loading the car full of people to head to the bookstore. We all got our copies, but didn't start reading until the next afternoon thanks to a blinding hangover (ahh youthful indiscretion...).

So it happened that on Friday night I was at a friend's house party, with some of the very same people who picked up the other books in past years. I didn't bother saying anything since my copy was supposedly tucked into Friday's mail and would arrive this morning for my reading pleasure.

But no book has arrived.

Now I've got to censor everything from conversations with friends to my Internet surfing for fear of another "Snape kills Dumbledore!" fiasco.

Sonofabitch. I want my book!

Don't stand so close to me...

"Oh my God, Kevin!"

I turned to face him more fully, moving my head closer to hear what he was saying. The Police had just finished taking their last bows and the house lights had still not come up. I had stepped from my seat and was in a crush of people leaving the Air Canada Centre, stuck on the stairs as those closer to the exit moved to leave.

As I stood there, my eyes wandered around the crowd. I never expected to see anyone I knew, nor did I expect to see anyone that would catch my eye. I had just locked eyes with a slightly cute 30-something when his face creased into a smile.

After his initial comment, his words were lost in the crowd noise. I leaned in closer trying to hear what he was saying. I gave up.

"Sorry, I'm not Kevin," I said simply, shrugging slightly. He looked a little confused.

"You're his fucking twin then!" was all he said, and turned around to the guy standing beside him.

Part of me wishes I was more spontaneously extroverted, had asked the guy who Kevin was, and ended up actually chatting with people 'on the street'. Besides, how am I ever going to actually meet guys if I'm not a little more talkative?

Instead, the crowd began to crawl forward, and I followed them silently to the warmth of the concrete sidewalk.

Broadcasting signals...

I had the mixed fortune of passing through Huntsville yesterday evening.

As you might remember, it's our favorite vacation spot. I love the area and was glad to get to see it, even though we were literally just passing through (long story...). Through a set of circumstances, we ended up eating dinner at the Swiss Chalet just on the edge of town.

We were seated in the corner booth, but to get there we had to pass the waiters station. There stood the usual array of workers, mostly young girls with a few guys mixed in. One of the guys instantly caught my eye, he looked pretty cute, and he had the most amazing black-and-nearly-white-blond hair color. I've seen this done before, and it can look really good or really stupid, but on this guy, it fit.

I had a very good impression he was gay, bringing my total number of known homosexual youth in Huntsville to two. As we passed by, I heard him talking to one of the other waitresses. What can I say, but he had a 'gay voice'.

I mused over what it must be like to be that noticeably gay in such a small community, as I did with the guy from April. But a second thought struck me, the fact that he was noticeably gay. Not that he was wearing a pride flag or making out with a dude, but there was really no question about his orientation.

This lead to two thoughts. First, why do some people have these signals, and others don't? And second, what signals, if any, do I broadcast?

Though people may choose to embrace more gay stereotypes as they integrate themselves into the gay community, I had the feeling this guy was not playing up the gayness. It really felt like he was just being himself. What a wonderful thing, in a way, to have these more pronounced signals. Coming out would really not be a 'surprise' to family and friends, and it would make you obscenely noticeable to other gays.

Of course, there would be the inevitable downside to this trait. All through the intolerant young years of school one would probably feel more out of place than if they were simply a well-disguised closeted gay. But once you were a little older, and had a group of friends who were more mature, being yourself would be a lot less difficult.

So why is it that some people broadcast these signals so effortlessly? It goes beyond gaydar, as I have noticed by walking through the Village that many guys simply have an air about them that takes it beyond the flicker of gaydar and makes it nearly undisputed fact.

And of course, I look at myself and think, "Am I broadcasting?"

There have been comments before in previous posts when I wondered aloud if people understood my sexuality without me formally introducing it. It has been suggested that I likely had been 'figured out' by other gays. But I question, and worry, if that's the case.

I don't know how I would describe myself. I hate sports, know little about the traditional 'manly things' like plumbing and electrical wiring (though thanks to my Dad I can manage to do some things...), and don't live to tinker on my car. But I also don't read fashion magazines, wear skintight t-shirts and carry a miniature dog in a bag on my shoulder.

I do, however, use several different facial cosmetic soaps, am very particular about what shampoo and products I use, and order 136-step-non-fat-coffee-concoctions. I care about calories, would kill to actually be able to tan, and generally thoroughly enjoy the finer things in life.

So what does it all mean? Am I flying under the radar's of gays everywhere? Am I written off as too straight, dismissed because I don't fit a mould. It it not subtly obvious that I'm sleeping with guys? Or is it as clear as the Swiss Chalet waiter that I'm playing for the other team.

Characterization...

I love those moments when you don't intend to learn something, yet it sporadically falls in your lap.

Earlier, I was looking out the window, watching the rain patter onto the burnt grass and blacktop. For some reason, I wrote the words, "I am a rainy Thursday."

This in itself is nothing amazing. A few words written almost subconsciously and for no particular reason. I went away, did something else, and came back, re-reading what I had wrote.

It then started me thinking, what does this mean? What makes me a rainy Thursday. And then I started to see the light.

In many ways, I really am a rainy Thursday. I feel like a Thursday, anyway. The day before the fun chaos of the weekend breaks out, when the freedom is close enough to taste, yet an entire other day away. Thursday nights are best spent with friends and a few drinks; good times but overshadowed with the knowing you have one more day left before you're able to truly be free.

But why rainy? Because, I'm just different than most other days. Not using the usual imagery of clouds and depression, but rather the approach there are more sunny days than rainy ones. And I really feel like I do stand out from the sunny days. Hell, if a 20-year-old can recount the better part of the lyrics to the entire 'Born to Run' album, there's got to be something different about him.

Maybe someday soon, I'll move on from Thursday and become...not Friday. Fridays seem to be the times when energies run highest, when nights out drag far into the next day, where people do anything to help unwind from a weeks worth of stress. I'd take a Saturday though, with a good time in the evening and rolling around with someone in bed all morning.

Who knows. Maybe things will change someday soon.

So, what day are you?

More talking...

We always have our 'discussions' in the kitchen.

I don't really know why, probably because the layout allows us to each have our own personal space, without feeling too in each other's faces. I always stand closer to the fridge, she stands by the sink, and there's about 7 feet between us. Lots of light, too, so you can judge your words based on the look in each other's eyes.

Tonight it started over the usual, mundane things, mostly over differences in opinion in doing different household chores. More specifically, because of my new duties as house-husband, and lack of proficiency at window washing, etc. We'd gotten into it a little heavier than usual (usual being once every few months, I don't want to give the impression this is a constant thing...) and she was phrasing things with a little more emphasis than normal. I was scared, because I didn't want to push things over the limit.

So after we'd exhausted all of what was bothering us, and were standing awkwardly, wondering if we were finished, I decided to unload some of the things that have been bothering me. I waited a few beats, then explained that I've been a little run down since the Friday discussion, and hadn't realized I would feel that emotionally worked up.

We talked about things that we'd already talked about. I said how I was upset by the 'disappointed' comment, knowing that she wasn't disappointed in me per se, but that it still was hard to hear. This time it was a lot more about her feelings, less about worrying about my dad.

I don't know what to do with it any more. We've clearly made some progress, but how do I act now? Do I simply speak as if it were one of my friends, talking about some guy who I thought was cute? Or pretend as if we've really never discussed anything. I guess it's time to find new ground with this, especially since my sexuality doesn't have a lot do do with my relationship with my mother.

She also commented that she 'didn't know what she wanted me to do' now. I really couldn't answer that, other than to hope she was getting more alright with the notion and was accepting it for what it was.

One thing she's decided, "If anyone asks me if you're gay, I'm just going to say that your sexuality has nothing to do with me. It's like saying the sky is blue, nothing to do with me."

We wrapped up the conversation a little awkwardly. I hugged her, but she just stood there. "Well, I thought you were mad at me," she said. It can be so frustrating trying to explain something and having another person hung up miles behind your last point. Eventually she was more reassured, but I got the feeling she was drained from the conversation.

Each small step...

Pass...

I got to take a trip to the Ministry of Transportation yesterday.

It was 5 short years ago (holy shit, that was 5 years ago!) that I got my license. Here in Ontario, we have a graduated licensing system, so when I was 16 I wrote my G1 test and started driving with 'supervision'. The next step was 8 months later, when I did my first driving test, passing my G2. I could drive by myself with no restrictions (except no blood-alcohol count allowed).

My license expires in September, and to keep from loosing it, I had to take yet another driving test to confirm that indeed I can drive. So I got the great pleasure of doing my final road test and solidifying myself as a fully licensed driver.

I arrived well in advance, sat in my car and listened to the radio, trying to keep my mind from psyching myself out too badly. When my examiner arrived, I thought I was screwed. She was a little over 5 feet tall, short hair and a serious face, and looked to be wearing army-issue pants. In retrospect, she looked like she belonged marching across the deck of an aircraft carrier, not across a parking lot to administer a driving test.

She arrived at my window and without a smile said, "Steve, turn on your left indicator."

Well, good morning to you! And here I was thinking if I'm friendly to her, it won't be so stupidly formal.

We ran through all the lights on the car, then she got settled in to the passenger seat. A moment later and we were on our way, my hands choking the steering wheel at 10 and 2, eyes darting from mirror to road and back to mirror. Honestly, I think it's safer to drive casually rather than with such 'attentiveness', because it felt like I spent more time looking behind me than I did to see what I was driving into in front of me.

The test took far longer than expected, roughly 25 minutes. I had left the radio on it's lowest volume setting, and she didn't ask me to turn it off, which helped break the monotony of the exercise. We were driving down a quiet residential street, when a police cruiser rounded the corner in front of me and sped down the middle of the street. I got to demonstrate my keen driving skills, signaling and pulling off to the curb to let the emergency vehicle pass us by.

"That wasn't very nice of him," commented the examiner. I tried to make light of the situation, but my comment fell into an uncomfortable silence. Apparently only She may talk.

I was almost finished, when she asked me to do an emergency stop. I signaled, did the mirror check thing, and was angling myself to the curb while at the same time fumbling for the 4-way flasher knob, which is conveniently hidden under the steering wheel.

"You're going to hit the curb," was all she said.

Then it happened, just as I was rolling to a stop, my wheel tapped the side of the curb.

Shit.

"Well," she said, in the same voice she'd used the entire time. "Seems like we found ourselves in our own 'emergency'."

I nervously sucked in breath, reviewing in my mind if hitting the curb means an automatic failure or not. We resumed and finished the test. In the Test Centre lot, she pulled a sheet from her clipboard and handed it to me.

"You passed," she said, and slung herself out of the door.

I happily took my paperwork into the office, where I was informed that even though I had passed, I still have to renew my license in September, and get a new picture taken. And for the low price of $60, I could have it done that very morning, while I was dressed in rumpled clothes with three days worth of growth on my face!

Ultimately I passed on the new photo, opting to do it in August when I actually tried to look nice for it. After all, this is my usual identification, and I don't want to look like an insane, sleep deprived maniac. The way my license is right now, I look, well, 16 years old, and it's been rejected several times recently because people just don't believe I'm the same person. Well, duh, there's a big difference between a 16-year-old and a 20-year-old.

I now have to wait pensively by the mailbox for my new G license to arrive, and have my official driving career begin.

Please, let me be (maybe...)...

I think my family is trying hard to kill me.

Two afternoons ago, my mother fell over the dog. For the first time in 8 years.

Naturally, since nothing is easy and everything has to be some sort of pain in the ass, she wound up doing quite a bit of damage to herself. As she explained, it was either land on her head or her wrist...and sadly the wrist lost out against the interlock in the garden.

When it happened, she assumed it wasn't a big deal. The day wore on, I went to a friend's for a bonfire and come-out session, and collapsed into bed at 2 a.m.

Yesterday morning I was awoken by mom cracking my door open and stage-whispering my name over and over. I think my first thought was, 'Oh, fuck.' This was a little before 8 a.m., and with a few hours of sleep behind me (and not quite being over the lack of sleep since Thursday) I energetically bounded out of bed to take her to the doctors office.

The rest of the day was taken up by visits to 4 doctor's offices, with the confirmation and casting of a broken wrist. At one point, at a stop at the grocery between doctors, she was relaying the news to my dad. She then started to cry, in the middle of the frozen food's section, because this ailment puts her out of commission for the rest of the summer.

It's not as if she's whining about the pain, it's more the fact that her summer pastime as part of a woman's racing team was now going to be cut off completely. So there I stood rubbing her back in the aisle as she said how pissed she was at herself for doing such a stupid thing. I stared at her, not really knowing what to say.

We then got home where an e-mail was waiting to let her know that an acquaintance of hers from her team had died the day before. This brought on more crying and back rubbing, with her becoming very emotional and concerned over this woman's death. The entire time, I sat there trying to think of what to say, but nothing very calming or compassionate escaped my lips. After she had composed herself, I slouched into my chair and exhaled, trying to pull myself back together.

I then spent the remainder of the afternoon doing all the things I was doing when my parents were away, since she cannot now lift or otherwise move her arm. Through most of this, she followed me around changing her attitude from 'this can't be happening' to 'you're not doing that how I would...'

My father has been equally 'interesting' lately. Last night he literally followed me around the house recounting the finer points of American domestic policy in Alaska during the Second World War. I attempted a few times to either change the subject or end the conversation all together, but to no avail.

This all makes me feel guilty, because while I'm listening to the history lesson he's lecturing on I simply want to become invisible and walk away. But afterwards, I feel horrible because, after all, he's my father whom I don't get to see a lot and I should take advantage of the opportunity to spend time with him.

Still, its a fine line. I hope he's not mistaking my somewhat blank-faced stares as there being something wrong with me (though I suppose there is...), and trying even harder to engage me in conversation. But when it gets to the point where he's waiting for you to get out of the shower (on your way to bed, mind you) to talk about the thunderstorms moving further east than expected, one wants to scream.

To top it all off, I ended up checking out my Facebook and getting more great news. Remember Rez Guy? The one who wants to sleep with me, and who I was gladly going to befriend? Well, guess what he's been up to lately...apparently he is now listen in a relationship with someone. Bloody hell. I give up. One of the 'perks' I had to look forward to upon returning to Toronto has now shacked up with some guy. How dare he!

All in all, I just feel at then end of my tether. Half of me says, "Oh for Christs sake, you've got nothing to complain about, suck it up!" Then the other half thinks I have the right to, at every alternate moment, want to burst into tears and hide under my bedsheets. Being not completely self-absorbed, I have the side that feels dutiful and responsible for my parents, but it's reaching such an emotional plateau right now that I'm starting to have trouble dealing with it.

For everyone...

Lyrics that I've hearkened to coming out to your family, dedicated to everyone who's at that stage in their life... make sure you read the last post before this one...


"Well I have know you
Since you were a small boy
And your mama used to say
My boy is gonna grow up and be
Some kind of leader some day.

Then you'd turn on the radio
And sing with the singer in the band
And your mama would say to you
This isn't exactly what she had planned.

But you're a legend in your own time
A hero in the footlights
Playin tunes to fit your rhyme
But a legends only a lonely boy
When he goes home alone.

And although I know you
Still have the heart of that small boy
Well, you lend it out far too much
And no one woman loving you
Can ever tell if you've been really touched.

Then you turn on the radio
And sing with the singer in the band
And think kind of sadly to yourself
This isn't exactly what you had planned.

But you're a legend in your own time
A hero in the footlights
Playin tunes to fit your rhyme
But a legends only a lonely boy
When he goes home alone..."

legend in your own time - carly simon

That was hard...

It's been a very long and confusing few days.

It all started happening on Friday morning. I was doing my thing, getting ready to go downtown with a few friends for an overnighter at my new apartment (long story there...) and had taken some laundry downstairs where my mom was working.

She was standing at the washer, then looked over at me. I don't remember what she said before, but then she asked, "Can I ask you something that might sound silly?"

Immediately I got that gut-rush feeling, and I wondered what she was about to say.

I don't even remember what the first statement was about really, but it had basically come down to if I'd 'decided' if I was gay or not. She phrased it a little strangely, I guess avoiding the big 'G' word, asking if I'd completely given up on girls and the whole thing.

I told her honestly that I was more attracted to guys, but that I would never rule out the possibility that someday I might fall for a woman. I was a little taken back by the question, since I thought I'd made it pretty clear before that I was indeed interested in guys...you know, I thought telling her about dating one would make it pretty concrete. But she seemed to think that maybe I'd changed my mind. She said she'd been thinking a lot about it, but didn't know if she should talk about it or not. Since I always told her that she should ask me anything she went ahead with it.

The conversation flowed pretty strangely after that initial question, I can't recall what was said in what order, but the thing that really got her going was something she discovered on vacation. "People were all talking about their grandkids," she said, eyes starting to well up in tears. "I just realized I really wanted that too, someday..." And she started to cry.

I didn't know what to say. Sure, I could tell her that maybe one day I would adopt, but seeing as she thought I might have changed my mind about guys, I guessed she might not be ready for such news. I opted for the truth, that I had no intention, gay , straight or otherwise, to have children for a long time. Who knows when it would be, but it's something that I never intended for my immediate future.

"I know that, I wouldn't want you to have kids now..." she said. "But still, will you ever?"

She continued to cry, and I hugged her close. After a few minutes she got a little more composed and we kept talking about lots of stuff. She questioned my weight loss and renewed interest in my appearance as related to sexuality. She asked if anyone had hurt me, then started to cry again saying she could never stand to loose me. I hugged her again, trying to assure her nobody would hurt me.

Then she wondered who I'd told, and what their reactions were. I answered I had told almost all my close friends, and that everyone had been supportive and quite alright with it. She said it might not be a good idea to tell anyone else, because if I haven't decided if I was, "Gay or straight yet," I probably shouldn't let people get the wrong ideas. And how was I supposed to get a girl if everyone thought I was gay? I just said, as I believe, that if it were the case it would be between myself and whomever, and other people could think/say what they want, as they do naturally.

We then hit the most sensitive topic...telling my father. "Do you think we should tell him at all?" she said. Obviously, I replied, since I do plan on actually having a life, and he needs to know. "But I don't know how he'll take it...I just don't know..." she said, stifling another round of tears. I told her of course I've played through in my mind all the different things that could go really badly when telling him, how I'm terrified of his reaction. The hardest thing for me is the thought that he might not love me as much as he did the moment before I told him ever again, simply because. Then I collapsed into tears.

We stood there, in the basement with the washer door open, crying and holding on to each other. I haven't cried like that in a while, my body shaking and twitching as salt slid onto my lips. I tried to catch my breath, but couldn't stop. "Jesus," I whispered in her ear, "I'm so scared."

I asked her if she loved me still, and she answered, "Of course I love you, you should know that." I do know that. "But are you disappointed?"

She paused. "Well, yes, I mean it's not what I would have preffered..."

I don't really take offence to that. I think.

We talked a few minutes more about it, then moved on to other things. For the rest of the day I felt horrible inside, and I don't know why. I mean, here I was being pretty damn honest with her, confirming that I hadn't changed my mind, and talking about the future. But I guess it was the future part that scares me.

There are moments where I feel like pulling on the brakes and getting off this train. After talking to her, it felt like things were going to be so much harder than I had envisioned before, in all respects. How would my father react? And what about my life from here on, would I be segregated?

I also realized that afternoon that I just don't feel strong anymore. Before I had all that pent up frustration that just ended up channeling itself into inner strength. After crying my eyes out, I just didn't feel strength anymore. I'm sick of having to be the strong one in all of this. But I don't have anyone to lean on, since it's pretty clear that mom is still working through her own issues with it, and not really ready to help me.

At one point she asked if I had anyone to talk about this stuff with. I said my friends had been good about it, but no, really I didn't have any gay friends or people in my life who I talk to on a person-to-person basis. But I said I did have people. "Don't think this is weird..." I told her, "But I talk to people online. Not freaks and rapists, but bloggers and people who are in the same situations as me." Surprisingly she seemed alright with this.

I ended up recounting the story to my friends that afternoon, and had to bite my lip a few times so I wouldn't re-erupt into tears. They were good about listening, but of course couldn't offer much advice other than just being support for me.

Saturday I felt the flip side of the bizarre post-crying terror, and actually was really happy we'd had another conversation about it. I was closer to being out, and being clear that things weren't going to change. The world hadn't exploded after talking about it some more, and the ground we covered seemed to be a positive step forward. I wound up at a friend's birthday kegger in another city, so I didn't really spend any time at home until getting back Sunday night.

Today I don't know how I feel. I guess a mixture of good and bad, with the overwhelming sensation of, "Did that just happen?" thrown in for good measure. I don't know if I'm seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, or the headlights of a train barreling down at me...

Find me one of each...

I was thinking today. Where the hell am I exactly?

It feels like there's been a long period of inactivity with the whole 'coming out/growing up' thing.

Sure, I've railed on how I worry about fitting in, about meeting people and being alone. There are lots of things that scare me, worry me, keep me up at night...

But really, I need to take a step back and realize that a big part of the problem is the fact I really have no interaction with the world that I'm at times terrified of. A large part of it is the fear of that world, but the other part is the lack of any idea of actually getting into it. Basically, I need an in.

I don't really have gay friends. Anyone who I know is gay isn't really more than an acquaintance of mine, and our friendships aren't based on experiencing the gay life. Naturally for me to actually be able to grow I need to make some friends and actually start having some gay experiences.

So am I allowed to still be in that awkward stage, where I still feel so small? It's been 6 months since it all started to change, and I know that I've changed so much in that time. But at the same time, I don't feel any new changes on the horizon...I've simply stalled out. Part of the motivation for the changes 6 months ago was the stifling need for me to deal with it. My belief that things would simply happen at the right moment left me waiting and waiting, until finally in what I might look back on one day as a stupid idea took hold and I set out on this journey.

These days, there's really nothing changing. Sure, I can blame a lot of that on my location. Not being in school or in Toronto means no access to 'gay' things. But would I even be taking advantage of them if I were there in the first place? Probably not. I'd do what I've done so far, meet people online, and either satisfy myself sexually or start looking for someone who's interested in pursuing a relationship. Those are big things, and surely lots of guys are doing the same thing. But I want to grow more than that. I want to meet people, to be picked up by and go home with some hot guy who made fuck-me eyes at me across the room. I want to stumble into a situation where I find someone who's actually interested in me, and wants to give dating a try.

And how do I do all this? No idea. But I've decided I need two people in my life right now: an Old Priest and a Young Priest.

The Old Priest would satisfy my need for answers. He would be someone who's already established, who's done it all (or most of it, anyway) and wants to shed some light on what exactly goes on where. I'm talking full disclosure here, from everything on relationships and sex to where to go to sex parties, and everything in between. This mysterious figure would have no sexual interest in me, and would act as a foundation for me, someone to help me build myself on.

It goes beyond simply wanting someone to tell me flippant things about being gay. It seems like breaking into some parts of the gay world would be greatly facilitated by having someone who could explain it to me. I've been told that gay bars in Toronto are very preditorial, and honestly I wouldn't know what to do or how to deal with things if I simply went one night and saw what happened. I want someone who can coach me through these things, tell me what mysterious signs to watch for and not make me feel like a terrified 15-year-old girl.

I can't even imagine having someone like that in my life, someone who actually knows what they're doing and would be kind enough to teach me everything there is to know about the gay world. Someone who can take me by the hand, walk me through the Village and push me through the right doors.

My problem isn't that I'm leading two seperate lives, one straight and one gay. I'm simply so isolated that I can't develop anymore without opening the right doors. At the same time, I don't want to flail blindly, tossing my arms out and latching on to whatever is convenient. I don't want to be a 'low quality gay', I want to know what the hell I'm doing and how to actually get where I want to go.

The Young Priest would be someone around my age, and around my naivetay and experience level, or just slightly more. I need someone who I can actually bounce ideas off of, someone who I can do things with and go places with, and try to meet people through.

A lot of the reason I don't have gay friends lies in the vicious cycle that is the closet...I don't want to go to some gay bar and try to meet people because I don't know what the hell I'm doing, yet the logical way to meet homosexuals would be to surround yourself by them. And even so, I'm not very good at just making conversation with a stranger. How exactly do you develop a group of young gay friends?

Thats why I want to meet a Young Priest who's not all that established himself. I want someone who I can bond with based on our current position in life, and someone who wants, like me, to start developing friendships and social networks. I think even if I did meet a wonderfully connected guy, I would be too intimidated to get too friendly because he would represent everything I am not, and I would fear rejection.

Will I meet either of these figures? Probably not. Probably they don't exist, and if they do, I probably wouldn't meet them. But I realize that I need to start doing something more to push myself towards actually getting 'out there'. I don't want to be the flaming life of the party, but I do want to take advantage of some friends and some fun.

You mean...

I am being taunted by an unknown, malevolent force.

These past few days, a handful of gorgeous young guys have messaged me online. They are sexy, single, and looking for 'whatever happens.' I am instantly flattered and interested.

The one I've actually gotten around to talking to was witty, flirty, and very much my type. The conversation kicked off with us making witty remarks about the street we live on. I was instantly thinking, "Yes, this is good! Someone close by, funny, talking conversationally but flirtily..."

As we talked, he wanted to see some more pictures of me. I obliged, so did he, and (naturally) he complimented me on my cuteness. (But really, what are the chances he'll say, "Oh, you're all right I 'spose.") We chatted a bit more, and he trailed off a little. I needed to go, and he hadn't really said what he was looking for, so I asked him, hopefully.

"So, what exactly are you looking for anyway?"

"Oh, probably just sex."

I was deflated. His profile was one of those, "Want to meet new people and see what happens" types, which I read to mean possibly, but not exclusively, interested in dating. After all, if it's usually just sex someones after, they're fine with being blunt about it. So I let myself get that faint flicker of excitement at the fact that maybe someone who I did indeed find attractive and intelligent would turn out to be someone I might actually get on with, not just get off with.

But of course, since I am only human, I didn't let this show, and agreed that indeed sex would probably be pretty good. So when I get the chance I'll be getting in touch with him and "seeing where things go..."

It was just some sort of prick-tease, though more like a date-tease, as it seems the others are. Where these guys are when I'm in Toronto I'll never understand...because I'm not going to expressly turn down sexual favors in my search for someone to actually date or God forbid start seeing. It's actually laughable in a way that I'm more disappointed these guys don't want a date compared to the old-fashioned disappointment these guys don't want to sleep with me.

Either way, I am looking forward to September and the fun I may get to have then. My luck though, by then all these young hot guys will have moved away and I'll be left to my own devices...

Don't make trouble (the unintentional update)...

I like irony, but not when ironic things happen to me.

It ended up that yesterday I spent majority of the afternoon and evening with Nick. It was just standard hang-out time, very laid back, and it went by really quickly. Kinda nice, considering I don't have many straight male friends that I would spend this kind of time with.

He dropped a bit of a revelatory bomb on me, with the news that he's been dating a girl from high school for the past two weeks, and that things had been going, "Really well." I was more than a little surprised, considering some of the angsty things he'd said about women, relationships and being single. But it's great news, and whats more I actually like the girlfriend a lot.

We wound up driving through town looking for food at about 8 p.m., settling on really crappy Chinese take-out, which was one of the few things actually open. We ordered, and walked next door to a convenience store to grab a drink. Nick opted for some iced tea, I grabbed that wonderful soda known as Cherry Vanilla Diet Dr.Pepper. He looked at me once we were outside.

"You shouldn't drink that stuff," he said. "It's bad for you."

"Oh, it's not that bad, besides, I don't drink a liter every day."

"Yeah, but it's got aspartame, and it'll give you cancer," he said, worried. He looked at me and added, "Dear."

I reassured him that it was alright once in a while. Then we looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"Woah. Its like we're a couple," he laughed. In truth, it wasn't really all that out of place. When the conversation started, it was out of genuine concern, not the set-up for a joke. But when we realized how startlingly natural it was, it only made sense to point it out.

Turns out the girl he's now dating jokingly refers to us as a couple because of the stories he's told her. But the title does fit, I guess, even though it's never been that way before. So now we'll have a nice running joke, and I can tell her to back off from my boyfriend next time I see her.

As I was driving home, it felt a little spooky realizing only the day before how coupley we could be, and Nick bringing up the same thing the next day.

Don't make trouble...

I think I'm in the first phases of falling for a friend.

Of course, I've had attractions to friends before. I remember, very clearly, the first boy I ever really was in awestruck fascination with. That's a story for later, but it was someone who I had classes with, not really someone I considered to be a good friend.

Well, this time it's a little different. I blame Laura for planting the seed in my mind, but I guess it just means it was there all along. We were talking one night about who we thought might be gay from high school, and she immediately squealed, "Nick!"

I dismissed it entirely. After all, I've seen a number of times how homophobic he can be, and it's not the denial-homophobia, it's the seemingly real deal.

"You two would make a good couple," she cooed. "Are you sure he's not gay? He seems like he's the most likely candidate."

Thanks to this conversation, I found myself studying him in a different light than before. True, I thought he was cute, but never thought of him that way before. And besides, he's straight, so why would I spare more than a glance at him with those thoughts. But it persisted.

Not to mention the fact that he's been getting a little closer to me. He'll call me up sometimes and we'll spend an hour talking about whatever, or wind up going somewhere together and chatting for hours on end. During these conversations, he's opened up more to me than ever before, giving me glimpses of whats going on under the surface. It's the typical stuff, I admit, but it's rewarding to know your friendship is growing.

Tonight his band was playing some gig not too far from home, and he really wanted me to go. He even texted me a few times this afternoon to make double sure I was coming. I arrived, and he walked over and stuck out his hand, in full business-performer mode. I obliged, but put my other arm around him for a formal hug. It was a big night for him, playing for the home crowd, and I wanted to give him a boost. How giving him a hug would do that is beyond me (read: subconsciously I wanted to hug him and found a reason to), but it seemed like the right thing to do.

The set started, and I stared at him while the band got into rhythm. You know the intensity musicians get when they're doing their thing...the eyes sharpen and the facial features become more defined...and it usually does wonders for their sex appeal. Being that I already think he's cute, this was an even more pleasurable experience.

I got to thinking that indeed, we'd be good together, and how nice it would be to head home after his triumphant night and have wild sex together. Then I thought of how things would really work because he's already comfortable around me, and I around him. Then I realized that I shouldn't be thinking this kind of crap because it's beyond unproductive. At least when I daydream about fictitious individuals, or people who I'm not already friends with, it can be written off a lot easier. Not so easy when you start to put feelings onto someone you already know.

Honestly, I know it's not going anywhere. I don't lay awake at night thinking of him, or get tingles when I see his name on my caller ID. I guess it's part of my subconscious placing desire on him, in some insane attempt to have me resolve the tension of being single and lonely. But dammit, it's not going to happen, so why don't I just go back to daydreaming about fictitious guys?

While I can safely say I'm not really infatuated with him, I do have to admit that there's a pull of attraction when I see him sometimes. It's something that I'm just going to have to ignore, and realizing that it's somewhat of a mind game being played on myself makes it easier to dismiss.