"You do realize I'm gay..."

So I found a way to tell Becca today.

We had sat down to lunch, and were digging into our sandwiches when she asked me what we'd done in our Monday class she had conveniently slept in and missed.

I gave a brief recap, with the things that immediately came to mind.

"But really, I don't so much take notes for that class, I write down how many minutes he spends harping on a topic. For instance, he spent 15 minutes talking about our midterm results, even though he didn't give them back to us," I said. "Here, let me grab my notebook and we'll see what else he said.

As I was reaching into my bag, she gave me my introduction. "You just don't like him because he's a fag."

There was one of those seconds-that-feels-like-years pauses, and I looked back up across the table at her.

"You do realize I'm gay," I said, staring her straight in the eye.

The sandwich that was halfway in her mouth fell from her hands and onto the wrapper on the tabletop, followed by the chunk she'd just taken a bite out of. Her eyes bugged out a little, and she gaped at me with now-empty hands.

"Uh, NO!" she said. She whipped herself into this fluster, waving her hands and repeating, "No way, you're kidding, I didn't know!"

I smiled tightly. She calmed down a moment later.

"Oh, wow," she said. "I mean...wow. So I really don't have any straight male friends. And here I thought you were the only one."

I laughed, and reminded her of at least one guy I know is straight she hangs out with. But I had to bite my tongue and refrain from asking her about the other 'straight' guys she hangs out with...who must not be so straight after all.

"So, how's being gay?" she asked, clearly looking for a clever comeback to such bombshell news.

"Oh, you know, it's fine. I'm not the exciting kind," I said, "so there's no shameless nudity and group sex."

"Damn," she said, "see, those are the only types I know, flaming homos they are...dancing around the bar with no clothes on...I think I like you better."

"Ha," I said, "you're a lucky girl, enjoy the view when you guys are out!"

"So, tell me about your notes then..." she said, ending the gay portion of our conversation.

All I can say, definitely one of the more memorable coming-out's I've had.

Hold on to your hats...

"Jesus, I need a costume, NOW."

It was 3 this afternoon and I was walking with my friend Jones, sipping coffee and getting myself freaked out about Halloween. I'd managed to get away without a costume for the weekend, but was in desperate need of one for tomorrow.

Turns out we're having people over, and of course everyone's dressing up. I started in mid-October being a little excited for the chance of a themed party, but by last week I was in full duck-and-cover mode: pretend it's not Halloween and don't worry about not having anything to wear. Simply go to friend's place, drink, and go home minus any fancy dress.

Once it was decided that we were having people over here for part of the evening, I panicked a little. I mean, as a host, I can't not have a costume. It would just look bad. So I set out for Wal-Mart to find the cheapest piece of crap I could find.

Naturally, I couldn't find anything half-decent. There were a million of the Scream masks and capes, but nothing else really. I dug around, and came up with some elf thing from Lord of the Rings, and in my panicked state bought it.

When I got home, I held it in front of me. "I look like a fucking idiot," I said to Nina, who added that I was a 'geeky' fucking idiot. Perfect.

"I can't wear this!" I cried, as if I'm prepping for my runway dash, displaying the new D&G threads for Hallows Eve (you know, orange is very in...).

So this afternoon I resigned myself to the need to find a new, decent costume. Jones and I headed to a Halloween place he'd heard of, and we found it...along with 300 other people who were in line there.

"Shit, now what am I going to do?" I begged. He laughed and suggested paper-bag-man. I gave him a slitty-eyed look and we walked further down the street.

As we passed the windows, I gazed into what I'm assuming was an Army Surplus store of some type. The window was full of gear, soldier's uniforms, white nurse dresses, the works. And a sailor suit.

"That's it!" I shrieked, pointing towards the glass. Moments later, we were inside rooting though thousands of shirts and pants.

"Now, what exactly do sailors wear?" I asked one of the women working. She gave me a knowing grin.

"I know what you need," she said, taking me to the racks in the back. She pulled a pair of white pants, and a black tunic with white needlework, and handed them to me. "That's it," she said, her gap-toothed grin opened wide.

I held it in front of me. Then imagined how hopefully gay I'll look in it. Then imagined further being chased down the street by several cute guys wanting a piece of my sailor ass.

"Well?" she said, snapping me out of my lustful trance.

"Ahh, but the hat!" I added. Hell boys, if I'm going gay, I'm going all the way.

She led me to a stack of dixie cups, and plopped one on my head. "Good," she said. Then she grabbed me some dog tags and threw it all in a bag, and rang me through the cash.

So I'm going as a sailor. I don't know what got into me, the insane notion that I can pull this off and look sexy instead of stupid, but I'm committed now.

And hopefully the boys will agree. Later in the evening tomorrow we're venturing into the heart of the Village to the ever-popular Halloween street party, where I hope to be shamelessly hit on.

Plus, I've now got a dual-purpose costume...if I ever do wind up seeing someone, and we want to have a bit of fantasy time, I can pull out my skivvies so he can pull them off.

It happened again...

I keep running into that boy!

Today it wasn't the elevator...it was clear across town. I was walking on the street, minding my own, a fresh coffee in hand before heading to my next class. I'd taken a long walk off campus to enjoy the sun and help wake me up after an early morning of class. As I was making my way, slowly, in the direction of campus, someone entered my peripheral vision.

I was caught by his height, which I like, so I slowly shifted my head. And who greeted my gaze but Elevator Boy.

I think I opened my mouth a crack and made some feeble noise, but he didn't notice, headphone firmly planted in his ears. He must have recognized me, we were literally standing beside each other.

Seconds later, he was making headway and was feet in front of me. This is strange, because I can out-walk anyone in Toronto, yet he blew by me either in an obvious hurry or out of terror at seeing me again.

It's not fair for him to flee me so. After all, I was the one aimlessly walking on the sidewalk when he came up behind me. If he didn't recognize me until he was on top of me, he should have damn well fallen back if he felt all creepy-stalkerish.

Who knows, maybe this is just turning into a strange urban game, see where we can spot each other but avoid all contact.

And here I was...almost ready to introduce myself upon our next chance meeting, when he takes me completely off guard and screws it up.

---

I messaged Former (Gay) Best Friend the other day. Days ago, actually, after Tim basically threatened to do it for me. I tried being upbeat, and didn't mention the whole gay thing. Instead I said we should just catch up with each other, since we're both in town.

As of this moment, I still haven't heard back. I guess it's possible he didn't check his messages, but the amount of time it's taken is a little puzzling. I mean, even to just say no takes very few minutes.

Maybe he's thrown by this 'voice from the past' thing. I mean, if I were in the same position, I'd probably think about it for a few days before replying. I'm trying to remain optimistic about the whole thing, while rehearsing ways to slip in my important questions to coffee conversation.

Trashy pop...

I always love 'trashy' pop music.

I'm not talking about the new Britney single, because that's not pop. Pop is like the Beach Boys and ABBA. Vocals, catchy tunes, and that little bit of scmaltz that makes it different than 'critically acclaimed' music.

Earlier in the week, while tuning into my shower radio, I caught the last half of a song I hadn't heard before. I loved it, it had that great pop-single feel, with real instruments! Kinda rare, and I took a stab at guessing the artist...

Celine Dion.

Yup, the woman that irritated most of the world with 'My Heart Will Go On'. I'll admit, I love some of her singles. And hate the other ones. I love the pop-driven songs, like 'That's the Way It Is', or her cover of 'I Drove All Night'. I hate her songs-for-moms, like 'Because You Loved Me' and 'In Some Small Way'.

But this new single is actually catchy-assed brilliant. Hell, I may even buy the album if she's taking the turn towards more pop-vocal productions like this one.

The video makes no sense...but I never watch music videos, and the only reason I've posted it is because I want to share the song, dammit!

Happy Friday!

Pushing lit buttons...

I smiled broadly as his hand grazed my ass in the tight confines of the elevator.

Ok...not really. Like, not at all. But it'd have been nice...

The doors had just closed, and I had gotten on with a very cute guy, tall, defined features, clean-cut without being overly pretentious. I was fiddling with my iPod, trying to get myself jazzed for an 8 a.m. class without so much as even coffee in my stomach and a gray walk to school in front of me. So it was nice to see some eye candy that early in the morning.

But wait a second...I know that guy!?

By now, I was facing forward following polite elevator etiquette, so chances of looking back casually to make sure I did indeed know the guy were slim. My ears were plugged with headphones, and his were too (from memory). So it was just the two of us, in the elevator.

The doors opened in the lobby and he managed to get out first. I followed, and was treated to the view of his back. Yep, I know him.

Well, of him. Kinda one of those friend-of-a-friend acquaintances, but he's also in my program. A person I wouldn't mind at the very least saying hi to on simple, professional politeness. But after our ride down together, I decided to just shrug it off and get my ass to class.

He was walking in the direction I usually do, so I followed at a bit of a distance until the next light, where we both crossed together and continued walking. A half-block past that, I jaywalked across the street, only to have him do the exact same thing a few seconds after me. Halfway across the road he turned his head back and looked directly at me.

Oh God, he's going to think I'm stalking him. Shit! Alright, I'll just keep walking, and he's bound to turn at the next intersection.

No luck. He walked straight through, and I haplessly followed. After all, this is my route to school, dammit, and if he bloody well wants to disrupt my coffee run that's his problem.

Naturally, when we kept walking in the same path for a few minutes more, I was really starting to freak out. This guy must really think I'm stalking him!

We hit the pivotal last intersection that we should both be turning at. He did, walking on the east side. By then I needed to get some distance between us, so I crossed over and walked on the west side. Seconds later, he walked into the doors of my usual coffee shop. Thankfully I chose to just go to another one, because if I had followed him I would have looked insane.

I made it to school without further incident, and shrugged it off as a freak occurrence. What are the odds, after all, that we would walk the exact same way, stop at the exact same shop? I mean, come on, weird. I made a mental note to say hi next time I saw him, maybe on campus, and try to laugh the whole thing off.

A few weeks went by, and he happened to brush past me while I was talking to someone else on campus. He waved at her, and she called hi out to him, but he didn't stop.

"Oh, you know him?" I asked Sam. She nodded.

"He's such a sweetheart, had class with him last year," she explained.

"Heh, he lives in my building," I mumbled.

---

Last week, it happened again. The elevator doors opened, and he was standing there, iPod phones in, back against the wall. Fuck.

By the time I got in, the doors had closed, and the woman standing between the two of us was jamming her finger into the L button with a fever. I guess she was running late. We rode down in silence, me awkwardly trying to shoot him glances and wondering why I can't simply stick out my hand and say hi.

The doors opened, and I got off first, heading down the road in front of him. He was walking behind me for a little while, but after I crossed the road twice, and looked back, he had disappeared. I guess he didn't feel like a repeat performance of the last time, or turning the tables and becoming my stalker.

So what does this say about society, or just about me? I mean, it'd be nice to have someone to randomly walk with to school, if we both happened to be in the same elevator, which is seeming to happen every now and then. But I couldn't turn and introduce myself to him, even though I'm fairly certain it could alleviate a bit of my embarrassment about the whole 'stalking' walks. Then again, he made no attempt to himself.

Are we, as urban citizens, consciously trying to block each other out? To walk to our destination, surrounded by thousands of people, but with the intent of viewing them as mere scenery like trees and skyscrapers? Is it a conscious thing to put in your headphones and drown the outside world out of your head, or is it just something we're conditioned to do on the mean city streets?

I'm hoping the third time's going to be the charm, and I'll have the opportunity to say hi to my elevator buddy, even if it's just to swap names.

Gay best friend...

I entertained myself yesterday, while pretending to work, by checking out cute boys online.

I hit up some sites, just looking at who was online...reading profiles...getting really scientific, you know, really understanding what it means to be an under-30 homo...when I came across a very, very cute guy.

I'd even go so far as to say hot (and I don't use that descriptor). Think California-beach-boy, blond and blue, tall, slim and toned. Think, me in bed with California-beach-boy, blond and blue, tall, slim and toned.

And as I'm gazing into his eyes, the sudden shock of recognition began to set in. My jaw slackened, and I leaned face-first into my monitor, practically crushing my mouse in the process. I know this guy. I didn't know he was gay. He was my best friend.

It was many years ago, way back in those childhood years when your best friend was usually your mom's friend's son. My mom was good friends with his mom, and even though they didn't live too close to us (they progressively moved farther away as his father's business prospects got better) we were the traditional 'best friends'.

I still have the picture in my room of the two of us, arms around each other's shoulders, smiling toothlessly at the camera. It's cute, even though I don't really remember much of our 'hanging out' time. He is merely a memory of childhood, like so many things in the past. A picture frozen in time that gives you a warm, fuzzy feeling without quite knowing why.

Like I said, we eventually were living quite far apart from each other. I didn't really know whatever happened to them, and the years went by.

Then, out of the blue, he added me to his Facebook late in the summer. He seemed pretty pleased to have found me on there, and I couldn't help but drool over how hot he'd grown up to be. Our 'reconnection' didn't really last more than a few messages back and forth to each other. A reunion seemed unlikely, since he was at a college far outside of Toronto.

I had always toyed with the notion that my best friend from childhood was gay, part of the reason we had gotten along was the fact we both had the same vibes. A few years ago, my mom had a phone catchup with his mom, and she had mentioned how he was "A little different" and had tastes that didn't seem to fit with others his age. That always stuck with me.

Now, I don't know what to do. His profile is definitely him; not only do I recognize him in almost every picture, but I recognize his sister in one of them too. It's also rather brief and rather vague; he's looking to hang out with other chill, sane dudes. While it doesn't scream, "I'm gay," the fact that he's a man seeking a man sure does.

My instinct was to message him via the site, and alert him to the funny coincidence. But then I thought of all the factors I don't know about...is he out? Gay? Bi, curious?

He could be leader of the GLBT group at his school for all I know. Or he could be deep in the closet. Would a message like that spook him or reassure him, or ultimately mean nothing to him?

Deep-down, I guess it really doesn't matter. We're not really friends, but we were a lifetime ago. Still, there's something inside of me that wants to reach out, to understand, for the simple fact that we're two people who turned out to have a lot more in common than we ever knew.

I checked out his Facebook again after seeing his online profile, and sure enough, his "Interested In" is blank/removed, the international subtle sign for 'not straight'. He's also now living in Toronto, going to school here. I started forming a plan.

I wouldn't mind seeing the guy if for the sake of catching up and seeing how he turned out all these years later. It wouldn't be unreasonable to reach out and see if he'd be interested in having coffee, or a drink, to just chat for a few minutes and have a laugh about our childhood. So why not simply ask him on that friendly basis, and have coffee?

But of course, that doesn't address one of the major points, which would be to discover if he indeed is gay. I can't see our conversation going, "Yeah, I'm in third year, taking this and that...oh and I'm gay." Obviously I would have to play it heavily by ear, and just go with the flow of the conversation. But I would walk away rather disappointed if I was still in the dark about the whole thing.

What's most awkward about it, is the fact that it may just not come up. I mean, we're like strangers to each other, and I would doubt the first thing out of his mouth would be that he's gay. He doesn't know about me, and theoretically I wouldn't know about him; it seems like a semi-sensitive topic that he might not willingly bring up. I'd feel like an ass if I just came out and asked him about his profile, because it's pretty out of place. But something inside me is pushing to know, and to have this mystery solved.

He, of course, knows none of this. So I wonder what his reaction will be to my suggestion for meeting over coffee, "To catch up on the last 15 years."

Hardly working...

I cannot work out of a home office.

Today, because of the terrible weather and general laziness, I decided to work from home on an assignment that I needed to submit by this evening. It afforded me the luxury of being able to eat, drink, pee and otherwise attend to any needs that I may discover during the span of my working day.

This wasn't a bad idea, in principal. I've done these 'work-from-home' days before. I never go to the library to write essays or do readings. Some days I'll research from the library for easier, faster access to journals, but that's usually just to get out of the house.

Unfortunately, when one wants to procrastinate at home when one should be working, it is much easier to become distracted.

Not that I really accomplished anything fun while not working. I made tea. I turned on all the lights in the place, because it's so damn dark. I checked messages. Found something very, very interesting online (which I'll post later tonight).

Hell, I've still yet to eat lunch, and it's almost 4 p.m.

All in all, I've become frustrated with myself. I guess I should have dragged my ass out the door this morning in order to get some physical human interaction, not just messaged people randomly online.

Goes to show, I don't think I'll ever be one to have my own home office.

---

There have been a few questions about any 'progress' on the Danny front. There has been no word, for those of you who are interested. For those of you about to hit me, no, I'm not holding my breath or really moping about it anymore. Now, I have moved to moping about the fact I have two brief but failed relationships that I'll never understand. Also on the moping agenda: How can I meet boys?

The unclear answer...

Things are certainly becoming clearer, even though the answers are becoming more difficult to decipher.

Last night I broke down and messaged Danny via Facebook. I figured that was the least threatening route; not an e-mail sent directly at him, or a text message sent to his phone. A nice short, "Hey, is everything OK, haven't seen you in a while," type message, with the obligatory, "if you're free we should do something," thrown on the end.

I didn't hold my breath waiting for a reply. After all, it'd been week of avoidance on his part, why would he send anything back?

The truth was, I'd taken all I could without hearing anything. I was willing to give the benefit of the doubt, to forgive the little fact he didn't even acknowledge my Friday text message. I really needed to know if he was going to reply.

A couple hours went by, and I received a response.

"Hey, just been busy with a lot of stuff...school, work, "travel" plans...what you been up too?"

Um, excuse me? That's it? That's all?

I left it an hour, so as not to look insane, and messaged back with a semi-detailed account of my weekend and week thus far. I again asked if he was free at all this weekend.

And I still haven't gotten a reply.

---

Last night we had a pity party. I called it the "Life is Shit" night for October. We cracked open the wine, ate dinner...and needed desert.

The people in line behind me at the grocery store must have thought I was insane. Lets just say there was too much stuff to go through the express line. But we all needed a fix of chocolate, cookies, brownies...y'know, that stuff. I'm sure it looked pretty bad, but hey, everyone has these nights once in a while.

We sat, watching TV half-heartedly while interrupting the show with random tirades about our respective problems. After I'd shaken my second cosmo of the evening, I sat on the couch and reviewed my fucked up boy problems.

"I just can't do it," I said, looking off into space. "I can't handle this bullshit."

It really started to sink in that things just aren't working, at least not for me. Whereas before I've been the one dumped, I started to feel weird for deciding in my mind that things were over.

Even now, writing this, it seems strange. Nothing bad happened between us, but I'm sick of the no communication and seemingly randomness of our time together. I want more than this, I thought I implied that, both in conversation and in actions, and I haven't gotten the response I wanted.

I guess it's time I just move on.

---

I'm still waiting for that message back. We're past 24 hours now, and it's the weekend tomorrow. Why I even care anymore I don't really understand...I guess the desperate romantic part of me wants to leave the door open for him to fly into my arms and not leave.

And of course, I'm upset not only at him but with myself. How come I just can't get past this one-month mark without things turning to disaster? It's not that I need someone, because nobody does really. But I want someone. And every taste I get of having that someone leaves me wanting for more.

I'm not closing the door on Danny. If he wants to visit, fine by me. I'll still see him if he's going to make the effort to visit. But I'm closing the door on the belief that we'd become a functional couple.

That just looks like it's over.

Quiet, but not slow...

It's mid-semester, and I'm bored.

Coming back I didn't know what to expect of this year. I had hopes for making inroads in the gay department, opening the doors to new friends and generally just enjoying myself.

While I've definitely had fun, it hasn't quite been the racuous time I was hoping for. That aside, I've been damn busy it seems, and I don't know quite when I'd fit the rocous times in.

Hard to believe though that I'm almost halfway through my semester. Time seems to fly by faster and faster each year. And when I think of all the things yet to do before exams, I shake my head...hell, when I think of the things I need to do before I write some midterms...

I've been laying low this week. Everything seems to be in a funk right now. Even the weather isn't agreeable; the sun hasn't been out for a week and a half. Though I didn't realize I was outwardly mopey, Nina kept giving me looks.

"Are you sure you're OK?" she asked for the fifteenth time. It was sweet, her genuine concern, but I didn't know what to say. "Gee, not really," didn't seem to be a good answer. It actually made me feel bad thinking of her concern, because it was so sweet of her. I must have been very broodish-looking.

There is construction absoloutly everywhere. On both sides of my building projects are underway, banging and clanging and jackhammering me awake at 7 a.m. Who gets up that early!? I was hoping someone would fire a few warning shots at the workers, but so far nobody's done it yet.

What's worse, I think there is construction happening inside the building too. While I was standing the bathroom this morning, the floor was literally vibrating in accompanyment of the muted booms I kept hearing. I wonder if they're working on the unit below us too, just to further my aural enjoyment.

Like I said, the sun refuses to break through the cloud barrier. I know it's fall and all, but shouldn't there be some sunny days? I seriously wonder how S.A.D. effect people, especially living in the close quarters of a city. In certain seasons, like early winter, I don't mind when the sky is steely gray. It's usually accompanied with snow, and feels very seasonal. Fall, on the other hand, usually means cool and damp, with gray skies.

I recieved a letter from my mother yesterday, a real paper one. It was a card, and on the left pane she had written "I love you" in big letters. The note was short, basically saying that she was very proud of me and how much I'm loved. That we'll make it through to the other side. "Mistakes will be made and we will learn and survive them all."

It made me feel good, and loved, but I still didn't really know what to make of it. She didn't say anything about the gay thing. But she did I guess extend an olive branch.

Lisa is having troubles at home. As we were walking out of class, her father called her, which apparently is rare. They talked for a few minutes, and she gave me the news. I felt badly, and we of course sat and discussed it. She's supposed to be coming by tonight because she doesn't want to be alone. I hope I can help cheer her up instead of adding to her bad mood.

Like I said, I'm lying low this week. I can't seem to enjoy my quiet right now, though, because too much is always swimming through my head. But I don't feel much like being too busy right now either. Besides, studying is taking up a bit of my time at the moment.

All I'm saying...

I need to work on a segue for the, "I'm gay," revelation.

There are people who are becoming friends this semester that don't know. And even though I think they should have bloody well figured it out by now, I've gotta start saying it out loud to make sure.

Short of mentioning how cute I think the boy is who sits a few desks away, I don't know of any subtle ways to clue them in. (Though that boy is damn cute...I spent 2 hours staring at him today, and I think he was, at some point, making eye contact. That could, however, be because I was looking in his direction, as his eye contact wasn't followed through with many smiles.)

For instance, today I found myself alone with Becca after our class ended. We grabbed coffee and hit up an office supply store so I could get some more notepads. I've been wanting to mention the fact that I'm gay pretty badly, for several reason. One would be that she's got lots of gay friends, and would be accepting. Another, in that vein, is the fact she'd probably open up a little more to me knowing that I was gay.

And it seems impossible that she doesn't. I don't censor myself when I'm with that group of people, short of not saying anything about being gay.

Today I probed subtly into the situation. She had mentioned something about, "Who wouldn't want to sleep with me? I'm fabulous."

I paused. I wanted to say, "Well, me." But it seemed like that wouldn't completely paint the picture.

"Uh...homosexuals," I said. She laughed aloud.

"I just keep telling those guys, I'll be the one to turn them. They don't believe me, but I haven't tried yet," she said, shaking her head.

Her gay friends are part of the 'gay elite' at school. I hear things through her that surprise and delight me, like stories of the 'straight' frat students that wind up in the gay elite's beds. But, these guys are absolutely flamingly gay. I mean, you can see their sequins from the space shuttle. I probably don't hold a candle to them.

Then again...

We found ourselves shopping, as one does when buying coffee and paper products. I had no intention of buying anything, but I wanted to check out some Kenneth Cole and Clairborne stuff. We did the usual bitching..."Hideous!" "Disgusting." "Plaid."

Moments later, she was cooing over a Calvin Klein sweater. I thought it was pretty nice, and called it "cuteish". First she wanted to take it for herself, then decided she could give it to her boyfriend. I was taking off my jacket when she turned around to ask if I could try it on for her.

"Of course, hell, I'm in love with it," I said, pulling it on. It fit beautifully, and looked pretty damn nice. "Oh God, it's great!" I said, looking in the mirror standing beside us. "What do you think?"

"Oh, shit. It's pretty nice," she said.

"Yeah, but the sweater, or the sweater on me."

"On you, on you...Jesus," she laughed.

As she was looking down at the pile in front of her, I twirled back over the the mirror for another look. I ran my hand up and down the opposite arm, and smiled. She looked up and caught me, laughing.

"Oh, you can take it off now..."

Point is, and there was a point to that ramble, I don't know how straight she thinks I am. I mean, what straight boy goes shopping without the intent to buy anything, instead simply walking around trashing most clothes?

After our shopping trip, she walked me home. I tried desperately to think up a way to tell her, but I came up with nothing other than my standard, serious-discussion, "Can we talk about something," intro. I didn't use it, because it's not the proper situation.

I got used to telling good friends, people I've known a while. It usually went the same way every time; I never flippantly said, "Oh, I'm a homo," in passing. It just didn't happen that way, because those people always deserved the 'sit down' conversation.

Now that I'm coming out to people at school, things are casual. It's not as if every person I know needs me to sit them down for the shocking news. What happened with Joe was perfect, that segue of, "So about that dating..." led to me casually saying I'm gay. But what about friends that don't just throw me that open door?

I need some lines. Some way of guiding the conversation to that casual coming out point, without me having to just stop what I'm doing and say the two words I need to.

Help! What do you say?

Woes (Part 2)...

I thought with all the recent turmoil with my Mom, I could at least find some comfort in Danny's arms.

Considering I still haven't seen or heard from him this weekend, I'd say that didn't exactly happen.

Wednesday he surprised me by meeting me after class. We had a quick lunch and cuddled on the couch. He had just started beating me off when he said, "I have to go study for my midterm tomorrow."

"Huhhh?" I gasped. I was in the throws of thrusting in his hand when he proclaimed his need for study time. Quietly, and with a wicked smile on his face, he zipped my jeans back up.

I wasn't too bothered by this pricktease, as I immediately started thinking ahead to the weekend, when he and I would hopefully get to spend a larger chunk of time together.

"How about this..." I said, (semi) seductively. "You come by Friday night, I make dinner...then Saturday we can do something fun together, and maybe meet up with your friends like you wanted to."

He looked blankly at me. "Actually, I'm busy Friday night. And Saturday night."

"Oh," I said. At this point I was flailing for anything that would get me in the same room as him, so I suggested tagging along on his Friday night activities (which incidentally were with the same people I'd already met).

Though he didn't use these exact words, his response was something along the lines of, "Well, I don't know if I want you along."

At the time I wasn't pissed at the statement, but it irked me afterwards.

I tried a few more approaches to working something out for the weekend, but all he could come up with was, "Maybe Friday afternoon."

Friday morning I texted to see if he was coming. No response. I went on IM to see if he was awake, and he promptly signed off after I signed on. An hour later, I checked Facebook, to find his status as 'Online'.

I fumed for the better part of Friday afternoon. Thanks to his very mixed signals, I really don't know if he gives the slightest shit about me. When we're together, he's full of compliments and always says he's happy with the way things are going. When we're apart, he ignores my messages and doesn't try to work in some time for me in his otherwise not so busy days.

The funny thing is, I don't think he's playing me. He's too new and too young to be. At least, I hope, unless he's pulled the wool over my eyes, the came back and did three more passes with it. Because he just doesn't seem like a jerk.

Saturday I adopted a new attitude. I put some distance between my desire for things to work out and myself. Of course, I'd really regret if things don't work out between us, but I also know the way things are right now is not how I want to find myself in a relationship. In many ways I'd feel badly, because I don't know what he's thinking. Maybe he thinks I'm too forward right now, wanting too much from him. But since he's not a communicative guy, he never said anything like that.

And to think, I was so excited with the possibilities only mere weeks ago.

Itchy trigger finger...

So today is national 'Come Out' day. (And another two-poster day.)

And I find myself struggling with an itchy trigger finger. What's the best way to come out? Why, broadcast it over the internet!

No, I'm not revealing myself to the greater population of the world as Frozen Underwear. But I find myself more and more weighing the possibility of coming out on Facebook.

I mean, what a better way to really come out. It'd be a matter of some public record, and it would eliminate the 'who knows, who doesn't' game.

But it's also inherently flawed.

I have no problem coming out en masse to the people I know in Toronto. But I don't really like the idea of coming out in my home community, to my entire high school. In some ways, so what. I don't know these people. But in others, I just get freaked out about having the small-town gossip circulating around me, and my family.

Facebook is the ultimate gossip-creator. People watch it to see who dumps who, who's drinking where, who was seen with who...and who's gay.

That's why I hesitate. On the one hand, I feel very ready to be out. Other than hiding it from my grandparents (which is a priority, and cannot be changed), I really don't feel myself shrinking back from coming out.

But I've seen firsthand how gossip spreads amongst small-town citizens. It's not pretty...people talk in the grocery store about disappointments like gay sons.

Really, I want to be fully out. I don't even know how 'out' I am right now. If someone were to ask me, I wouldn't lie, but at the same time I'm not bringing it up in standard conversation because I want it 'off my chest'. And it feels like people only truly spread their wings when they're out on a big scale. But am I ready?

Will I ever be comfortable with the question of being out way back home? Or is that just something I will never get over. And if not, how do I come out in Toronto, in my new life here, without giving the gossip bloodhounds back home the scent of fresh blood?

Woes (Part 1)...

The ride back to Toronto was more or less uneventful, until we were 20 mintues from my place.

"You haven't said anything about me seeing someone," I said cautiously. It had been nagging me in the back of my mind for the past few days. I needed to know how she was reacting.

"Well, I'm not good with it," she said. "I just can't get used to it, I'm not happy with it."

My heart sank. Here I was thinking that things were getting better.

She went on to explain that she isn't getting comfortable with it, how I'd given her a "glimmer of hope" by saying that maybe, at some point, there would be a girl instead.

"No. I'm gay, I've explained that," I said. "I'd never close the door completely, but it's not a big attraction for me."

I tried not to get upset, but as each sentence was spoken, I got more hurt. She just doesn't understand. And neither do I. Why can't she just accept me for who I am, seven months after she found out? I told her that I haven't grown a third arm, I'm not some mutated monster.

"I know, you're not a different person. I still love you."

She said that my being gay was a choice (uh, no, it's not), then asked why I didn't just come out in highschool if I 'knew all along'.

"Because! It's called accepting it yourself, and I didn't exactly grow up in a gay-happy environment."

"I never contributed to that," she said, "never."

Also, she doesn't like flamboyant homosexuals, which apparently for some reason makes it hard to accept the truth about me. I told her even if I was flamboyant (which I'm not, she says everyone 'thinks I'm straight' even though I watch Sex and the City, drink Pinot Grigio by the gallon and have only close female friends) it would be 'who I am' and I would never apologize for it.

She said it was better that I'm not flamboyant, because she just couldn't handle it if I were.

I kept pushing the conversation because I needed to know what I can do to help move this forward. She says the biggest problem she's having right now is that my Dad doesn't know. She needs to have no secrets between them, and claims that it's tearing her apart that she can't talk about it with him. Plus, she's worried he'll be furious at her for not including him in the knowledge when I told her originally.

"It's not about you and him!" I exclaimed, "it's about him and me. That's IT."

I can't wrap my head around the fact her biggest problem right now is that my Dad doesn't know. I mean, she's worried about how he'll react towards her, whats up with that?

She then went on to demand I tell him soon, because she's almost told him three times already. She had to physically leave the room, on three different occasions, to keep from blurting it out to him.

Apparently she cries herself to sleep some nights. And tells herself every day that I'm not straight, and that I won't have the picket fence. That killed me the most, because I don't know why it's hurting so much after so much time. It's almost as if she's refusing to let go and simply start moving forward.

"I know that on the other side, we'll be fine," she said. "It's just getting there that I'm not sure about."

I suggested that maybe it was time for her to talk to someone about this, like PFLAG or another support group. We're not the support-group type of family, but she's obviously not getting anywhere by herself. And I don't know how she's going to get anywhere by talking to my Dad, because it's not like he has any answers himself I'm sure.

She refused flat out. "NO, I'm not talking to anyone. No, I'm just not doing it," she said, as if she's the only person to know about my sexuality, and we've got to keep it under wraps.

We left things very awkwardly. I just didn't know what to say, how to make her feel better, to lift weight off her shoulders. I tried to tell her it's really not that big of a deal, and that I'm happier than before, but I didn't really get that out clearly. I was just working on not crying mostly.

I had never felt so rejected in my life. That night, I understood why there's a gay community. Because when your family tries to pretend you're not gay, and tells you how they can't handle it, you have somewhere to go. I mean, up until now, I saw the community as a 'fun' thing, a safe place for gays to socalize. I now realize the serious aspect of it too.

I also realized that I had nobody to lean on right then. I talked with Laura for an hour, and she was very sympathetic, but as she said, "There's noting I can do, I can't offer you any advice. I just don't know how to help."

It was very hard going to bed that night. Realizing how badly I wished I had some gay friends in Toronto to help me through this.

I talked to a few people online, and I'm trying not to undermine the friendships that I've made thanks to the blog. But in this instance, I needed a person, in front of me. A shoulder, to literally cry on.

The next morning I woke and wanted to vomit. My stomach rolled while I tried to clear my mind. I don't want to become some depressed homo, but my family means more than anything to me. Thankfully I had to throw myself into work, finishing an essay before rushing off to class.

Again, this morning, I woke with a sense of dread in my chest. I felt unloved. I've got friends I love, but I've never felt so distant from my family. And at times like these, I don't know how to call on the support of my friends. Thankfully I didn't feel as ill as I did Wednesday morning.

I still haven't talked to my Mom since our discussion on Tuesday night. I'll be calling her now...but I don't really know what to say.

Cooked goose...

I am fat and sleepy.

Uggghhhh...too much food. And before you say, "Well, just don't eat it!" I have to tell you, I kinda wanted to. Its all been good...just not good for you. And I've payed the price. I can feel my body spreading, that extra substance on my bones. It's weird. It's gross. And I can't stop myself.

As a result I now have made my life harder than before. As of Wednesday I have to go back to eating a lot less, and a lot better food. That adjustment will be somewhat welcomed, because I really feel gross right now. But you just always know in the back of your mind your stomach will just want more.

What's even more strange is my alertness. Thursday and Friday of last week I was primed and happy to be home. Saturday we had our immediate family over for Thanksgiving, and by 4 p.m. I wanted nothing more than to sleep (this was pre-turkey too). Sunday was a little better, but I was still crashing terribly by 11 p.m. Today I was ready for a nap at 3 p.m., after working from 11 a.m. on school stuff.

I mean, a nap? I never do that shit! But it was wonderful...I wrapped myself in a blanket on my bed, laid on my pillow and listened quietly to an audiobook on my iPod. It was everything I dreamed it would be.

The thing that drives me crazy in my life these days is that nothing is guilt-free. While I was enjoying my nap, in the back of my mind I was worried about all the work I still have to do before tomorrow night. The entire weekend has been spent pushing things off to enjoy family time, then worrying I've pushed things a little too far. I hope the next weekend I get at home will have me with far less homework.

Of the 2200 words I'm supposed to write, I've gotten 1200. Oh, and a 500 page novel I was supposed to read...but that's not happening.

Saturday's Thanksgiving was actually really fun. My good grandparents came over, and we spent the day laughing and kidding around. My father wore a cabbage hat for most of the day. But of course, there had to be drama. My evil grandmother said she was simply too tired to come over for dinner. The last time she was out for a day she spent the next two in bed, because she was just so exhausted by it all.

My father was deeply hurt by this, and I don't blame him. Everybody else was quite excited we didn't have to spend time with her, but for the sake of my Dad we all felt badly. Considering she lives next door, I really don't think it would be too much to ask of her. Also, considering I saw her drive up the road to go grocery shopping just as we were mashing the potatoes and pulling out the stuffing, I really think she could have made it, that bitch.

Sunday was the 'big' family Thanksgiving. I really can't stand any of them. My parents and my grandparents are the only family I really love and the only family who love me in return. The rest, comprised of an Aunt and Uncle, three cousins, all their spouses, several children and a dog. As usual, I was well ignored by them as they fought amongst themselves.

More drama ensued. My grandmother refused to come to dinner again, saying that she'd had a heart attack on Saturday night but didn't want anyone coming over (she'd locked her doors), or to go to a doctor or hospital. Oh, and that' she'd rather just die than live another day. (On a side note I swear she will outlive us all, even with her attitude.)

My cousins got into a huge fight, in front of the family, where they both demanded a divorce. Also, we ate in the garage, which smelled like cat piss and fly spray. My 'favorite' cousin (and I use that term loosely) wrote on the chalkboard wall: "Happy Ghetto Thanksgiving". Also, one of the kids was seen brandishing an axe, immediately changing his story to, "Look what I found!" after wielding it around his head.

I was musing later that evening about my family. After my father dies, I will never see those people again. I cannot even describe how isolated I am from these people. They never show interest in me beyond 'how are you', and never make an effort to include me in their goings-on. Not to mention they're all 8 or more years older than I am.

It was quite depressing, really, to realize how alone I will be in a few years. Granted, my parents will still be around for roughly 30 more, but my grandparents may only have 10 left. And having no siblings myself, nor close cousins, one day I will literally be alone. Of course there will be friends and lovers...but nobody who is my family. And I'd hate to gate-crash my best friend's family Thanksgiving when I'm 55...

I've always wanted a big loving/dysfunctional family. Like on Brothers and Sisters, where everyone fights but ultimately loves each other unconditionally. That will never happen in my blood family, so I've turned that gaze towards future partners. In my fantasy world, I would hope to find myself with someone in a big family that I could bask in. While I know that all partners aren't always accepted into these family situations, I would hope I could find myself accepted.

I leave home tomorrow. It's been a nice visit.

Naughty, naughty...

This is a two-poster day, because I can't not put this up.

I came downstairs this morning, suffering from a Turkey hangover. I swear, everything feels fat thanks to that damn bird, and we've still got another family dinner tonight, plus leftovers for the rest of the week...

As usual, I switched my phone on to see if I'd gotten any messages. Moments after it had turned on, my text message noise sounded. Not a curious thing, really.

"1 New Message," read the display, so I pressed read, hoping it was from Danny.

"I miss your cock ;)"

From Brian.

My ears started to hum, and I sat hard on the couch. Could a more random thing have arrived in my mailbox?

I guess I'm just not used to being the centre of such attention. Like I've said before, I haven't got a closet full of Exes, and I'm not used to being the one involved in such situations.

Immediately I texted Matt, who said I'm with Danny now and to ignore it.

Not that I was going to do anything about it...but what do I text back? "Gee, you don't like your boyfriend's cock?" or "Thanks, it's pretty great." Oh, how about, "What the fuck are you sending me this for, I haven't seen you in six months."

This could be either a highly dramatic situation, or a simple flirtation, or a joke. I was just so shocked to have gotten it that I lost all capability of sane thought for the hour afterwards.

It's true enough though. You'd miss it too.

Seeing someone...

Well, I told her.

Thursday afternoon, while we were driving to the grocery store. She seemed to be in a good mood, chatty, so I cut through the fear that was clenching my throat and told her I had, "Exciting news."

"Oh, that's good! We always need good news."

There has been some confusion: I am indeed out to my mother. For those stories, see: Telling Her Pt. 1, Telling Her Pt. 2, She Deals With It, I Cry, We Fight About It.

I sucked in air, and proceeded. "I'm seeing someone. His name is Danny."

"Oh..." she said, and the pressure of the air surrounding us increased. "So...it's a guy?"

"Uh, yeah."

I proceeded to tell her about him, where he studies, works, what he does in his spare time, all the while trying to keep it as 'normal' as possible. All the things she would want to know if this was a 'girlfriend'.

Silence filled the car. "Well, where did you meet him?"

"Online," I said, completely and finally.

"Oh, well, everyone I talk to says people you meet online are creeps, and it's always a disaster..."

"Sorry, but I really don't think that's the case," I said, defensively.

More silence. "So tell me about him..." she managed. I retold what I had said, adding that he was very sweet and good natured.

"What does 'seeing someone' mean," she then asked, suspiciously. I shook my head in disbelief.

"Well, we've spent some time together, we've gone out on dates...I guess you could say it's the early part of a relationship, if things continue the way they have," I attempted to explain. She paused again, and I knew she wanted to ask the sex question. But to my great surprise, she didn't.

That was pretty much the conversation.

I was pretty upset at first about how much of a shock it seemed to be, and how unenthusiastic she was. The biggest thing that bothers me is, if this were a girl, she would be happy beyond words for me to have found someone. But she could barely ask what he was like, and all she wanted to know was about this notorious 'seeing someone' label.

It hurts. After all these months of her knowing, and me thinking she would have grown to accept things a little more by now, she showed little improvement.

Now I'm scared about how to proceed. I've been told to bring him up in normal conversation, when I'm asked what's new or what I've been doing. Keep up the mentioning, and it'll become just another normal part of life.

What scares me is what I discovered last night, while driving a friend home after a mini-reunion. I don't want to lead two lives. I don't want to have my life in Toronto, with boys and my friends and school, then a separate life at home where it's something that we just don't discuss. It frightens me to think after I come out to my Dad that we just won't talk about it; like some proper British household we'll just sweep it under the carpet and pretend nothing has happened. The whole point of coming out is so I don't have to hide myself from my parents, not to lead two separate lives.

So now what do I do? Since I never really had girlfriends before, I don't know what constitutes 'normal' amounts of conversation about your relationship. It's not like I brought a lot of girls around home, or was always receiving calls from people. And obviously that's not happening right now. But still, how do I proceed?

The other thing that shocked me was her complete lack of dating knowledge. I mean, did she marry my father before they went on their first date? I thought the progression was always the same, no matter what decade: Meet, first date, second date, on and on until either turning into a relationship or simply ending because of lost interest.

Obviously there's many more stops in that road...and many detours. But I wasn't going to say, "Oh, this could just be a physical thing..." or she would have needed to go to the hospital.

And this wall all a conversation with my mother. God knows how it's going to go when I come out to Dad (though it won't be this weekend!).

Back to bum-fuck...

"I'm home again in my old narrow bed, where I grew tall and my feet hung over the end."

Thanksgiving is upon us. Well, Canadians anyway. We like to be odd, and celebrate in October. You know, keeps space between turkey times...lets you work off the extra ass fat before the Christmas calorie rush.

The drive home took longer than usual. I can't believe how traffic has continued to increase. Watching the scenery change was interesting...why does it feel like I've been away for so long?

Really, I think this is probably the longest I've gone away from home. Some days I missed it, but I was adapting to my own life in Toronto, as unglamourous as it at times is.

But this weekend is going to be sweet. I skipped my classes for the rest of the week, and don't have to be back until next Wednesday morning. And I plan on enjoying this time at home, with my family.

---

I fought the urge the entire ride home to scream, "I'm dating someone!" to my mother. I mean, all my friends are excited...well, the ones who know anyway. A huge part of me is yearning to hear her approval, get a pat on the head for finding myself someone. But I'm scared, too. She's shown though she cares about me, she's not really ready to handle my sexuality.

The plan is to tell her tomorrow. Whatever happens happens, but the whole point in coming out is so I can live my life. I'm not going to hide this from her even if I'm scared she's not ready to hear it.

I've also decided to draw the line about what we discuss. There is a pretty good chance she'll ask if I've slept with him, and quite honestly it's none of her business. I'll discuss the intimate details of my sex life with my close friends, but certainly not my mother. When she asks, I'm just telling her it's none of her business, as hers is none of mine.

---

After dinner (a stupid time of day, I know) I ran upstairs to the bathroom. Slamming the door behind me, I stripped with enthusiasm, tearing everything but my socks from my body.

The mirrors showed me my naked body, illuminated by 200 watts of light. I did a mental grimace, because I really can't look at myself and think, "Oooh, looking good today!"

My toe jammed into the base, and I stepped on. Terrified, I stared straight ahead, back standing rigidly at attention. I counted to three and looked down.

I've lost weight.

Thank God.

We have no scales at our apartment, something I plan to remedy. So I've had no idea what I weigh, or how much I've gained since going back to the land of easily accessible food and beverage.

But my newfound attention to food has done me well, and I almost collapsed with relief.

Now all I have to do is vomit after every Thanksgiving meal I eat (which will be two or more) and I'll be set.

---

The air has a bite I have not felt for months. I think by midnight I may even be able to see my own breath. Without concrete to warm us, the evening truly feels like fall.

For the first time in over a month I have seen stars. Hanging vividly overhead, they are as spectacular as memory serves.

The things we give up to live in a city...

A boy's white night (part 2)...

Things could only get better after having sat in a room silently with my ex-roommate for 45 minutes.

I tried to rebound, personality wise, as best I could. After all, I'd just sat practically without saying anything. So I took a few more swigs and we headed out on the town.

Almost immediately I got the sense that Katie was flirting with me. She adjusted my hair, pulled on my jacket, and threw my bag at a different angle on my shoulder. Oh, and the fact that halfway through the night, she pulled off my glasses and cooed, "Yeah, you're hot. Without these."

Gee, thanks.

Flirtations aside, we had a good time stalking the city after dark. It's not as if we were alone, as predictions showed nearly 1 million people turned out for the festival/show. We saw toilets floating on water, acrobats on ropes, silent looped films...it was all very artistic. We were even going to venture into the abandoned subway station, opened specifically for this show, but the lineup was around the block.

What's with that! Can't people just not attend these things so I don't have to wait?



Along the way we ran into several people we knew, mixing and mingling with people from all walks of life. Really, the magic wasn't so much the art, but the fact a huge portion of the population was out in a festive spirit. It was like when people cared about Christmas.

Keeping with the Christmas tradition, we warmed ourselves up with coffee and Baileys. How rebelious, walking the streets with spiked coffee...at least we didn't smoke anything, like so many of the other pretentious hippie kids.

At 1:30 we'd taken in enough art, and headed to a local bar for a few drinks. On the way, Katie got a call from her friend, who wanted us to meet in the Village and go out there.

My stomach leaped. Was this it? I was going to hit a gay bar? With my straight friends?

We started out in that general direction, and I got a little tense. I mean, I'm paranoid of actually going, yet this crowd would be a lot of fun. And I would have the guise of an overcrowded bar to keep me semi-hidden, lost in a sea of randoms out for the festival.

Also, part of me was excited. I do want to get out there...maybe this was my ticket.

Alas, it wasn't meant to be. When we got there, Katie called her friend, who had already gone home. We trundled down the street into another bar she knew of and closed the place down.

Back out on the street, we headed back to Katie's place, though not really knowing why. We continued drinking, our small party in her small apartment. One thing led to another, I went to the washroom, and came back to find them all knee-deep in a game of truth or dare.

I took my seat, and was given the 'truth or dare' question. I chose truth, because to be honest, I'm not very daring. I'm still not crazy enough to strip, run naked or otherwise fulfill most of the dares people like to come up with. I took my truth.

"What percentage of men have you slept with over women," Katie asked, straight faced.

Well, this is unexpected. I smiled wryly, and was happy with my reaction. I didn't really care that she knew, much less anyone else there.

"It's a lot higher with the boys than with the girls," I laughed. She smiled dangerously at me. Apparently this new shocked nobody in the room.

After Laura and Katie made out as part of a dare, I wound up taking a dare myself. "Kiss Katie," Laura giggled like a 10th grader.

We moved in and made out for a minute or two. She was a good kisser, I now understand why gay guys make out with women for no other reason that to have someone to kiss.

When we pulled away, Katie had put on that dangerous smile again. "You're good at that," she said, biting her lower lip.

On the walk home, I grilled Laura. "How did she know!?" I begged.

"Oh, she asked me when we were just leaving her place actually. I was surprised she knew that early, but she's a good judge of character," Laura said.

Wow. I got discovered! People can tell! I may be broadcasting signals! At the entirely wrong sex and orientation, true, but this is big news for me.

We made eggs for breakfast, I showered, and finally went to sleep at 5:30, a smile still on my face. I guess I may not be such a failure in the broadcasting department as I thought I was.

Whoops...

I'm gentle...honest.

But I got the better of my ceiling lamp the other day. Sadly, it wasn't even a sexual accident.

I'd just changed my sheets, and was throwing my duvet over my bed. My arms held high, I gave it a quick snap to toss it across the bed, when all of a sudden the sound of plate glass crashing was all I could hear.

I stood for a minute in stunned silence. Then I looked up.



I'd put my hand right through the glass, leaving a nice little shard hanging out of the lamp. Thankfully none of the glass pieces ended up in me, but they did manage to end up all over the floor and in my fresh sheets.

This was one day I wasn't happy being tall.