Sunday, March 30, 2008


The thing that I've never really understood is how people wind up joining 'groups' within society.

Take emo boys, for example. How does someone who grew up in the suburbs all of a sudden feel the compulsion to start putting on eyeliner and talking about their inner pain? Not only feel the compulsion, but actually learn all the different clothes and makeup techniques of the emo group, to be come intigrated into that scene.

I have always felt that I never really got thrown into a subgroup in society. Hell, I never felt like I've really been in any group in society, really. Mostly I've just felt like someone on the sidelines, nondescript, almost a blank canvas that has a rough outline but an indefineable style.

All through highschool, there were relatively few such identity groups. People were just either in the popular masses or not. I was not. When it came down to it, they were mostly washed down versions of skaters and preppie kids.

In theory, I was one of the most nonconformist kids around. I resisted the pangs of emo-dom, despised the idiocy of skaters and never understood the fetish of organized sports. I didn't listen to the popular music, didn't wear the in clothes, didn't 'fit' into what was then the norm of highshool life.

I remember reading something back then, a quote from some musician about the whole idea of the nonconformist youth. It went something along the lines of, "A kid wearing a suit and listening to Beethoven is truly the nonconformist, everybody else just thinks they are." It really resonated with me, and still does.

But when I came to Toronto, I could clearly see all sorts of different kinds of people. There are the trendy Queen West crowd, with their second hand clothes, tight jeans and frantic hair. Emo kids with black everything, ball-busting jeans and the occasional piercing. Hell, even the gays, the twinky boys in Baby Gap clothes, frosted everything and really high voices.

Somehow, through all this exposure to these little subgroups, I never became a part of any of them. While I always struggled with finding my identity, I never assumed one of these to feel more complete.

Most of that is because then, and still now, I have no idea how one becomes part of a community. How did the kid that moved to Toronto for university wind up becoming a trendy hipster? Where did they learn how to achieve the 'look', to meet similar people and develop that identity, something probably quite foregin to what they grew up with?

For me, the biggest part of this question is the gay part. I suppose it's the same as becoming an emo guy, or something similar. But what surprises me how seamlessly people seem to transition from what they were to flaming homo.

I imagine that there were lots of people who basically experienced what I did in life, but have somehow blended, learned how to be gay. Hundreds of gay kids flock to Toronto on a monthly basis to start school or look for work. They come from all over, but generally come from areas where there is nobody and nothing gay. Maybe they're just asserting their sexuality in this new environment, for the first time.

But how does that translate into becoming part of one of these subgroups in society? How did they go about meeting like-minded individuals, learning the subtle ways gays differentiate themselves with clothes and looks and everything in between.

I often wonder, while walking through the village, what people think of me. Do I come across as gay, or just some poor guy who's walked down the wrong street? Clearly I know realatively little about the gay community, but does it show really badly?

I guess what really confuses me is how someone, who has no history in this identity, grows into it so seamlessly (as it appears so many do). How do they learn the fashions, the behaviour, the signals, the language, after coming from a place where none of that existed?

Of course, people are always reinventing themselves, redefining who they are and what they want in life. But I really don't understand how the mostly blank slate of a 20 year old gets shaped so quickly and so throughally into an identity.

The natural explanation is influence from surrounding. As soon as you start hanging out with a crowd, you're going to pick up their traits, their language and their appearence. I get that, but my understanding was in order to be embraced by a group, you usually had to already be a part of it, or run the risk of being shut out because of the fact you don't 'belong'.

I would take the scenario of someone sidling up to a group of twinks at a club, who had very little idea of the customs and traditions that define these stick figures. So the 'outsider' attempts to learn about the values and traditions of these people, in the hopes that they find it quite enjoyable and a compatible identity. But while this is happening, it seems a pretty remote possibility that the established group are going to do anything but cut up the poor guy and hang him out to dry.

In some ways I would imagine that groups are so cliquey that they tend to shun outsiders and not be welcoming to new people. This is reinforced by the fact that generally people like the familiar and shun those who are not copies of themselves.

But in many ways, this can't be true, because the population of all these different groups would diminish and the trend would die away. Surely that happens to some, such as the grunge youths of the '90s, but from what I can tell twinks have existed for many, many years and don't seem to be going anywhere. So there must be some welcoming, passing of the torch of knowledge between people.

By now you're probably thinking that I'm clearly insane, ranting on about 'groups'. I don't see people as necessarily falling into just one type of person, or being completely defined by a social circle. But I am confused as to just how boys learn to put on eyeliner and squish their testicles into women's jeans, and all the while look like they've done it for their entire life.

I don't want to learn about the eyeliner, but I wouldn't mind at least learning how to be gay.

Thursday, March 27, 2008

Hope for all of us...

I'll warn you now, this is pretty sappy stuff, so if you're not a romantic at heart, or just ate something, you may want to skip this post.

Earlier this afternoon, I was killing time on know, doing research...

Well, anyway, I came across something that was totally refreshing, completely unpornographic and really great (though you may want to turn off the sound...)

There really is no back story involved here; the only information is that the poster is a 21-year-old guy from the US.

Usually I would feel that pang of jealousy and sadness at what someone has and I do not, but today it really struck me as something hopeful. I mean, here are two guys my age, clearly in love and really happy.

This pretty much sums up my heavily-romanticized hope and aspiration; finding someone I think is adorable inside and out, falling for them, and finding out they feel the same way too. Realizing that your attraction is the real, true deal, and being able to just be your goofy natural self with the person you love. It's almost palatable how these two click with each other, how well each compliments the other.

Actually, watching this makes me feel pretty old...these guys are the same age I am, yet I wonder if I'll ever get to have this youthful, blissful love.

And it scares me, because it hasn't happened yet, and deep down I wonder if it ever will before it's too late.

Sure, there is no depth to this; it doesn't tell the story of where they came from and who they are. There isn't the behind-the-scenes of how fucked up or brilliant their lives are, where they met, and how things 'really' are. But it does show to me that two young people are capable of finding each other, falling madly in love and staying that way.

And that's something that, at any age and in any place in life, should give us all hope.

Insult to injury...

I know I have no idea how I look, but it's a little disconcerting to hear that others also have no idea how big/small I am.

Earlier in the week I stopped by American Apparel. To be fair, I've never been in before, but they've been advertising underwear on Facebook, and since we all know I love underwear, I decided to pick up a pair or two and give them a test drive.

When I walked into the store, their stereo was playing Stevie Nicks. My respect for them went up 50 points.

So, as I tried not to dance around, I checked out the variety of colors available. They have everything from the usual dark blue/green/red to bright pink, purple and baby blue. Naturally, on their mannequins, they looked quite cute.

There was no size chart posted, so I guesstimated my size, since XL was 36-38, I assumed small would be 30-32. I grabbed a mint green pair and a cranberry pair, and headed for the cash.

Standing behind the counter was a very cute guy, roughly 24, with a lean body. I've tried to describe him before, but it's quite difficult; he wasn't twinky-rail thin, but he was on the verge of it, except for what appeared to be quite well defined arms.

He took my stuff and scanned one, then the next, then stopped and looked up at me.

"You know," he said, "I wear a small."

There was a pause for added effect, as the colour started to drain from my face and my eye started to twitch.

"I'm just saying..." he trailed off, "because we don't have a return policy on underwear."

If I could have gasped in horror, I would have, but he'd effectively taken my breath away. Instead of retorting with something clever and original, or simply asking what his waist size was to compare mine to his, I simply stood there.

"They'll be fine, I'm sure," I said, with as much deadly articulation as I could muster. Hell, I didn't even care if they did fit just then, I was out to make a point.

"OK," he said, shoving them back at me.

Gah! Fuck! Just how big does he think I am!? I mean, I'm tall, and the coat I was wearing was really baggy, but come on. I didn't think I looked that big!?

Brent Corrigan: Undoubtedly wearing XS red American Apparel briefs, and looking damn fine in them. Clearly, he looks his size. Clearly, I do not.

I ranted the entire way out of the store and down the street, a friend in tow. "Just how fucking big do you think I am!?" I pleaded with her.

"Uh...I don't know?" she said. To her credit, I wouldn't take a stab in the dark at guessing my weight with me in that mood.

"Fucking 31 inch waist, that's how big!" I breathed. "How could he think I wouldn't fit? I look that fat?"

Clearly, I was approaching this calmly and rationally.

As soon as I got home, I ripped my pants off and tore open the briefs. I held them up to me; they seemingly looked fine. One leg through, then the other, and they were sitting comfortably around my waist.

Tempting as it was, I didn't march back outside, mint green briefs on, and go back to the sales boy to prove my point.

It did raise the question for me, as well as some insecurities...such as how big do I appear to other people? I've snuck glances at boys jeans sizes before, and I'm a bit of a conundrum; we're the same size, yet they look one hell of a lot skinnier than I do (I think, anyway).

I mean, should I start wearing a sign with my vitals on it, and put in on my back? It seems like everyone is truly obsessed with everyone else's stats, and in a world where waist and cock size is seeming more important than IQ or GPA results, it's sorta scary that I don't look like what I truly am.

I haven't put the briefs through the wash yet, so I can't comment on their comfort, but I do know one thing; I'm a fucking small in American Apparel underwear.

Sunday, March 16, 2008

Foreign nationals...

I have a gorgeous Swiss boy in my shower.

Yes, it's true. It's painfully true, actually, because he doesn't belong to me.

Franz belongs to my roommate Nina. And when I say belongs, I mean he's her friend who happens to be visiting and crashing on our couch.

He's just classically European cute; no really stylish haircut or colour or jewelry, just a really cute face, really tall and what looks to be very toned body.

(Apparently Swiss boys...or at least from a Swiss gay mag. Franz is the flavour on the right, exactly what I would order...)

He's been here since Thursday, and I have to say that at first I wasn't really impressed. I guess it was the jet lag, because Friday afternoon, he looked good enough to eat, or at the very least star in a great Swiss porn movie.

Personality wise, I'm afraid we're at a bit of an impasse. He's a really nice guy, just not very outgoing. I'm a really nice guy, also sometimes just not very outgoing. The few conversations I've tried to stir up have been pretty brief, and with Nina away at work all weekend, our days have been sort of quiet.

For example, this morning. I was coming out of the bathroom just as he was walking into her bedroom. "Oh, good morning!" I said as cheerfully as possible.

There was a beat of silence, followed by, "Morning, how are you?"

And that was pretty much the conversation.

I feel like I'm living in residence again, since I've left my door sort of propped open to encourage conversation, but sort of closed to give me a little privacy. He just got back from the grocery store, and promptly went into Nina's room and shut the door.

Why I have to be terrible at socializing in these situations I'll never know, but I am. It would be great to pick his brain, talk about Europe and the world in general, but he's so fucking Swiss, his personality is quiet and politely distant.

I did get an interesting comment out of the whole thing so far, though. A friend was by picking me up, and we all happened to hang out for a few minutes and chat. This would be around the time I was really starting to appreciate how good this boy looks, and forgiving the fact that his nose is just a little too big.

After we left, my friend turned to me and started looking me over. "Well, he's pretty good looking actually," I said, explaining that I didn't always drool over him.

"Yeah, he is, he really is!" he said. "Actually, he reminded me a lot of you. You two could seriously be long lost brothers, you look a lot alike!"

Wait...what? I look like super-cute Swiss boy? I sort of mused about it for a minute...but that would mean that, like him, I'm really cute?...not possible...

I'll have to go back and interrogate to figure out how much I actually look like this boy, because I don't really think of myself as looking like this cute Swiss boy.

Friday, March 14, 2008


Fleetwood Mac may be gaining a new member, Sheryl Crow!

You have no idea how excited I am about the news that Sheryl Crow, a close friend of Stevie Nicks' since the late 90's, will be joining Fleetwood Mac. Truly, this news is bigger than the announcement Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks had re-joined the group and they were releasing new material.

Of course, every site has the same story, which is pretty vague, but from Sheryl Crow's own mouth. There are no details other than the actual announcement that she will be collaborating with the group. From reading online, this could mean either in-studio work as an actual contributing member, or just joining them on tour to fill the void that Christine McVie left upon her retirement from the group in 1998.

Stevie Nicks has recently said she did not wish to continue with the group without Christine McVie, who had been a member of the band since before Nicks joined in 1974 but retired after the 1997-98 reunion tour. She reportedly just wasn't interested in touring anymore, and has lived a quiet life in England ever since. Undoubtedly there was some great back room deals being made between Nicks and Crow to ensure the band continued its great tradition.

It will be fascinating to watch how this unfolds. Crow in her own right is a good songwriter and performer, and at times can veer into the eclectic, which Lindsey Buckingham must gleefully be embracing. I can just imagine them working out harmonies and Crow/Buckingham collaborations, not to mention the kick-ass show they would put on when the tour finally starts.

In case you missed it, I'm a Fleetwood Mac junkie. They have been, and always will be, my favorite band and favorite music. Their style has changed over the years dramatically, veering from SoCal rock on the 1975 'Fleetwood Mac' album to the experimental 'Tusk' in 1979 and the pop-perfection of 'Tango in the Night' in 1987. They came back around in 2003 with 'Say you Will' to a more straight-ahead classic rock formula. Throughout all of this, I have enjoyed their creations more than any other influential artist.

Nobody really knows why one comes down with a love for Fleetwood Mac so severely. If you've got it though, you know what it's like. Mac fans are a small but super-loyal group; we all seem to share this insane appreciation for their work, far beyond the "I like some of their songs" mentality. What really annoys us is when people undercut the amazing quality of their work, writing it off as simple fluff their parents listened to in the car on weekends.

If you feel this way, go listen to 'Tusk'; I maintain if a group released the same product in 2008, it would be a critically heralded album. Actually, that makes a funny coincidence, 30 years after 'Tusk' is released, the band may release a similarly amazing double-album.

Really, I called this myself way back in 2003 when 'Say You Will' was released. It was clear that McVie wasn't coming back to the group, and it seemed obvious that they may be searching for a new member. Crow has been heavily influenced by Fleetwood Mac, and writes and in a very similar manner. The group has had a history of ever-rotating lineups, and it only seemed natural that they adopt a new voice and writer.

Realizing all that, I proclaimed way back then Crow would eventually join the group. Its taken five years, but it looks like it will finally happen. OMG!!!

I just have to take the time to thank my mom, who actually just told me she heard it on the radio this morning. Unbelievable that I missed it online, but hey, thats cool. Lets just hope this actually happens!

This has made today so great! I feel like a kid again!

(Yes, I know this was a totally geeky post. If you've read this far, congratulations. I don't normally drone about stuff like this, and damn, I'm excited!)

More like myself...

Finally, some good news.

I've found out what's wrong with me, and I'm now on medication, and I'm actually feeling, shockingly, better.

You have no idea how good it feels to...feel good. Obviously, I've lost the ability to write...but seriously, I'm a day and a bit into treatment and I just feel much more like myself, like I normally do.

I woke up this morning feeling really relaxed, refreshed and happy. My body didn't feel dragged down with the fatigue that I've felt the past few weeks, and the pains I've been experiencing were tuned down, so much so that I almost felt completely normal.

Apparently I even look better on the outside. A friend stopped by this morning looking for my roommate, and from the moment I opened the door, she kept giving me the once-over.

"You look really great today," she said. "I don't know what it just are looking really good!" she told me, as I stood there in ratty jeans and a green t-shirt, hair flat on my head.

"Not that you look bad normally," she said. "But today, if I was walking down the street and saw you, I'd be thinking 'Damn, I'd like to tear his fucking clothes off...', not that I don't think that of you normally, but today especially," she said laughing and flushing a little.

Of course, I pin it on the fact that I actually feel good again. It's a good-all-over feeling, too. My head is just feeling more clear, I've got this great flicker of happiness inside my chest...the air today smelt like spring and gave me this infectious smile. I really need to find some way to bottle that and keep it going for the foreseeable future, because I just genuinely have had a really good (yet quite average) day.

Like I said, I really hope I can ride this wave of good-feelings. It just feels really wonderful to not feel as sick as I did, and hopefully in a few more days I'll be feeling even better.

Hopefully winter is drawing to a close, the warm air is just around the corner, and we can all come out of our hibernation, take a deep breath and just enjoy life.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Just the waiting...

Well that was a bust.

I called the doctor's office this morning, and headed out to get my results. The entire time I tried to ignore the gnawing in the back of my head, to block the sneaky fears out and just carry on with it.

For the most part, I guess, it worked. I sat patiently and pensively in the waiting room, finally called into an empty exam room by a really young, really cute (I'm assuming) male nurse. He stayed with me for a minute, then said the doctor would be along.

When the door opened again, I got that little clench in my chest. This was it...

"So, what are you here for?" the doctor asked cheerfully.

I nearly fell off the bench.

After explaining my situation, he looked over my chart. "Ah, here we go," he said, glancing at the typed information. "Hrm..." he said. "I see some results here...but not everything. How many tests were run?"

As it turned out, the only results he had were for the most basic blood tests for electrolyte levels and such. None of the big, important ones were back yet, nor will they be back until possibly two weeks from now.

Great. I wasted an entire morning, plus $23 on a doctor's note, to find out pretty much nothing.

Of the results that I did get, everything 'seemed fine' other than a slightly higher-than-normal white blood cell count, which 'could mean a lot of different things' and 'isn't specific enough' to help in any diagnosis simply by itself. Doc said the higher white count can indicate the body is fighting an infection of some type.

So I have to wait now until they have the results - all of them - before I go back and hopefully get diagnosed.

Afterwards I felt really edgy. Naturally I was upset that they didn't really have my results, but I understand that nobody really is to blame for that, they simply take that long. I also felt this sense of wonder...what exactly is wrong with me? Naturally I started let my imagination wandering about, and by the time I'd joined up the class I had missed most of, I was a bit bummed.

Thankfully the people around me today were great and helped cheer me up. I guess I'm being way too concerned for no reason at this point, and they all agreed that I shouldn't worry too much until there is actually something to worry about.

What bothers me the most is that I'm having a lot of trouble switching the worry off. I can't put it behind me, adapting my usual professional understanding of conditions and diagnosis and options. All the stuff I'm used to doing with my mother, being the one who looks at things scientifically and rationally from the start, is seeming to be really difficult to do in my own shoes. I dare say I'm getting a sense of how it feels to be the actual person waiting for the results, not just a person in their life who waits alongside them.

Maybe that's part of the reason I'm getting worked up over things, the fact that my family has a bad history of things not going well medically. I guess I'm just expecting something terrible to pop out from the results and scare me to death.

Whatever the case I feel better about it now. There's nothing I can do for the next week or more, and I probably won't hear back from them until after Easter. Until then I'll just have to keep my fingers crossed and focus on life. After all, I really shouldn't be that worried. Whatever is actually wrong with me, by all accounts, should be fairly straight forward to treat.

That is, I hope it will be.

Monday, March 10, 2008

"Please call us back, at 416-..."

The Doctor's office left a message on my machine this afternoon.

Which means, something came back on their tests. After all, the lady said, "No news is good news, it means there's nothing there."

I got the call, so apparently I have some news. I have to wait until tomorrow morning to call the office, where I will no doubt be given the run around and asked to book an appointment to see the doctor, and who knows when that will be.

So there, I guess I got what I was hoping for; the tests are showing something.

Then why am I scared tonight?

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

A boy in uniform...

This year has proved to be a banner one for great press photos.

I mean, we got Zac Efron and Hayden Christensen on the cover of Details...and here I thought the year was going to slow down from there. Needless to say, the recent revolution that Prince Harry was actually on the ground in Afghanistan with the British forces there made for some really great photos.

Obviously there has been lots of discussion about Prince Harry's role in Afghanistan. On one hand, it seems like a public relations dream; the dashing young prince riding off into the sunset, protecting his country and fighting for the greater good.

On the other, it presents a huge pain in the ass for the armed forces. Having a celebrity running amok in the thick of things certainly doesn't help. For what it's worth, it really does seem like Harry is a good soldier and just another one of the boys. I don't really believe that the entire thing is a sham to make him look responsible; after all, he likes to get a bit rough, so the army makes for a perfect fit.

Whatever the case, if you thought he was hot before, you must really be impressed now. I can't really say what's so endearingly attractive about the photos of him in Afghanistan...not like I get turned on about him actually killing anyone (though not that I necessarily have a problem with it either), but there's a million different stereotyped hot things going on at once.

A prince. In uniform. In an exotic locale. You do the math. And I don't even want to think about him, surrounded by other soldiers, while he's taking a shower.

I'm not going to paint him a hero, or the best looking soldier, because there are far too many men and women who deserve the nod over him. We don't even really know much about his service to date, other than he "called in air strikes" and so on. But for what it's worth, he's a damn fine piece of royalty in that uniform.

I commend the British press for being so secretive about the entire thing. For once, big business made a decision that was in the best interest of everyone; keeping quiet so that he could do his job, so that those in Afghanistan would not be put at greater risk and so there would be no media sideshow that would derail entire operations because of his mere presence.

But of course, someone buggered it up and decided it was time the world knew where Harry was. Stupid, really, since the media would still have gotten their story, with the same public interest and financial benefit when the MOD came forward with the news. Overall, it did show that a secret is still able to be kept.

To the men and women of our combined armed services, stay safe and stay sexy!

Monday, March 3, 2008

Stick a fork in me...

Well, actually, more like a needle.

Gotta say, I'm not doing so hot these days. I'm trying not to get worried about it, but that's easier said than done.

Ever since I was sick, I've felt really off. I mean, on almost every level. For some reason, it really threw me, and I've gotten really tired about not feeling like myself.

I'm also tired of jolting awake every morning at about 7:30 a.m. to these weird internal pains, centered in my stomach. It sorta feels like someone zip-tied my stomach, forcing pressure on it from all angles. On top of that is the acid, the churning, and the nausea.

Thankfully, it usually passes by about 9 a.m. But while it's happening, and I'm trying to sleep, it really feels awful, and to me, it says something isn't quite right.

So this morning, fed up with the strange pains that seem to come and go, I did what anybody would do...went on WebMD. A few clicks later, and I was feeding my symptoms into their system, and the results weren't wonderful.

Of course, this isn't medical advice, and it naturally panders to the worst-possible situations, but it was helpful information. The number one prospect was an ulcer; it seemed to jive rather well with the come-and-go pain, as well as the loss of appetite and the fact that Tums helps bring the pain back under control. Also reassuring, the treatment seemed pretty mundane, consisting of antacids and some sort of medication that stops the ulcer and helps heal the wound.

Under that was a host of gastro-intestinal issues, that all sound frankly quite nasty. Nothing that seemed to insanely serious...but still, nothing pleasant.

So, I decided enough was enough, and that I would actually go to a doctor and get some real medical advice. Here in Toronto I don't actually have a 'family doctor'; essentially the two times I needed a doctor, I went to a walk-in clinic. So that's where I headed.

After an hour and a half wait, I finally saw a doctor and explained my symptoms. I knew better than to start the conversation, "Well, I was online this morning and..." so I stuck to the symptoms. She asked very few questions and seemed less than interested in 'digging deep' into what was causing my problems.

"Well, let's just run some blood tests and see what comes back," she said. "But yes, you shouldn't feel like this, your stomach feels very constricted and tender to me."

It was then that I interjected about my family's history of stomach cancer and ulcers, to which she did take notice, and tagged a few more tests on, including one that tests for the presence of the bacteria that causes stomach cancer.

The woman that took my samples was a complete sweetheart, pretty much holding my hand while taking her four vials. I hate needles, and I hate getting shots...but that only comes second to the loathing I have for blood samples. I get all clammy and pale and feel awful, yet at my height people don't take me as the type to be such a wuss.

After the blood was over with, I was given another four vials for...uh...other excretions that I get to do at home. How I'm supposed to collect anything with the toothpick of a scoop they gave me, I'll never know, but I get to have a new experience.

I was shocked, when I was ready to leave, at the general lack of information the medical system gives us. Nobody had a clue when my results would come back, and I was assured that they would not be calling me if what they were testing for came back negative. Well, what the hell am I supposed to do if that happens? There was no mention of setting up another appointment to find out what's what, which leaves me almost hoping they find out what's wrong with me fairly easily and quickly.

This is the first time I've ever really had to wait for results in any medical situation. Sure, I wait for my mom's results on a regular basis, but never my own, and to admit it, it's a little scary. I don't like not knowing what's happening, and since neither the doctor nor I at this moment have a clear diagnosis, it leaves me feeling a little apprehensive. Not that I really think anything is drastically wrong with's just scary being at the mercy of the system that was really less than personal, and less than accommodating.

I guess I'll just put it out of my mind for now. As for what I can do to give my gut a break, the doctor suggested Pepto Bismol.

Great, now that's what I call fucking great advice.

Sunday, March 2, 2008

Yup, he's a 'mo...

So the boy last night was definitely gay.

And so was his boyfriend.

At least, I think it was his boyfriend. I mean, he was gay, too, and they showed up together, and the level of comfort between them was really evident.

Of course, it could simply be that way because they've known each other since elementary school, but I sort of felt they were together.

It started to dawn on me that I really have no idea when boys are trying to flirt with me, if they are at all. During the conversation of the evening, the presumed boyfriend made a lot of smiley eye contact with me. But, as it was happening (and even now), I could never be 'sure' what that smile meant, or that look in the eye.

Naturally, I don't really have much practice at flirting with guys at parties, so I kept it at the most basic; small talk conversation getting to know them, more specific questions about their life/work/studies, a couple jokes...

Alas, even though we chatted it up, I still wasn't convinced he was specifically flirting with me. Maybe he was, subtly enough to not annoy his boyfriend. Maybe he wasn't, and is just a generally friendly guy.

This is what I hate about practically everything to do with interaction with people; when you're not 100% sure they are the heart-on-sleeve type of person, you can never know if they're acting, or posing, or just doing something that changes your perception of them. It's frustrating in these scenarios because, well, it's just nice to know if someone's flirting with you!

Strange, since the other guy I talked the most to was definitely straight. It was nice to actually meet new people and have sane conversations, something that I find happens all to little in my life.

And what about the guy who I was supposed to be the non-flamboyant twin of? We didn't really have much conversation between us, and I walked away sort of wondering where she sees the resemblance...but hey, she knows us both well enough that I shouldn't doubt it.

There were the usual promises of 'doing this again soon', and I'll admit I do hope it happens. I came home last night, crashed on the couch and fell asleep, only to be woken up by my roommate falling through the door at 3-ish. Magically, I woke up again at 7:30 a.m., and didn't really get the sleep I wanted.

Today I fidgeted around some more, doing pretty much nothing and feeling guilty about it. Sleep tonight sounds like the best idea I've had in years.

At least the party was fun.

Saturday, March 1, 2008

Sending out this message here...

Technology got in the way of another first for me.

Wednesday night I was working feverishly on school assignments, trying to tie up some loose ends and actually accomplish something with my time, when I was texted. Not being one to ignore attention from the outside world, I eagerly grabbed up my phone to see who was on the other end.

It was, to say the least, an ambiguous texting event. I replied to it, saying I was working away on school stuff, and asking what he was doing. The response was impossibly subtle, that he was 'bored but working on school stuff'.

By now I was somewhat amused, somewhat interested and totally not paying attention to my work. The distraction grew even more when my phone pinged again, launching into some strange screen I'd never seen before and displaying 'One new picture message received'.

I looked at it, puzzled but intrigued. What could this be, exactly? I mean, he didn't...did he?

Staring down at my phone, I clicked on the message. It started to load, first the important info like time and date, then the subject line (blank, naturally). Beneath that, a marker said 'Page 1 of 1'.

There was text along the bottom: "I totally would want to see you tho haha".

And that was it.

But...but...what's wrong? Here I am, receiving what I'm suspecting is my first explicit picture message, and it doesn't display.

"Well fuck," I said.

A minute later, I'd closed the window and tried to load it again. Still, nothing. That elusive picture stayed in hiding, leaving me guessing as to it's contents and subject. I waited as the little globe on my phone spun around, hoping that it would load and I could see what exciting image I had been sent.

After a few more tries at that, I gave up. My piece of shit phone won't even load home-made porn picture messages properly. What bullshit!

I hesitated, then texted back. "Whatever you sent me didn't load, and now I'm all curious..." I wrote back. I mean, not like I expected to get another picture message, but who knows what could have happened. Besides, I wanted my damn home-made porn picture! I mean, how hot is that?

The response made me roll my eyes... "Huh? lol Something about a load???? hahahaha."

Honestly, if you're going to send me pictures of you blowing your load, at least have the guts to spell it out when I ask you what you sent me because it didn't show up properly...

I tried again to open the picture message, but it refused to display. I sighed, admitting defeat. Even with the sparse details, I could imagine just what was in that picture...but it's so much more fun to see that type of thing, especially when someone has sent it just to you!

That was basically the end of the conversation because we 'had class at 8 a.m.' Still, I'm curious if I'll be getting any other interesting photos for my eyes only.

And if I do, I certainly hope that the marvel of modern technology doesn't get in the way of the oldest pass-time on the books.


I've had a very restless day, and it's irritating the shit out of me.

This past week has been really busy, with school and a few things going on in life. I haven't slept much...I think the only night I got several hours was Wednesday...which has left me pretty sleepy today.

The funny thing is, for the most part, I've been surrounded by people, which is something I usually am looking forward to doing. Alas, mostly it's been academically-infused time, meaning it's been more about me stressing through work than about me enjoying potential time with people.

My problem is that I burn out what I feel is too easily. I had this really busy week with no sleep, and for every day up until this morning that was OK. But just like that, I've reached my limit. After getting up at the unholy hour of 10 a.m. (I think I went to sleep at 5:30 a.m., but I honestly wasn't awake enough to see the time clearly) I decided that I wanted croissants.

Not wanted, needed. It became a bit of an obsession, practically the first thought that floated into my brain. I was going to take it easy today, and get croissants for breakfast. And coffee. And a copy of the New York Times.

I found myself not very far from a pastry shop I like this morning, so without so much as a shower I threw on yesterday's clothes and stalked out into the morning sunlight.

Indeed, I got my coffee, and my croissants, and my New York Times. But after I had my little stash, I just realized how drained I felt. The secondary plan of doing some shopping and enjoying some alone-time in the mall kind of fell away, replaced with this restless whisper.

Back on my couch, I ate and drank and read the paper, and generally felt quite relaxed. But then, it started itching again...that nonsense feeling...what exactly am I doing with myself and my time? I should be doing...well...anything. What's this whole ostrich head-in-the-sand thing?

I'm presuming it was brought on by my recent discussion with someone about siblings, and growing up an only child. For my whole life I've been comfortable enjoying time by myself; I actually need it, the time to just do little things in my own space and time. My singular upbringing was accented with a very single existence from the teen years until now...I've never really adapted to spending the majority of my time in the presence of someone else.

But what's stupid about it is the internal war that I seemed to have been fighting today. Part of me just wants to hide under the covers (which I tried, but couldn't fall asleep, dammit). Another part wants me to push myself to actually get out there and take advantage of the weekend and it's sunny glory. Both sides are driving me nuts.

It all adds up to this feeling of restlessness...even when thinking of the basic, like what to make for dinner, I'm not sure what path to follow. Do I make something semi-elaborate, and really enjoy it myself (alone), or do I spur-of-the-moment invite people to have it with me, or do I...

Gah, I think I'm just tired and stupefied by sleepiness.

I have to, within the next few hours, make a decision as to what I'm doing tonight as well. There's a birthday event that I'm pretty much expected to attend, and while I sort of want to, I also feel very little compulsion to go. I mean, there are going to be a whole bunch of people there that I don't really even know. Matter of fact, the only people I'm going to know are the host and her boyfriend.

She has, however, intrigued me enough that I might spend a bit more time there than planned. There's this friend of hers that I apparently remind her a lot of, so much so in fact that she's told him all about me. And, just to add pressure, he's really interested in meeting me too.

"Yeah, honestly you two are a lot alike," she said. "Two really classy guys. Except he's a lot more flamboyant than you are."

Wait, what? This is coming from a girl who I'm not entirely sure knows I'm gay, about a guy who I was under the impression is straight (or at least I thought that's what she said...). Now I magically have to go, looking good, in the off chance that I'm not a)reading into things wayyyy too much and b)overly-imaginative. How do you not look exhausted at night? C'mon, gays must have been doing it for years!

I guess it's a sign of maturity that I can say aloud, on this Saturday night, that I would consider staying in, reading, and probably falling asleep early as opposed to doing much of anything else. Then again, it's also one stone's throw away from shut-in...

Ah well, sounds like I'm going to a party where I know nobody, and I've got a reputation that to live up to.