The Big Gay Weekend (Part 1)

Well, I didn't sink...

...but I am just a little tired. Not that I'd admit that to anyone, nor would I admit that my hips were fucking killing me Sunday morning. But let me tell you how I got there...

Saturday I had to work (I got a job a while ago, btw...nothing too special or exciting hence not mentioning it really), and as soon as I was off I jumped in the car, picked up James and we were heading for Toronto. For most of the day I was excited...at that point I was excited and getting a little terrified. I mean, here it comes, in a few hours I'll be kicking off what might be a new chapter in my gay life.

We got to my place, I showered, which naturally led to some naked exploits...by the time we were actually ready to grab dinner it was getting on in time. My heart flipped in the elevator, thinking of what lay just a few minutes away, but by then it was more excitement that fear.

From the moment I stepped onto the street, I could tell things were different. There was an energy, an aura surrounding the area; everyone seemed happy, relaxed and to be having a really good time. As we navigated Wellesley, the crowd thickened and my senses spun. I realized I was surrounded by hundreds of gay guys. It was surreal.

I felt myself flush a little at the whole scene. Everyone was there; tall, short, twink, bear, young and old. It just made you feel great, being surrounded by people of every background who were all getting along and having a great time. Even now I find it difficult to explain just what made it so amazing, but I guess it just felt comfortable. It felt right. It felt like there was no judgement; you were who you were and everyone was invited.

Really, I can't go on about how great it felt to just stand there in the thick of things and smile. We all know we're not the only gay guy in the world, but that night highlighted how many people are there who identify with us, support us and love us.

It was around this moment that I walked directly past an acquaintance of my mom's. I hesitated for a moment, thinking I should wave and say hi, but in a moment of confusion (plus the fact that James was walking ahead of me) made me simply walk past. I don't even think she saw me, in retrospect.

We stood in the middle of the gay village, Church and Wellesley, and reveled in the crowd. True, there were some incredibly drunk lesbians on the balcony above Pizza Pizza, shirtless and dripping some beer on the people below...but that was just a microcosm of the crowd. It really did go from mild to wild. And nobody cared.

One of James' friends and his boyfriend ran into us, and we said our hellos. I felt a touch awkward as the couple stood there, with James' friend petting, leaning on and wrapping himself around his boyfriend, and James and I standing there closely but casually. For a moment I wondered if James expected the same thing, if this is how he wanted us to be. Considering we're not that close yet (or at least I'm not that close yet), I didn't really enjoy the thought of being wrapped up in each other the entire time.

We waved goodbye and continued walking to find a place to get dinner. On the way, we had a brief chat about the whole public mauling thing, and both agreed it's really not our style. James then proceeded to grab my hand and hold it for the rest of the night, "Because we can," as he put it. I went along with it, but my heart wasn't in it...I'll hold hands with my fiancee, not the guy I've been seeing for a few weeks. At least not yet.

I tried to spy any more familiar faces, but didn't catch any. We chose a spot for dinner, sat, and waited for half an hour to be served thanks to the huge crowds. It didn't really matter though, we were both talking and laughing...until drama reared it's head. James' parents decided to give him a call and see what he was up to...which didn't go too well. He's not out to his parents, and had said he was downtown visiting friends from school. Fair enough, but they wanted to know "Why tonight of all nights?"

It got so bad that his parents actually asked him if he was gay, right there, in a phone conversation. He didn't answer, just said that he would see them tomorrow and that he was safe. He was on the verge of tears when he hung up the phone, and the fun took a swift decline. It was a tale of two extremes; there we were enjoying Pride festivities, where everyone reaffirms your equality as a human being, while his semi-homophobe parents were grilling their son about his sexuality and interesting choice of timing a visit to Toronto.

Just before we were about to leave, out of the corner of my eye I saw what looked like an ex of mine walk by. Actually, I noticed his roommate first, because he's really cute, and then the ex behind him. They walked straight past, presumably not noticing me (and since I'd just gotten a message from him a few hours before, I assume he's not not speaking to me).

The walk back to my place was pretty mute. As soon as we were back past the barricades closing off the street, James grabbed my hand again. I gave him a squeeze because I knew he was really upset and literally needed a hand to hold. When we got back to my place, I gave him a big hug, long enough to feel good but short enough to make sure he didn't start to cry. We rifled through my clothes, because I really had no idea what to wear, chose something and started the walk back to his friend's place for the pre-drink.

By now James' spirits were raised, and I felt better too, so we both enjoyed plunging into the throbbing crowds as we headed for his friend's apartment. I had a little heart sputter as we arrived at the door, hoping I'd make a good impression and get on with his friends.

He knocked, and the door swung open. "Hiiiii!" shouted the host, a smile plastered across his face. "Happy Pride!"

The door opened further, and he finally caught sight of me.

"Oh, I didn't know this was the Steve you were talking about..."

Never take the simple path...

When it rains, it pours.

A little while ago, faced with the perpetual boredom and the lack of any gay interaction, I made some inquiries to see if there were indeed any openly gay guys around my age in my area. To my surprise, I came into contact with a small but promising number of them, each one a little different than the other.

It became apparent fairly quickly that only one of the few guys actually had his shit together. While I have no problem with guys who are in the closet or still feeling out their sexuality, I was faced with the knowledge that we might suffer through a bit of a dramatic phase; I wouldn't know what he wanted, he wouldn't be able to follow through, etc.

But the one guy, James, was different from the rest. At each sentence I found we had more and more in common. We go to the same school, live within a block of each other in Toronto, have similar acquaintances, and so on and so on. It turns out we even would have met before this, had I went out after attending a mutual friend's birthday party, where he and a few others were waiting to carry on the festivities.

It started innocently enough. I didn't see in him any sort of boyfriend attraction, and even the sexual pull was perceived to be the work of circumstance; two gay boys in a gay-free zone naturally want to get naked with each other.

And we did exactly that. Even though I wanted to go through with things as building a friendship that can carry on past the last days of summer, we found ourselves kissing, cuddling and groping until finally we blurred the line between 'just friends' and something else entirely.

At first I was terrified. I though I'd ruined the chance at keeping things friendly, that when I told him I really didn't want anything serious our friendship would be over. But the discussion never happened, we kept on our course of coffee and movies and dinners and occasionally blowing each other when the opportunity arose (not an easy feat with the both of us living under our parent's roofs).

But as the weeks have passed, we've grown sort of attached to each other. For some reason, the boy I had written off as not my type is now the boy I find myself texting every night to say "sleep well".

It's bizarre, and I don't know when I crossed the line from thinking of us as 'just friends' to actually becoming interested in him. I'm still mad at myself, because it would have been better to just enjoy each other's company and then carry our friendship to the gay streets of Toronto. Alas, we've passed that mark...though God knows how it happened...

I'm also having my usual terrified thoughts of 'is this what I want/is he right for me?' While he's great on paper, and his personality is complimentary to mine, I still look at him and wonder if he's 'perfect' enough for me. I've spent my dating time so far going out with people, trying to find that one click that felt right from the moment it happened...and it never has. Now, here I am with someone, quite comfortable, and second guessing if I should invest myself in someone that I'm not head over heels for yet or not.

It's quite hard to explain, really, so bare with me. But even physically, he's not what I envisioned as my 'ideal imaginary boyfriend'. He's got a great body, don't get me wrong, but he's shorter and a little slighter than I would have envisioned. There are other things, but in essence he does not embody the 'imaginary boyfriend' I designed in my last English lecture.

Still, I'm trying to go with the flow and not let that stop me. The bottom line is, I'm having fun, I do have a soft spot for him and I want to see where things go. We did have a semi-confessional conversation last Thursday when I had gotten back from a friend's party and was sufficiently lubricated to speak my mind and vent my fears. He pretty much repeated the same as me; how it was unexpected, back home of all places, how it was untested, since we're both not able to just stop by and cuddle on the couch on a Tuesday night, and most importantly: is our attraction and our situation borne from a real connection and click, or is it just circumstantial from being the only two gay guys we know in the area?

Since then, we've kept things really out in the open. We're both pretty careful about commitments and labels and all of that, so things are so far very unofficial and untested. Our bottom line seems to be, "I have fun when I'm around you, and I just want things to keep on going like they are."

This is all fine and good by me. But when it rains, it pours.

He decided to skip a friend's birthday party in Toronto to instead spend the evening with me when my parents were away for the night. At the time, I didn't think anything of it, but he got quite a bit of flack after the fact. Seems his friends want to meet this mysterious boy who was important enough to miss a party for.

Funny how he even met his friends...they all go to our same university, are all our age, and all met through the GLBT group's meet and greets since they all didn't know any other gay guys. Yes, go ahead and insert several ironic comments here.

So, the invitation was extended to me, and come Saturday night I'll be having an evening of many firsts. For starters, it will be the first time I meet the guy I'm seeing's group of gay friends. Needless to say, I'm terrified. Then comes the venue...my first night out on the town with gay guys at one of the most popular gay clubs in the city. It also happens to be the most popular, packed night of the year: the night before the official Pride Parade (aka gay Christmas eve). It all culminates with my first Pride ever, the parade on Sunday.

Yikes.

I mean, it would have been great to do some of these things, on a smaller scale. Ease myself into everything. Give myself a chance to get used to it all. But no, I have to be meeting the friends on the busiest night of the year, in one of the busiest clubs in the city. All for my first time.

"What a shitty night to not be single," a friend said.

"I don't know if I'll be able to handle all the judgment at once," I replied. "The friends who want to meet me (whatever that means), the crowd at large on the craziest night, and of course James who would probably not take kindly to me accidentally making out with anyone, should that happen," I said, in a half joking but half terrified moment of cringing clarity.

Another offered his advice. "Nobody's going to be looking at you anyway," he said. "They'll all be either drunk, or high, or both...and not really going to notice you. Besides, everyone will be looking for someone to go home with."

He paused. "What a way to go, though," he said, chiding me.

"It'll really be sink or swim."

Hard fact...

Apparently gay men and straight women have more in common than previously though.

In today's Toronto Star is an article reporting on the findings of a new Swedish study that compared the brains of both heterosexual and homosexual men and women. According to the results, gay men and straight women share a similarly balanced brain makeup, with both right and left hemispheres being of almost equal dimensions. Straight men, however, had a notably larger right hemispheres than left. Interestingly, lesbians have similar brain makeups to straight men, with larger right hemispheres.

Scientists concluded that this was a natural occurrence, and that no amount of environmental influence could have caused a straight man's right hemisphere to shrink and turn him gay. According to a Canadian researcher who reviewed the project, this is one of several studies that all point to the fact people are born gay, not turned that way by non-biological factors.

The author of the study, found online in the journal Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, admits that the cause for the difference is unknown, but scientists in the field argue it should help to substantiate the argument that gays and lesbians have no control over their sexuality, disproving claims from far-right groups that maintain homosexuality is a 'lifestyle choice' made at the free will of poorly raised men and women.

To me, this study does exactly that; it proves what we all already know, that I was born gay, that I'm just a bit different than straight men, and that it's not the result of anything anyone did or didn't do in my upbringing. Essentially, it would be going against nature to not be gay if one has such a clearly defined difference in brain makeup.

People everywhere should be celebrating that once again, the scientific community does not condemn homosexuals as deviants, but rather embraces the empirical fact that homosexuals are indeed different than heterosexuals, and not by their own choice and design.

But, I am afraid that anti-gay groups will twist this to further their own agenda. It would be easy to manipulate the language here, to say that gays are 'genetically deficient' because of the difference in hemisphere sizes. After all, what's different from the 'straight norm' is clearly wrong in their opinion, and this study could give them the ammunition to argue that gayness is the result of a diseased, imperfect human being.

Also, I'm curious about the corroboration between gay men and straight women's brains. The radical groups will no doubt pounce on that fact, arguing that we're all a bunch of effeminate girly-men because we share a similar brain makeup to straight women. It makes great fodder for those who want to gay bash by essentially confirming that we have more in common with straight women than straight men...except for the whole penis thing...

It is interesting that gay men and straight women share similar brain characteristics. What does that say? Does that explain why I get along better with straight women than I do with some straight men?

I don't feel particularly effeminate (at least all the time), to be quite honest. Of course, when compared to any straight man, I guess you could say I am; I'm in touch with my emotions, I care openly about those around me, I'm empathetic. That said, I think my personality is split down the middle, more or less...I'm not one to run around crying in public, or exhibiting any of the stereotypical flamey mannerisms. I'm stubborn and sometimes think with my dick and don't get squeamish when I have to kill a spider or set a trap for a mouse.

The point I'm trying to make is, while I agree that there are certainly similarities between gay men and straight women, I don't think that it necessarily equates to 'gay men and straight women are the same'. Naturally, everyone is different. Some gay men are more queeny than the 'average' girls I know. Some straight women are rougher around the edges, preferring rugby and beer instead of cocktails and runways.

The bottom line is, we are all unique and different for different reasons. It's unfortunate that in 2008 people still cling to the traditional notions of 'boys' and 'girls', expecting everyone to act accordingly. Society is still hung up on judging individuals against the standard, criticizing them as not being 'normal' if they don't fit the idealized, all-American boy/girl mould. But in truth, nobody fits the mould to a T; the straightest man still has his hidden femininity, the most lipstick-lesbian her moment of masculinity. Where we all fall in between should be appreciated instead of ostracized, because personally, I'm very happy to have a 'feminine' side too.

Until that happens, I'm good with hanging out with my dear straight girlfriends; now I know we share one other thing in common on top of the desire to find the perfect man.

Leftover memories...

Technology seems to have it in for me, in a way.

A little while ago, my phone died. One evening, I shut it off as usual. Actually, I had almost forgotten to shut it off, until a late-night text came through, waking me from blissful dozing. I read the text, half amused and half annoyed, and shut off my phone, wanting to avoid any future late night calls.

The next morning, I picked it up as usual, holding down the 'end' key until the screen lit and a noise sounded. Only today, the screen lit a bright white, and no noise came.

I tried again, in vain, but the phone was frozen in this limbo. I popped the battery out, put it back it, and tried. Again, nothing. I plugged it into a wall outlet, but still it would not breathe life into the thing. Eventually I walked away, leaving it plugged in for hours. And still, after charging it's little battery meter to full, it would not start up.

Luckily I was going to be able to lay my hands on my previous phone, and visit the telecom company, all in the same afternoon the very next day. After much bitching on my behalf, I was told the best they could do is to send it out for repair and upgrade it's firmware. Skeptically, I switched back to my old phone while the other was out for service.

It's been a while since I'd had the old thing running, and thankfully it still had about half my contact list in it's memory. I also discovered it had some text messages I thought to be long lost.

With the new connection made, a few texts came through that had been sent during my mobile limbo of roughly 36 hours. Once they were read and deleted, I noticed I still had a few text messages left in my inbox, read messages that were left overs from before I switched to my new phone.

I knew who they were from. It's a habit of mine; whenever I start dating someone I'm overcome with giddiness when I get text message from them, and I keep the cute ones that say more than just 'see you at 8'. Perhaps I should revise this policy, or else repeat the same situation.

Having the choice to either delete them without re-reading them (the smart thing to do) and reading them to remind myself of what was said (the stupid thing to do), I naturally chose to read the eight or so messages left on my phone.

"Burr. I'm frozen, it's so cold."

"Work was long, I just want to crawl into bed and thaw out."

"I'll see you tonight, can't wait miss you."

"It's so COLD. Warm me up?"

...and on and on.

Memories flooded back, flashes of the moments that surrounded these messages. His face swam into view, smiling at me when we met after work, or after a last-minute phone call arranged a meeting. And the sadness flashed back, the questions of why it didn't work, and why when there was what seemed to be a level of comfort things went so off track.

It's hard, in these moments, to be reminded of how things were before things ended. It's especially a slap in the face when you're still single, and he's happily in love with his not-so-new boyfriend, the one that came after you.

It's not so much that you question why things ended. Though I don't really know what went wrong between the two of us, I'll chalk it up to his young age (all of one year younger than me) and his 'newness' at the whole dating thing. Sure, it probably wouldn't have worked out...but then why did it work out between him and his obviously-older new boyfriend?...

But I digress...

It's in these moments that I become an 'emotional cutter', to borrow a phrase from Sarah Jessica Parker's character in Sex and the City. I see something in my immediate vision, something that will remind me of a painful moment in my past, and instead of steering clear of it, I dive headfirst into a facefull of it.

I'm an admitted sentimentalist, which doesn't help the situation. I can rose-coloured-glasses almost anything, it seems, even when other people tell me I should list things in the 'asshole' category instead of looking back with any particular fondness. It also doesn't help that I have nothing promising and new that diverts my attention from this type of situation. I can't say to myself, "Gee, I'm so happy with [boyfriend] that reading this doesn't even bother me!" Instead, I end up saying to myself, "Why did this not work, and why am I never allowed to be happy when I want to be?"

Technology makes it almost impossible to shirk these moments off. Be they leftover text messages, e-mails, or worse, the still-active Facebook friendship between ex-lovers, it becomes almost impossible to ignore exes without actually working at it.

I'm assuming back in the 'old days', once you stopped calling an ex, you would probably loose touch of them, save actually bumping into them or their name being brought up in certain circles. There may be the chance for love letters or notes, but that's probably not a big possibility. You would be cut off from the person, and for the better; things didn't work out, and a friendship wasn't born from the experience, so they basically stopped existing to you.

Nowadays, it's almost impossible to loose touch with someone without trying to. If it's not leftover text messages on your cell phone, then it's their presence on you IM account, e-mails left undeleted in your inbox, or the link via Facebook that allows you to browse through their current life. I can go online, click their profile and be exposed to the latest pictures they posted, the people who are writing things on their pages, their relationship status...

It's always a kick in the balls (a self-inflicted kick in the balls, at that), but I willingly submit myself to the momentary flicker of sadness when I see new pictures of [x] boy and his new beau. It usually starts innocently enough, with a, "Oh, hey! [x] changed their profile picture. I should take a look!" One or two clicks later, and two smiling figures are shown embracing each other, not a care in the world. It stings, because in addition to [x] boy, the other smiling face is not yours, but belongs to someone else.

Of course, you shake off all the bullshit, because things didn't work out. It's not like it was going to be you standing there beside him, because he was a jerk, or the timing was wrong, or the spark just didn't take. But you allow yourself and your imagination the two seconds to take hold, and to make you feel the regret that he's with someone and you're not.

I admit it's stupid, and crazy. Why invest even a nanosecond in something like this? I can't even answer that question. But look within yourself...have you ever had a lonely, weak moment where you aren't thinking with the most clarity? A moment where you might do the same thing, something that had innocent intentions but ultimately wound up a little less innocent?

And what of these jerks that don't just delete you from their lives? Are they too sitting on the other end, looking back at you, and wondering what you're doing? Did they not remove you from their lives because they still harbour the smallest flicker of affection for you?

Or did they simply forget you even existed, stupidly overlooking the fact they still allow you glimpses into their lives?

Why!?!?...

I like to think I have good but 'eclectic' taste for a gay 21-year-old.

Instead of worshiping current Top 40, I worship Top 40 from 30 years ago. While people know every word from Madonna's Hard Candy album, I know every word from Fleetwood Mac's Rumours. I prefer real voices and guitars over synthetic bass and Pro-Tools enhanced wailing. 'Eclectic' seems to fit.

I've got the gay music, albeit from a few generations ago. Give me Streisand and Bette (and some early Madge) any day. Hell, I even do Cher. I think I like it because, well sure, it's campy as all hell at times, but the women were also great singers and entertainers.

I always feel a little lost when I got out with friends and listen to what newfangled tunes those crazy kids are listening to these days. I count it a good night when I recognize five of the 50 songs played. I don't watch MTV (I hear they don't even play music on there any more...), and I don't listen to the newest-of-the-new radio stations.

There are days when I wish I could go out and dance to disco and just fun songs instead of being exposed to what every establishment believes is the next big thing in music. It happened in the grocery store today. There I was, waiting in line to check out, and Donna Summer's 'On the Radio' came on. I tried my best to dance invisibly, because damn, that's one catchy-ass song!!!

With all of this in mind, I'm a little terrified in my new heavy-rotation song...Jesse McCartney's 'Leavin'

Wtf is wrong with me!? Why do I like this song so much?

I came across the album after reading a somewhat positive review online, where it was heralded as a great summer pop album. After listening to some of the songs, it sort of scares me that people think this is 'pop' music...I guess it's 'popular' music, but it sure as hell has nothing in common with the pop of the past. It's more like 'white boy sings to hip-hop backing tracks'. Oh wait, isn't that Justin Timberlake?...

Anyway, to my absolute horror, I'm actually really liking that song...and others on the album...but why!? I usually hate this crap! Please, tell me I haven't gone soft and finally bent to the crowd's choice in music...

Jesse isn't as cute as he used to be when he had the long hair going a few years ago, and his voice isn't really a voice, merely a computer-generated replication of what I imagine it sounds like at times. But here, nonetheless, is Leavin'...



Edit: After actually watching part of the video...yeah...he's pretty fucking hot...But see! That shows that I was willing to pass judgment before I even realized how very doable he still is!

What I want...

So what exactly am I looking for?

People lately seem to be confused, and in truth, the more I think about it I am as well.

The more people that I talk with about relationships, dating and love, the more I get confused about what I'm really interested in. For the most part, it seemed as though I had my mind made up; I wanted a boyfriend who loved me and who I loved. Period.



I still do. But it's the getting there that I'm starting to examine, mainly, growing up enough to enjoy the fun romances and dating without automatically attaching the emotional weight to it.

After I ended things with Latin Boy, I immediately felt a change in attitude. I was sad that, yet again, my month-long expiry date had come and gone, that I was again relationship free. But within that, I also felt different. I felt, dare I say it, confident in myself as a single guy. For what seemed like almost the first time, I really felt this whole positive 'I'm going to live life and be happy being single' thing. It was bizarre. It was a step in the right direction.

In my flurry of mental activity, I really felt comfortable with the whole idea of just letting my life be what it is...to stop worrying if/when I'll finally meet the right guy and to get priorities back in line. Focus more on academic life, think about the whole career/future goals thing. If I met someone I really liked, that I clicked with, then go for it, but otherwise to stop pounding my head against the wall and comparing myself to every other romantically-satisfied person on the planet.

It lasted about 24 hours, but it did help me get perspective on how I was maybe learning to love myself for myself even more. Sure, I still wonder why I'm never meeting the right guy, and why other people get to have that whole component in their lives, but it's also not as distracting to me anymore. I still try to stop and realize I'm enjoying the moment, even if I'm alone.

This all led to a bit of a changed perspective on the 'dating game'. While I'm certainly not looking for something that is meaningless (as in no real connection at all other than sexual), I am open to dating for fun. It's taken a bit of really getting used to, but I'm trying to just have a bit more fun with the dating thing instead of taking it so seriously so quickly.

While I want to find someone really special to fall in love with, I don't have any illusion that it will last for years, if not ever. If I got 10 months out of something, I'd be shocked and pleased.

But people don't seem to be understanding that.

I had this very conversation a few nights ago with my friend Sam. She was crashing at our place, and after a night of heavy drinking, we naturally steered the conversation towards sex and relationships.

But when I explained that I was indeed looking for something more than just mindless dating, she jumped to the conclusion that I wanted to 'settle down.'

I guess if you define 'settling down' as sleeping with only one person, then yes, I'm looking for that. But the way she said it made me feel so...old. Like I was settling down, buying a condo and a cat, and living the rest of my life with a boy at age 21.

Nowhere am I under the illusion that my idealized boyfriend (who I haven't actually met yet...) will be the one that I spend the rest of my life with. I have no desire to move in with someone, to merge my life at such an early age with another person.

But is that what it takes for us to actually commit to the long term?

It seems like people take 'long term' to either mean a month of monogamy or a lifetime of love. I define it as neither. Of course, I can't comment, since anything I've ever been involved in has lasted no longer than a month and a half. I yearn for falling for someone that I'll love, and will love me in return, but even when I think about that, I foresee it lasting a year, maybe two.

Maybe I'm being too romantic, expecting too much. I want to feel the fireworks, have the intimacy and unfettered love for someone. I want to look at them and tingle inside. And I want it sooner rather than later. I just haven't ever really experienced that fully yet, had the chance to wind up with someone for more than my one month expiration.

But whenever I say something to that effect, my friends crash me down to the 'real world'. I recall explaining what I'm looking for to a friend after an exam a few months ago, only to have her jaw drop in horror.

"Dude, honestly, nobody is that happy. Everyone I know just dates people, and it ends," she said in her usual deadpan blunt nature.

I shook my head. "Then why do I see happy couples, even happy gay ones, who love each other...or at least look like it," I said. "Why is it so hard to believe that people could be happy with each other?"

"Look, honestly, get a dog or something," she said. "They'll be pretty much the only thing that will love you at this age."

"I have a dog," I said. "It loves my mother more than it loves me."

Everyone is different. At this age, I guess some guys, maybe even most guys, are just out there for the fun. Go out, pick up, repeat. I'm not necessarily against that, but I'm not denying that I've got the urge to have a deeper relationship with someone. I see seemingly great people around me all the time, but seem to date the right guy that things work out with in the midterm relationship I guess I'm looking for. I want the best of both worlds; I'm not looking for a life partner, but I'm not looking for something that's just casual fun. I want the qualities of someone for life in the packaging of someone casual and fun.

So, after all this, what am I really looking for? Love, I'm sure, like I always have been. But I'm also trying to widen the field by enjoying single life and letting casual dates be just that. I still ask myself why I haven't found the right person, or why I didn't click enough with the ones I've been with. I still wonder if there's something that is wrong with me, an outlook, an expectation that is keeping me from coupled bliss. And of course, deep down, I still secretly worry about winding up just the way I am...alone.

That confession came after watching the Sex and the City movie. In a super-depressing montage of New Years Eve celebrations, we see several characters spending it pretty much alone because of the fact they have no significant other.

"See, that's what terrifies me," I said, of the image of Mr.Big sitting immaculately dressed, eating dinner alone in a room full of people as the clock inches towards midnight. "I'm afraid I'll have the job, and the clothes, and whatever...but I'll still be alone."

But, in my new wave of optimism, I'm only letting myself worry about that on even days of the month.

And for the rest of the time, I'm focusing on the good things in life, sans a boy.

A stab at change...

Life has been a little busy as of late.

The time is really flying by. Here it is, already June 6, and I feel like I don't have a lot to show for my summer. It's frustrating and trying. I miss having things to do, people to visit. I think I just sort of miss Toronto.

But it's not like I've been morose about it. I haven't really had the time. Last Saturday, I drove the 5 hours to surprise one of my best friends at her birthday party. More on this later, but the important note is that I stayed until Wednesday.

Wednesday night, after just getting back from my trip, I get a phone call from someone in Toronto. My roommate, who has been in Europe for the past month, is coming back Thursday afternoon. We all have to go out and see Sex and the City because she's held off seeing it in favor of a group outing.

I begged to get out of it, saying that I'd just driven 1000 kilometers in the past five days, and really didn't feel like leaving home again. (I also had some semi-secret plans with someone else, but more on that later too).

The next thing I knew, I was being guilted into a last minute trip to Toronto, since 'this might be the last time all of us are together for a long time' because of people suddenly moving far away, getting careers and so on.

So I wound up dragging my ass back to the big city, for one night of togetherness that included Sex and the City, a homecooked dinner, a roundtable discussion on the couch and watching my roommate fall asleep at 10 p.m. Afterwards, I wound up talking until 1 a.m. with our friend while my roommate slept on the couch, a lightening storm putting on a show for us.

All in all, a mostly clam evening that I could have truthfully done without. But in my condition of near-perpetual boredom and under-stimulation, it was something at least a little worth while.

But it was the simple question of my other roommate that made me want to spice things up, shake myself out of this blase attitude.

"So, what are you going to do tomorrow morning? Probably get Starbucks and a paper, and read, right?" she asked, innocently.

And it all sort of hit me, the over-riding sense that I'm in some sort of life rut. Am I so predictable that on a one-day random trip to Toronto, my morning routine will already be recognized?

On the one hand, I look at it as sort of special. It's my routine, my life, who I am. I don't know any 21-year-olds who sleep just a few minutes too much, shower, go for coffee and the New York Times, read it cover to cover, and then carry on with their day. It feels very much like me.

But on the other, I see a stagnant, old man. Should I really be doing this sort of thing at my young age? Shouldn't I be out being reckless and stupid while it's acceptable? Why do I care about something as stupid as a comment on my usual morning routine?

It gnawed on me, a little. It, and the fact that I'm lonely and horny all the time.

So I did something slightly spontaneous, something I haven't done for a while. I ordered out for ass.

A few clicks, a few words, and hours of waiting...a sense of want and excitement. I had set my sights on a Friday morning fling, and I was actually really looking forward to it. This would certainly shake up my morning routine.

Lo and behold, at 11:00 while checking my e-mail, there was a gorgeous guy sitting in my inbox. I commented to my friend, who was in the loop by that time, that he was pretty much 98% my type. I fired off a quick response, and waited for his reply.

By 1 a.m., when everyone was off to bed, he still had not replied to my reply. I tried to do two things: to not worry that I'm not going to get laid, and to not get too enthralled with the notion that in less than 12 hours I could be sleeping with the most stunning guy.

Sleep came and went easily, and for the first time in a while I woke with sun streaming into my room and a smile on my face. I chalk it up to the weather, but I just felt really good. I lay in bed, enjoying the sun and the few moments just after waking up.

Then I realized that I should be checking my e-mail in the hopes that the boy would have replied. Jumping out of bed, I notice that I have a huge line across my forehead thanks to sleeping strangely on my pillow/sheets. No matter, once I shower it'll be gone, long before he gets here.

In eager anticipation I check my e-mail. 1 new message! I click...only to find it not from who I was hoping it would be, but some other vague yet attractive guy.

I waited for an hour, checking my e-mail and attending to some things online. Still no response. My spontaneous moment was shot to shit. The one morning that I attempt something completely random, to break the mold and have a little (lot) of fun, and it falls flat on it's ass.

At least it did switch up the morning routine, minus the orgasm induced by a really hot blond.