Frozen Underwear

Steve and the Seven Twinks...

2011-11-09T15:41:00.000-05:00

During the summer I had the chance to get re-acquainted with some guys that I met at university.

They are a true band of twinks, minus the derogatory stereotypes of dim-witted, 'fashion' obsessed fuckwits. It struck me as a little hilarious how now they all have degrees and have moved forward in life, they have stayed very much the same.

I somewhat crashed one of their birthday party's (24 I think...) at the host's apartment, the pre-gathering before heading out to the clubs. Any time I'm at one of these things, I feel like an outsider (because I am) both literally and figuratively.

The typical twink uniform hadn't changed much, with their enviously-thin bodies fitted glove-tight into skinny jeans and tank tops. They've all aged pretty well, with none of them looking burnt-out now that the flame of their late-teens has passed. In fact, a couple of them are looking a little more distinguished now that they've grown into their features.

Shockingly, there was a ton of food at this shindig. Granted, some of it was veg platters, but for every healthy item there was twice the amount in flaky pastries and fatty foods. How do they do it? I mean, honestly, they're all rail thin but they ate. I guess their metabolisms are still in teen mode.

We all swapped stories, and as usual these days, it seemed like everyone was doing something worthwhile/interesting/professional except myself. These guys are genuinely nice, so there was no one-upmanship going on; they all appear to be genuinely doing well for themselves, which is nice.

At some point I excused myself to use the washroom. Normally, this wouldn't be a noteworthy experience, but true to my luck and timing I managed to turn it into a bit of an affair.

I pushed on the soap dispenser, palm open to catch whatever came out. I guess I pushed a little hard, or at the wrong angle, because the next thing I saw was a huge jet of liquid soap rocketing out of the dispenser, completely missing my hand and landing perfectly to the left of the crotch of my jeans.

"Fuck," I muttered. "Seriously?" I'm not a klutzy person, but I seem to be prone to having less-than-graceful moments that are totally out of my control. There I stood, jeans soaked with a perfect line of liquid, practically as if I'd pissed my pants. I slapped a palm to my head, grabbed the towel and feverishly rubbed my crotch, hoping to soak up some of the liquid so I looked less like an idiot.

I did the best I could, but the wet stain refused to budge. Thank you God for my sense of suave and timing.

Darting out of the bathroom, I ran for the nearest chair, grabbed a cup and napkin, crossed my legs and covered my crotch. I don't really think anybody noticed, but I wasn't standing up any time soon.

As the first part of the evening drew to a close and the merry band of twinks marched in procession to the elevator, my friend and I said our goodbyes. Now that everyone had had a few (other than me) the hugs were a little tighter and the smiles a little glowy-er. And so, I watched them walk off into the night, like a zoologist observing a rarely-seen species in it's natural habitat. Some were on the hunt, some were along for the ride.

And I was on my way home.

I am happy goddammit...

2011-10-23T11:51:00.000-04:00

It's pretty bad when you have to justify to a complete stranger that you are indeed a happy person.

I had struck up a conversation with yet another mid-20's girl who was flirting with me (albeit in a bit of a ye-olde-fashioned way) because I'm trying to be a little more outgoing, networkable and connected. She seemed to be a contact that would ultimately be good to have in my files, so I played along with our friendly chatter.

We then got to talking about the job market (the bane of my existence) and corporate citizenship, where she took the opportunity to gush about her Fortune 500 company's recent win of some type of good deeds award, given by some council I'd never heard of.

Since I always find it difficult to believe that big business actually does do good deeds every now and again, I joking asked her how much the company had paid for their title. My little off the cuff comment didn't go over so well and I found myself being lectured about what a great company her employer is and all the things they do for the benefit of all.

I don't like being mean, and it felt like she was a little hurt by my blunt disregard for her employer. The conversation quickly wrapped up and in the end I apologized for my comment, hoping to smooth over any ruffled feathers.

Her parting words of advice were that I should, "Try and be happier," so that things will be more inclined to go my way.

"Oh, don't worry," I said with an attempted grin. "I'm a happy person."

She looked at me, gave me a shrug and a smile, and walked away.

I felt like I should chase after her and explain in 25 points why I am indeed a happy person. Because, damn it, I am!

Ok, so maybe I'm not ecstatic about life lately, but I wouldn't classify myself as someone who comes across as unhappy. I'm still polite and friendly. I'm also incredibly lost, but I like to think that I keep that to myself, on the inside.

So it struck me as pretty odd that I felt such a compulsion to prove to this woman, a total stranger whom I may never meet again, that I'm happy. But there it was.

Of course, now I'm paranoid that everyone I meet thinks I'm emitting this wave of negativity. And for all I know, I might be. But I don't see it that way.

Because no matter what, on the surface, I'm a fucking happy person.

Quarter-century-rag...

2011-10-03T19:35:00.000-04:00

Yep, I'm 25 now.

Maybe it's because I'm overly modest, but I don't get why '25' is such a big deal. Friends and family have all been acting like the fact I've made it to 25 in one piece is worth a gold watch. Perhaps if I was in a better frame of mind I would have enjoyed it a little more.

My negativity surrounding the subject is something I really need to let go of. Where others have seen it as a chance to celebrate, I wind up asking myself, "Celebrate what?"

Bah, I'm trying not to turn this into a negative post, but every time I write a sentence it turns out that way. It's as if my 'biological clock' is ticking away very, very loudly, and I'm the only one hearing it. I know that 25 still makes me practically a baby, but when you're living it, it feels like you are lightyears behind where you ought to be.

In truth, I didn't even really feel like 'celebrating' my birthday, because I don't really feel there is much to acknowledge. I guess that's me being my earthy-Virgo self who doesn't like making much of a fuss in my own name.

The day in question came and went rather quietly. I did receive some lovely notes from people, including some fellow bloggers/readers, which truly did make me smile. It really is the little things that make me happy. I even got a baked-from-scratched cake from my mom (even though it was four years in the making...I finally got it! Yay!)

I will, however, acknowledge one major improvement. My birthday last year was pretty much a disaster. For being 'my day', it turned into anything but what I wanted. At the time I was pretty much nearing rock bottom on the sine wave of life and was pretty miserable.

I don't think I'll ever forget crying myself to sleep, alone, the night of my birthday. Not something that I do...well, ever really.

So there. In retrospect, looking at how awful I felt one year ago and enjoying the fact that I'm not feeling that way any more is pretty fucking awesome. Granted, I'm not on the top of the world. But I'm not scraping the depths of sadness I was one year ago.

And that makes 25 a pretty good birthday after all.

Oy vey...

2011-08-30T17:22:00.000-04:00

There are days when I think my family was supposed to be Jewish.

Before I get stoned to death for fleshing out a stereotype, I should preface this. You all know me to be an all-around loving guy, which is why I (and my friends) make racial jokes/commentary without there being any threat of it being taken seriously. (More in this vein later, when I tackle gay jokes at the office.)

Anyway...

So I was out shopping with my mom (I'm such a good son), mostly to seize the opportunity to be within a 20-mile radius of a Starbucks but also for lack of anything better to do. We had pretty much done the mall once-over, but I wanted to stop and check out some jeans (since they're my staple clothing item and you can never really have too many pairs). Mom wandered off towards a shoe store, and I ducked into the shop.

I chatted up the semi-cute sales guy and took a couple pairs to the change room. I tried the first pair, did the usual rotation in front of the change room mirror (not the public one, but the one in the stall. I don't think I would be vain enough to trot out in front of a store full of people to check out how my ass looked in a three-way mirror.)

As I was tugging the second pair off, I heard a familiar voice waft down the hall.

"Oh, hi!" she said happily to whoever was standing in the doorway. "I'm looking for my son. Is he back here?"

I did a combo of heavy sighing, palm-smacking on my forehead and eye rolling (again, all in the privacy of my stall). Grabbing the pair of jeans nearest to me, I pulled them on at light speed and practically fell into the hallway to head her off.

While I was doing this, she had (of course) started a lengthy conversation with the sales guy. I whipped around the corner and waved to get her attention. "Uh...something up?" I asked, for lack of anything really polite to say.

"Just wanted to make sure I hadn't missed you!" she said, smiling.

I gave a weak smile and tried to stifle a very quiet squeak. The sales guy looked to my mother, then at me.

"Oh. This is your son," he said, halfway between bewildered and bitchy. "I thought you were looking for someone a lot younger."

I looked (in my mind) ridiculous, squeezed into jeans that were the wrong size, standing in the middle of a change room where my mother was practically calling my name to see if she could find me in the store I had already told her I was going to be in.

I could pretty much hear Fran Drescher's voice in my head, whining, "Ma!!!" Oy vey, indeed.

Upon retelling this story to a Jewish friend of mine, he laughed and said that he actually thought for a while that I was a Jew. Apparently that whole story fit the profile. Even at his wedding, his parents and family all thought I was just another Jew in the crowd.

Apparently I have some Hebraic features that I was totally unaware of. And this after being told by my boss just the week before that I must be a true Scot due to some particular nose-ridge-thing that I have (and so do, apparently, all Scots).

"But, in practice, I'd make a terrible Jew," I chided. "The whole foreskin thing...and bacon! I don't think I could ever really say goodbye to bacon."

Kai laughed in his muted, deadpan way. "Hell, I eat bacon all the time.

"It's my favourite condiment."

Kaboom...

2011-07-19T14:31:00.006-04:00

It was fitting irony that, last week, after attending a swank party at an upscale auto dealership in Toronto, my car decided to blow up.

I was cruising home well after midnight, my favourite time to drive. The roads are quiet, the sun is down and rolling the windows down usually greets you with a cool breeze. All was well.

About 20 minutes from home, my engine light started flashing. "Nothing to get worried about," I said out loud, trying to convince myself that I wasn't in for a fuck-up.

My father's mantra has always been, "Just get it home," no matter if it's your car that's broken down, your body that's broken or pretty much anything else. So, I drove on.

A few minutes later, the engine light stopped flashing, and stayed on solid.

A few minutes after that, I noticed the heat gauge spike. The engine chugged and the transmission moaned. It was as if the car was having a heart attack; it was sluggish, slow to respond. If I'd had Aspirin with me, I probably would have thrown some in the gas tank.

"No, no no no. You bitch!" I yelled at the dash. "Don't fucking do this to me!"

But it was not meant to be. I threw in the towel, pulled down a deserted side street, and killed the engine. A quick inspection under the hood confirmed my fears. There was indeed something wrong.

The entire contents of the cooling system had vanished. No hoses were blown, no fittings let loose. The coolant had simply disappeared somewhere, at some point.

I called home for a ride/tow from my Dad, who showed up a few minutes later. We topped up the coolant with water, thinking we'd bring it back to life. I jumped behind the wheel, turned the key...and nothing happened.

Klonk. I tried again. Klonk klonk. The engine refused to come out of it's heart attack mode. After over 400,000km of somewhat rocky service, it had drawn it's last breath.

Dad towed me home, me with the windows rolled down and the radio on, riding along in neutral. A few minutes passed and out of nowhere I started to laugh. I mean, how fucking ridiculous was this? I'm having my last ride...er, rites...at 3am, with the windows down and the radio going. I didn't want to think of how crappy it was and the million problems the situation introduced.

I just ignored the crap and ran with the completely wacky thought of my last ride in the only car I've ever really called sort-of-my-own.

Thankfully, I've got a borrowed set of wheels for the rest of the week. After that...well, I'm not really sure what the future holds. If I were living in Toronto, I wouldn't really be pressed to find a more permanent car arrangement. Living out in small-town-bum-fuck-nowhere, if you don't have a ride, you don't go anywhere. Seriously, anywhere.

So now I'm doing the rounds trying to figure out who'll screw me less, a bank loan, financing from a dealer, leasing...

I'm not going to say I'll miss the old wreck, but I hear you always have a soft spot for your first. And while getting a new car is high on the 'awesome!' index, it gives me a pretty dim financial future.

At least I'll always remember my last ride, the summer breeze and the after-midnight radio as I cruised off into the night...

Awkward romance...

2011-07-17T19:46:00.000-04:00

Someone has a crush on me.

Actually, two people have a crush on me! It's quite flattering, since they're both attractive, intelligent and spunky and around my age.

It also happens that they're both women.

Yeah...as per my usual crappy luck, not only do I seemingly repel my own sex, I attract the opposite! What kind of a 'mo am I!?

Ever since starting my shitty Generic Office Job (I'll fill you in later), I've notice these two get a little...well..suggestive with me. One keeps asking if I'd be open to letting her take a nap in my lap, and the other one, in total chick fashion, told her female friend (also the one that wants to nap in my lap) that she thinks I look like Mufasa from Lion King.

Granted, I've been called much worse than Mufasa, but seriously, what is that supposed to mean? Like, is that a good thing?

Annnyway...the whole fact that I'm gay hasn't cropped up in conversation yet, so I guess they're both labouring under the idea that I'm straight and available. And it would feel totally presumptuous of me to simply tell them that while I'm flattered, they're missing the correct anatomy to attract me.

It just seems to carry on with my usual luck that, while two completely viable potential persons of romantic interest present themselves, they're just...uh...not my type.

Eventually, when one of them flat-out asks me, or if the opportunity presents itself, I'll out myself and be done with it. But I just don't want to be that guy who's all, "Guess what gang, I'm a homo!" out of nowhere.

At least I know, should I ever really run dry in the gay world, I can still live a totally heterosexual life and make it believable.

Come together...

2011-07-03T19:38:00.000-04:00

So today was culmination of Toronto's week-long Pride celebrations.

And I was not in attendance. Partly by choice, partly by scheduling conflicts, partly because I had no irresistible offers.

Of the few people who asked what my Pride plans for this year were, most were surprised to hear that I didn't have any. After all, Pride is supposed to be the big gay celebration, where Mo's from all across the region (and even from around the world) descend on the city, clad in booty shorts and skin-tight tank tops. And how does it all make me "feel?" they ask.

Well...sort of awkward. And anxious.

When I attended my first Pride a few years ago, I did so under the wing of the guy I'd been dating that summer. We went out with his friend, he made all the arrangements, and all I had to do was show up and try not to stick out in the crowd.

That sounds sort of ridiculous, since the crowds are largely made up of nearly-naked members of both sexes, clad with leather or spun out of their minds on a handful of different drugs. Since I don't fit into any of those categories, my simple jeans and T-shirt uniform proclaimed me an outsider. It was sort of like Alice falling through the looking glass, waking up in a world very far from my own.

I actually had a blast that weekend. It was fun and pretty meaningful for me, at that point in my life, to have been part of it. But this year, the thought of Pride just reminds me of how I still really have yet to find out how I fit into the gay community.

There's a whole other post I'm writing on that subject, since I find it pretty daunting to tack down the exact definition of 'modern gay', but that's for another time.

When I think about the thousands of horny homos, sweating under the pulsing beats of a club's sound system, complete with live sex show being simulcast on 50 foot screens...I dunno. I'm very torn.

On the one hand, it's like a huge high school party. There's all these people there having a good time, comfortable in their surroundings, confident in their swagger. All the 'cool' kids gathered together, getting drunk and trying to get laid. The sense of belonging.

Of course, in high school, I was definitely not one of the cool kids, and that's transitioned into my current status in the gay world - uncool. You know there's going to be this huge party, and everybody is going to be there, and it's all amazing and shit...but you're not invited.

I want to say that I'm mature enough to not give a shit about it. After all, at it's seediest, Pride is a cesspool of bad decisions, bitterness and thinly guised disgust for anyone who doesn't fit the perfect homo mould. When I think of it that way, I really don't have time or patience for such bullshit. It's ridiculousness on such a huge scale that they even have a fucking parade to cap the weeks festivities off.

No longer is Pride about gay rights, inclusiveness, acceptance. It's about a bunch of hot guys trying to fuck each other and chastising anyone who doesn't fit into their particular clique. And while I don't mind a bit of good-natured debauchery, when you feel like the odd one out it takes all the fun out of it.

And this is where I feel torn. Because as much as I understand that Pride is a rehashing of high school drama, and really isn't the lifestyle that I want to pursue, I still wind up feeling left out of the fun.

I just want to feel like I belong, like I'm not still an outsider, even amongst my own people. All these years later, and I'm still trying to figure out just how I fit into the gay community, where I can befriend some like-minded guys and finally have some fun times in a part of the gay world that I would be comfortable in.

I usually tell myself, "There's always next year." But I've been saying that for a long, long time, and still things have yet to change. I always thought that once I got to university, moved to the city and came out that things would sort themselves out, yet here I am still feeling like a total outsider on the one weekend a year when I should be feeling part of the 'big picture'.

And, alas, the pendulum of my mind swings back and forth between 'this is bullshit' and 'wow I wanna be a semi-cool kid'. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Now that Pride week is over, I'll roll out my excuses for not taking part in any of the events. And I'll probably not feel so wracked with anxious tension about not 'fitting in'. And in another week, it'll all be a distant memory.

But then, there's always next year.

Bad mogambo...

2011-06-26T11:49:00.000-04:00

I felt really weird yesterday.

Lately I've been doing better, feeling calmer and a little more sorted out. Things are looking up once more and while I have several things I would like to be different in my life, overall I really don't have a lot to complain about.

But I've had varying degrees of a strange, clenched, choked feeling. Like all the bullshit I've waded through over the last two years is simmering just below the surface in my subconscious. Like I'm too tightly wound, and for no good reason.

I'm not an angry person. I don't blow off steam by screaming loud enough to shatter crystal. When I drink a bottle of wine, I don't become a blithering, melancholy mess. So why do I get the sensation that I've got some crap bottled up inside that's keeping me from climbing out of a funk?

Yesterday was particularly bad, and for no reason that I could specifically name. By mid-day I was wracked with vague, mild grief. I soldiered through the rest of the day and finally felt more normal when I was cocooned in bed, watching crappy TV while skimming an equally crappy book. It felt like for the better part of the afternoon I had some bizarre voodoo dragging me down; I had no real reason to feel anything but content, yet I couldn't shake the feeling there was some bad energy/karma/whatever floating around me.

I don't really know if I believe the whole karma thing. I've always put good out into the world, never really doing wrong by anyone. But for all my good deeds I can't say that I've reaped what I've sown. If "Violence does indeed recoil up the violent," then the reverse should be true; my noble actions should come back to me in noble ways.

From my observation, the saying, "Nice guys finish last," seems a touch more accurate. But hey, that's not me complaining! If for nothing else than to prevent that negativity from whiplashing back to me...

This morning I did my usual coffee-newspaper-pajamas Sunday morning routine, and I feel quite content. Maybe I just had some bad vibes screwing my day up yesterday. If such things even exist.

I'll just steer clear of black cats, ladders, 13, and any other ridiculous superstitious mumbo-jumbo in an attempt to avoid any bad mogambo that might happen to float my way.

These four walls...

2011-06-24T14:34:00.000-04:00

Why is everybody I know buying houses?

Seriously, more and more of my close friends are suddenly purchasing their first real estate. Granted, some of them are a touch older and wiser, and have a little more in the bank than others. But my best friend, who is all of 24, just purchased her very own place alone, without a boyfriend or roommate.

I guess we all have different priorities. I've been part-home owner my whole life, dealing with the million and one things that come with being responsible for your property, and I'm sick of it! My aim is set on a nice, cozy one-bedroom apartment somewhere downtown, not on a semi-detached dilapidated wreck of a house, complete with knob-and-tube wiring and an ancient furnace.

Of course, when they tell you about it, it all sounds peachy. "My very own house!" is the typical ecstatic line. It's an incredibly exciting and nerve wracking prospect, but more of my friends are taking the plunge and planting their own white picket fence.

Not that I'm afraid of commitment, but owning a house is so... permanent. Unlike an apartment that you can leave at practically any time, trying to sell your house is not exactly the most painless process. That coupled with the insane 30-year mortgages people are signing is enough to keep me a renter for the foreseeable future. (Well, that is to say, I'll be a renter when I finally move back downtown.)

Like many milestones, these first homes are lampposts on the path of life. I guess it's just hard for me to reconcile the fact that we're growing up and settling down. I've been mature practically my whole life, but I haven't reached the life-stage of home ownership just quite yet.

So for all you new home owners, congratulations on your success. I'll gladly come to the housewarming, but please don't bitch to me when your toilet is stopped up, your water heater breaks, your windows need replacing and the driveway need re-surfacing.

Ok, we all know I'll grudgingly be there to help when I can, pulling the best Mr.Fix-It I can.

But it's not my fault you had no idea what you were getting into.

Have I got a guy for you...

2011-06-04T17:43:00.001-04:00

...was the first thing out of her mouth.

I've become friendly with that local guy I seem to be continually talking about, and by extension I'm acquainted with his coworkers and boss. On one of my routine visits, Julie, his boss, grabbed me the moment I walked through the door.

"Seriously!" she said as I tried not to scowl too much. "He'd be perfect for you, I've got a feeling. He's mature and actually a really great guy."

Of course, you could describe me that way as well, but I've been overly-cynical lately and immediately gaffawed at the idea of being introduced to a sane, normal guy. "Oh come on, if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is," I half-joked.

Julie's reaction was, uh, typical of her. "What, you think I'm going to set you up with a douchebag?"

"OK, fair enough," I said. "But seriously, I just have really bad luck." Bad luck and a still very much broken heart.

Her phone rang, so I was spared any further matchmaking.

Maybe this guy is genuinely nice, and maybe he would be interested. And I do want to meet some people the 'traditional' way through friends. But I just can't muster the energy. I've lost my mojo/groove/whatever.

Some say that the best way to get over someone is to get under someone, but even the prospect of hooking up holds relatively little appeal to me. I haven't 'been' with anyone since the ex, and that part of my brain, that drive to get out there and meet people and, yes, have sex, has seemingly gone into remission.

Of course, I know why, to a degree. I'm still reeling, dealing with my feelings, trying to reclaim the normalcy that was once my life. The thought of boys exhausts me (which sounds totally frightening, as if I'm an 80-year-old).

And to make this post even more cliched, it really isn't 'you', it's me.

What happened to good old, horny me? Have I put up so many emotional walls that I've boxed myself in, effectively freezing my underwear to my body?

An old friend of mine who now lives out of town was back for a visit and thinks I've 'grown up' from the person I was. "Before, you were on a mission to find a boyfriend," she said. Honestly, I don't really like the way that sounds, and I immediately challenged her.

"Was I 'looking' for a boyfriend? Yes, absolutely. But it's not like my whole life was devoted to finding a man." We agreed that at that point, I had my bases pretty much covered, minus a relationship: a good academic career, good family life, good friends, good health, etc, etc...

Of course, that can't be said for the present. No career, a group of friends I barely ever see, living in the fucking country with my parents. Granted, things could be much, much worse, but I've got a shitload of life stuff to get sorted out before I even think about men.

Actually, yeah, that's probably what's cut off my zest for guys. With the rest of my life in disarray, what energy do I have to put towards the next campaign to meet men. So for now, the 'perfect' guy that Julie sees me with will have to wait to be graced with my presence.

At least having frozen underwear should help keep me cool this summer.

Demos...

2011-05-04T21:29:00.000-04:00

Probably not that any of you care, but we had a federal election on Monday.

It was an election nobody really wanted to endure but the results were actually historic; for the first time ever, the Liberal Party did not win or come in second, but were slighted down to 34 out of a possible 308 seats.

Add to that the historical factor for the New Democratic Party, finally gaining enough popular support to become the official opposition.

Oh, and add to that the first win of the Green Party, who finally got one seat after years of campaigning.

All in all, if you're interested in politics, then the election results have certainly delivered a lot to talk about and analyze.

I'm incredibly pleased to see the near-destruction of the Liberal Party. They have lost so much support, even from their traditionally strong ridings like Toronto. I know most people will try and blame it on the now-former head of the party, Michael Ignatieff, but I'd like to attribute it to the colossal arrogance and wishy-washyness.

Firstly, they consider themselves 'Canada's natural governing party'. As in, we're the defacto rulers of the land, we're that fucking awesome. It irks me to no end that they truly believe they ought to play the role of the 'people's party' and that their way is the natural order of things.

Secondly, the party has tried to be all things to all people. They court the vote of every minority possible, play the multiculturalism card at any opportunity yet have a hierarchy of mostly old, white males in powerful positions. Their very fabric has been stretched so thin that I suspect the average party member has no idea what ideologies they stand for.

If you thought John Kerry was a flip-flopper, you should watch the Liberal Party dance.

Of course, ever the optimists, the Liberals have spun their crushing defeat as a 'good opportunity to do some soul searching' and get back in touch with their roots. I have no doubt that they'll be back, perhaps even in the next election, but it's a sweet moment to savour for the next four years.

This is all not to say that the Canadian public, Joe 12-pack (our average Joes drink more than your average Joes), is intelligent or has made its choices based on sound judgment. In one Quebec riding, an NDP candidate who lived 300 kilometers from the seat she was trying to win ditched the campaign mid-way for a trip to Vegas. She won her seat handily, which is a shocking outcome from such a shoddy campaign.

So, now we have four years of political stability, with a new official opposition. I'm actually looking forward to seeing what will come out of the newest Parliament and hoping that there are no political curve balls that screw the whole thing up.

But as with all things in life, time will tell.

Ruminations on a wedding...

2011-04-30T16:13:00.001-04:00

Not that I'll admit it in public, I did actually get up at 5:30 a.m. yesterday to watch the wedding ceremony.

I don't really know what captured my interest about the whole thing. Mostly I'm fairly on top of the news, and since it was such an historic event, I felt somewhat obliged to tune in.

And besides, it's nice to be able to look back in a few years and "remember where" I was when William wed Kate. They're historical markers/lampposts of your life that etch memories of who you were at that point in time into your brain, along with the significant world event.

And lets face it, the last few significant world events that we won't be forgetting were decidedly unhappy, so it's quite pleasant and positive to have been witness to a happy one!

Firstly, (I know at least one of you will roll your eyes to this) I have to say that her brother is quite cute. Matter of fact, there were a lot of cute guys seen throughout. I seemingly have a bias towards British guys, and the fact that I was half asleep through the first hour sort of negates me as being a gold standard of hotness.

I actually really enjoyed the service, it was simple and quite touching. The sermon in particular stood out to me as memorable. A few points that I really liked:

- "Transform, not reform one another." What a nice way to actually think about love and relationships. People seem to attempt to 'change' their partner's habits or attitudes instead of working together and becoming something new and more positive. Of course, that's only relevant if the person you're with is actually as committed to the relationship, e.g. "Your very own Prince/ss".

- "Love that is secure, not impulsive." Again, see above. Speaks to the more mature end of relationships, because lets face it, I'd rather a guy that brought home a pizza and wine every Friday night than being swept away for a romantic weekend once and then summarily dumped a couple weeks later.

- [in vows] "With my body I thee honour." This hit me like a ton of bricks when I heard it. Superior and more intimate in every way than, "With this ring I thee wed." You're not talking about an inanimate object here, you're talking about caring so deeply for someone else that you're connected on a molecular level. Why is it so hard for the modern man to honour you with his own body by not cheating on you or doing shit that he shouldn't behind your back?

Actually, looking at what I've just written strikes me as if I'm fairly un-spontaneous when it comes to relationships. I'm not going to say I like a "sure thing" but compared to being swept off my feet then kicked to the curb, I do favour the less-thrilling option. Maybe I'm not pushing myself outside my comfort zone enough, in terms of dating someone on a whim and with little thought for the consequences.

Ugh, even writing that last sentence was hard to write...I always think of the consequences. But maybe that's my problem.

Anyway, the wedding was lovely, upbeat and it was genuinely nice to see all the crowds of happy onlookers. Plus, here in Canada, Tracey Ullman served as commentator/co-host to the broadcast, so that was just funny.

But of course, not that I would ever admit it in public...

Click click...

2011-03-29T18:20:00.001-04:00

The internet is run rampant with sex and porn.

That statement is pretty much an oxymoron, but it’s worth bearing that pretty much anywhere you look, from dating sites to hooking up on Craigslist to all-out porn shoots, there are hundreds of photos of hundreds of guys showing off their bodies.

What I’ve been discovering more and more lately, as I venture guardedly back into the single world, is the staggering number of people who don’t hesitate to post their own pictures of themselves in ‘indiscreet’ situations. Most ‘dating’ (read: hook up) sites profiles have more pictures of a guy’s member or ass than they do of his smiling face.

Hell, half the time the mouth is too busy to smile for the camera.

Sex sells, and if you want to get laid, you better put the goods on display. A few flattering shots of yourself in the raw does wonders for the inbox, or so I’m told.

There are no existing nude photos of me, as far as I know. This is for two reasons:

1. Because I’m wayyy to self-conscious to put my body out there for all to see.

2. I don’t really know there will be no ‘long term’ effects of some candid shots sitting somewhere in the depths of the internet.

When it comes down to it, I don’t have a problem with guys showing off. It’s sexy to see ‘real’ people, couples, whoever, making their own little sex tapes. It offers something that porn – no matter how amateurish it’s production – cannot offer, that glimpse into the ‘uninhibited’ sex lives of real people.

Guys are not only putting up thousands of photos for free that the world is allowed to see, they’re joining ‘Cam’ sites and jerking off for an anonymous customer on the other end of their internet connection.

And again, while it can be all in good fun, what happens in, say, 15 years. How many people have copies of profile photos seen on Dudesnude, Adam4Adam, Manhunt and the like? Will anyone even care by then? Would anyone ever find out?

See, I’m still on the fence about how damaging these ‘pictures/videos’ are. Granted, your political career may suffer if voters see you getting down and dirty with some guy...but are these more scandalous because these politicians have families and are ‘straight’ or because it’s two guys having gay sex?

Add to that the probability that, outside the gay world, people who aren’t looking for gay porn aren’t going to come across your dirty laundry. That’s the theory, anyway. I mean, it’s not like the Times runs a ‘Reader Cock of the Week’ shot in the Sunday insert.

Still, I can’t help but hold off snapping a few cock shots of my own. I have no quibbles about regarding my sexuality, so I don’t necessarily disagree with making some home-made porn. I just can’t help but wonder how many bad things could happen because of those few photos.

I’ll open the floor to comments, because I’m genuinely curious how many of you either have posted or just taken pictures of yourself for the world’s collective enjoyment.

The one sure thing is that younger people, especially younger hyper-sexual gay guys, are not taking a moment to ask the same questions that I have. The number of white, auburn haired Midwestern American teens who make their privates available online is unquestionable. The evidence is all there online, for the world to digest at its leisure.

I just doubt I’ll be joining their ranks anytime soon, even if it means getting passed over for someone else because my profile doesn’t disclose every one of my assets.

EDIT: I've added a poll that I'd love for you to vote on, if the colour is a little hard to read I apologize, my Blogger skills are less than adept...

The small gestures...

2011-03-22T18:25:00.003-04:00

Have random acts of kindness really died in 21st century society?

A long while ago, when I was moving from my old place, I had to drop my washing machine pay card by the property manager’s office and sign a few things. The office wasn’t very busy, and the grandmotherly Bavarian woman who runs the place was happy to see me and get me sorted.
While signing on the dotted line, a young guy wandered into the office and took his place in line behind me.

As I was finishing, he asked the landlady for a laundry card; he had just moved in the day before and it wasn’t given to him then.

I casually asked the landlady if he could just take my old card, since there was still around 13 dollars left on it that I had no hope of using up.

“But, are you sure,” the landlady gasped at me, like I had just handed over a million dollars. “You can get your money back if you fill out another form and wait a few months, you know. You don’t have to give it away.”

She seemed so genuinely taken back by my ‘generosity’ an made a big fuss over how that’s never happened before and how I must be such a nice guy.

For his part, the other tenant who had just accepted my laundry card shook my hand and thanked me profusely. He’d just moved in the day before and was clearly young, probably getting ready to start university.

In a small way I felt like I was giving a hand to someone in a situation pretty much like my own just a few years ago. It made me feel kind of warm and fuzzy (as goofy as that sounds) to see the circle of life, as it were, revolve once more.

But the big deal over 13 dollars still blows my mind. It was as if I had just given them a grant for a million dollars. I tried to be as modest as possible , shrug it off and just say the whole ‘treat others as you would like to be treated’ thing.

“Nobody does that kind of thing though! “ she said matter-of-factly. “It doesn’t happen!”

I know the world can be a pretty cold, lonely, crappy place. I get the whole feeling down, fighting back against life’s hardships, etc. I guess you could call it the ‘human experience’. But jeez, I gave up like 10 bucks on a laundry card. I didn’t think my small random act of kindness would be taken so out of the blue.

I try to live my life as best I can and be a positive and giving person. What I did wasn’t the least bit out of character for me, but the response was certainly a surprise.

In this cold city, I guess I’m one of the few nice ones left after all.

What is and what it used to be...

2011-03-09T16:17:00.000-05:00

If 50 is the new 40, and 40 is the new 30, and 30 is the new 20...then I'm a 14 year old?

Culture is in constant flux, but one of the more changed facets of our lives is the interpretation of age. Sure, it's 'just a number' after all, but most people agree that each decade has skipped back a few years on the 'traditional' scale of existence.

People who were marrying and having children in their 20's now have them well into their 30's or beyond. Women in their mid-40's-to-50's are now considered attractive cougars, flush with the money from their divorces and fueled by raging menopausal hormones.

It all sounds very attractive for someone in the later years of their life, like a chance card in a board game, almost the permission for a do-over of a decade or so of their lives. We crave eternal youth, and society has now deemed it acceptable that the activities and decisions made at an older age are given as much credence as those of teenagers.

But what does it mean, exactly, for someone just starting out their life? If 30 is indeed the new 20, than being 24 makes puts me solidly back in adolescence. Am I then allowed the freedom of being a teenager, absolved of responsibility for my actions and safeguarded by my parents?

It never really crossed my mind, but I do have several friends that fit that description. They've finished university, gotten jobs, started living their own 'adult' lives...but still behave like teenagers. Everything is about the next party, the next weekend, ditching work early and shagging anything in sight. What's scary is they now have the somewhat-disposable income to do just that.

Of course, there's no real planning for the future...but that seems to be what your 30's are for now.

Even my friends who have successfully navigated life out of their 20's are, in a sense, just getting strong footholds in their professions. That came with around 10 years of hard work, mind you, but what used to be the jobs and occupations of freshly-graduated students are now the positions 30-somethings find themselves in.

I just don't get what this all really means for me. Am I allowed to live the life of a teenager? Does society now expect so little from me that I'll not only have less responsibility but less opportunity to get my life started?

And what will it mean for me once I'm in my 60's? I really don't want to feel the burden of being forced to work into my 70's, but at the rate we're going both societally and economically, it's a distinct possibility.

While there are less stressors surrounding age, like 'settling down and starting a family' or just plain settling, I still feel more lost in an age-limbo than embracing my newfound adolescence.

I guess I'm just not old enough to understand.

These dreams...

2011-03-06T20:05:00.000-05:00

~~I'm such a loser that~~ Even the guys I dream about are complicated and unattainable.

Sweeping statement, I know, but having just had a very vivid, lengthy dream about some fictitious guy that I was apparently totally in love with but in a beyond-complicated situation.

I say this dream was 'long' because it literally chronicled a relationship from beginning to end. Not every second, but enough for the 'viewer' (myself) to get the picture. I say this dream was vivid because I actually had that chest-swelling, stomach-fluttering feeling of love as I dreamed I was lying in bed, cuddling my anonymous boyfriend.

I never did catch his name...

Of course, it couldn't just be a happy dream. It couldn't have been a fun and easy distraction made up by my subconscious to ebb the flow of loneliness I've been feeling. Nope, it had to be as complicated and fucked up as my real-life relationships are.

The general plot dealt with me being introduced to a guy by my apparent best friend, some girl from high-school who I barely hung out with. We subsequently fell madly, passionately in love. I can't remember if the sex was any good, but there was a lot of cuddling.

So everything seems cheery in the quasi-futuristic world that my dream took place in. Except for the fact that my mystery man happened to be the son of two devout Mormons, his mother having her Masters in Mormon Theology and his father having a PhD in the subject.

Where the fuck did my subconscious come up with that?

Anyway, long story short, I agonizingly realized that there's no way for us to be together, given his background and the fact that he could not break away from his family and church. It ended touchingly with my 'best friend' and I sitting on her balcony on a summer evening lamenting lost love.

Alas, even in my dreams, the place of blissful escape, I still manage to meet a complicated man and find myself in a doomed relationship.

Yay me.

Shout out No. 3...

2011-03-06T20:01:00.000-05:00

Hola to a reader from Los Cristianos, Spain. Looks like a lovely place to take a mini-break! Just looking at a few photos helps take away the sting of our freezing cold winter!

Natural beauty...

2011-03-04T18:26:00.000-05:00

I have to say, I'm a sucker for natural beauty.

I don't mean beauty post-plastic surgery, colonic weight loss cleanse and professional grooming. I'm talking about just truly stunning features people have.

Be they the hallowed high cheek bones, or startlingly insightful eyes, or the perfect curvature at the corner of a smile, I'm always an admirer of someone that makes me look twice. Chalk it up to insecurity, or whatever, but I genuinely can be stupefied by a guy with the most charming curl of hair that lazily spills across his forehead.

Hell, what are we all kicking about the planet for if not to embrace that which brings us happiness. (I realize this makes me sound like a sociopath who abducts and murders pretty boys because he likes the way they look. Not the case, but it makes me sound a little nuts, I agree...)

But what I find most difficult when dealing with these specimens of beauty is the most basic of interactions with them.

Take for instance one of the most striking guy's I've ever come face-to-face with. He works at Holt Renfrew (aka Selfridges Canada) in the men's department, must be around 25, has the lightest tint of golden brown on his skin, black, lanky hair and an angular face. I'd tell you the colour of his eyes, but I've never been close enough to see.

Because I'm too intimidated to even speak to him.

I'll casually shift clothes on their racks, thumbing through for sizes or whatnot, stealing the occasional glance at the shopboy. In some ways it feels dirty, like I'm somehow a lecherous old molester scouting his next grope. Far from it actually, but it still feels funny.

On his part, he has never spoken to me (bad customer service!). I highly doubt he is even aware of my existence. And while I'm not really stunned or silenced by celebrity, this gorgeous man leaves me at a loss for words.

I have no designs to ask him out, or much of anything really. I just find it fascinating that as a grown-up, mature guy, I get lost for words when confronted with natural beauty. It's stupid. It's frustrating. And it always leaves me with that flutter of insecurity, that voice inside telling me I'll never look that way, nor wind up with someone that damn beautiful.

All in all, a total waste of time. But it is a pleasure to behold a guy, walking down the street or sitting in a cubicle, that hit the genetic lottery and stands head and shoulders above the rest of us. I get annoyed that confronting one illicits such a stupid response from me.

I just need to remind myself that perhaps there's someone out there thinking the very same about me.

Meet market...

2011-02-25T22:04:00.000-05:00

I'm already a little more than frustrated with being thrust back onto the singles market.

Even though I'm only 24, only very nearly dead in they eyes of the most cutting queers, I feel like I've really outgrown the whole online thing. First it felt like I was practically alone out here. Now I just feel alone.

The internet is a beautiful thing for gays and lesbians. It allows us to freely meet and mingle in a community that does not threaten us. At least, it doesn't threaten us with reproach from the straights, more threatens us with reproach from one another.

I just really feel at a loss, I'm sorry if this post is a bit rambling. I'm not usually overly-emotional about things, but I just feel really crappy tonight.

After unsuccessfully trying to meet some guys in the area, just for the sake of making some new friends, I canvassed Google and found a few more sites that I haven't hit up yet. I did the typical sign-up thing, wrote my little blurb and finally got to work checking out the local population.

And again and again, the population lets me down.

I don't feel like my standards are too high. I just feel like I have standards.

The internet has degenerated into a sex shopping mall. Literally every profile I read was geared towards finding the next fuck. Even the ones with a few interesting words to say ended their profiles with the typical, "But I'm on here to have fun too." Ugh.

Is it so incredibly hard to fathom that we might use the internet to actually make some friends with gays in our neighborhoods? I understand that it allows us the freedom to seek out sex without the scary consequences of bigotry, but why does it have to be used exclusively for the physical purpose?

I guess when I was a few years younger, I didn't notice it as much. I was content with meeting people on the physical level and not really getting stimulated on the mental one. But at this moment in my life I would really treasure meeting some guys 'like me'. I know my tastes are quite outside the norm (not that they're weird, just unpopular) but it feels like I am literally a one-of-a-kind person. Why is there nobody out there that actually wants to have meaningful conversations? Or that isn't a totally self-absorbed asshole? (Of course, writing this makes me a totally self absorbed asshole, but this is a blog, not a conversation.)

I just feel very frustrated and very down about the state of gay affairs. Are we all just meant to fuck one another and then bitch about it to our girlfriends? Is there nobody out there that just wants to make a more meaningful connection with the people around them? Am I destined to be sitting here on a Friday night, surrounded with my books, music and blog to keep me company?

Really, I just want to feel like I have a chance at standing out 'out there'. Because after reviewing the local postings, I just don't see much of anything in common with my fellow homos. I would say I feel sorry for them, but then again, I'm the one in the minority here, and they probably feel sorry for me.

I guess I just haven't yet found the right market to meet the type of person that I'd like to.

More than peach fuzz...

2011-02-20T22:55:00.000-05:00

I've always had an uncanny ability to grow facial hair.

It sounds like a stupid thing to declare but most guy's I've met have been (shockingly) envious that my beard grows in fully and completely. I'm talking the potential for mountain-man growth, if I don't shave it off regularly. Apparently most of the male population has issues growing proper facial hair, be it too 'thin' or too patchy or just too slow. I, on the other hand, have an abundance of it.

So it usually goes that those who don't have it, want it, and those who have it would rather not. I've actually had guys rub my stubble with nearly as much interest as they've rubbed my cock. To me it's bizarre, but I guess it's a sign of 'manliness'. Hell, I just usually let it grow because I'm too lazy to shave.

I always feel like sporting facial hair makes me look older, possibly a little too old for my liking. That, and I'm terrified that it places me straight into the 'bear-cub' (or whatever other animal they're using these days) territory, and I don't need somebody buying me assless chaps and calling me daddy.

Alas, even though I'm even insecure about something as simple as facial hair, it seems to be a hit with the boys. While it's not something I actively seek out, I will admit to having a bit of a fancy for it on the right guy, like Lady Antebellum's Charles Kelly, pictured below with some random fan. Rawr.

Actually, he reminds me of someone I know...but I digress...

Like most things, the facial hair attraction is a bit of a double standard; guys love to see it and give it a rub, but when it comes to the physical stuff there is the usual complaint of tickling, prickling hair in unwanted areas. When it happens, I kind of roll my eyes and remind them that 15 minutes ago they said it was hot.

So it seems as though I'm a bigger hit with the fuzz than without. That just means that I'll have to actually learn how to maintain it at a nice length without bushhogging it all off every five days. Ah, the things we do to maintain an image...

At any rate, it's nice to know I have a big draw that's all natural and all me.

Shout out No. 2...

2011-02-20T22:22:00.000-05:00

Howdy to a reader from Jackson, Tennessee.

Having visited Nashville and the surrounding areas in 2006 (I think, can't exactly remember the date) I must say that you guys have a great approach to life! Great music, great home-style food and lots of hot cowboys will ensure my eventual return.

Some random thoughts...

2011-02-17T22:15:00.000-05:00

In an attempt to avoid writing a treatise on one subject or another, I've elected to scribble down a few thoughts and anecdotes from my life.

Prepare to be ~~bored~~ enthralled.

-So remember that guy I wrote about who I had the chemistry with, and flirted with, then found out he had a boyfriend? Well, we've kept in touch, because I genuinely would like to make some friends around here. Anyway, he dropped the bombshell on me this week that he broke up with his 'asshole' boyfriend two weeks ago. He seems pretty bummed about it, so now at least I have someone to commiserate with.

-The other day I pulled out a sweater from my closet that I still had yet to wear this season. It was still wrapped in its dry cleaning plastic, so I pulled it all apart, tore out the tissue and finally put it on. And the fucking thing has a hole in it the size of a walnut.

I think I wore it roughly around five times, and it had only been sent to the cleaners once, and when it was sent there was no walnut-sized hole in it, therefore I deduce the cleaner destroyed by sweater. I'm really disappointed because it was a birthday present and a Fred Perry. This however is not the worst thing to happen to me in recent months, so I'm not going to sweat the small stuff.

-In Grammy news, Neil Young wins his first award (though not televised) for best Rock song from his latest album. Yay Neil! In even better news, Justin Bieber went home empty handed. Then I read today that he thinks we should only have sex with someone we love. And we shouldn't have abortions, because, "Thats, like, killing babies." When asked if a woman, who had become pregnant after being raped, should be allowed to abort the fetus, he responded that, "Everything happens for a reason." Oh, and he can't really answer, because he's never been in that position before. Yup, chalk up another squeeky-clean poster boy that's stupider than a stick. I wonder how he feels about the gays.

Have a good night all.

Another V-Day behind me...

2011-02-16T21:12:00.000-05:00

Honestly I can barely even come up with a few good pithy remarks about Valentines Day.

When I was younger I fantasized about spending that special day with a special someone. But this year I felt pretty contemptible about the whole shoddy affair.

I happened to be grocery shopping on the 14th and was stunned by the number of middle-aged men walking in an aimless daze, arms piled with flowers, chocolates and stuffed animals. So prolific was this year's V-Day that the store had set up an entire market area filled with all the Valentines necessities, including an employee wearing a hot pink shirt and red heart buttoned just above where his real one ought to be.

Not trying to sound like a cynical single, but really, I'd much rather celebrate my love for someone year-round with flowers, candy and gifts given 'just because' not 'because the calendar says so'. I mean, doing a little something for your someone on V-Day is sweet, but concentrating all of your creative love-energy on one Hallmark Holiday feels a little empty to me.

But I guess that's just my personality. After filling out some scientifically-questionable surveys, I discovered that I much rather someone show their affection for me by doing the 'little things' in everyday life, instead of decadent amorous displays. As shocking as it sounds, picking up my dry cleaning and putting your fucking socks in the hamper are true testaments of your love for me. The odd flower would definitely be appreciated, but that's icing on the cake.

Even more shocking is the dollar value of V-Day; the average person reportedly spend $116 for gifts and dinners. I know that I'm a flat-broke student who can easily spend that on a single meal at one of my favourite restaurants, but for Joe Sixpack to spend that kind of money is truly surprising.

It also feels like Valentines Day is just another way for straight men to try and get their woman into bed. Send the kids to the grandparents, throw some flowers and candy at her, ply her with wine and then produce a nicely-wrapped gift of lingerie and then presto sexo, you've gotten laid for the first time in four months.

(My apologies to any married folks reading this, I think a teeny bit of cynicism got out there.)

In all my few years of dating, I've somehow managed to spend every V-Day alone, either by being single or being physically separated from the person I was dating. I have yet to receive the lavish attention the mind conjures when one thinks of the most 'romantic day of the year'. Like I've said before, this is the year of not giving a damn that I'm single.

And that's the best Valentine's Day gift I've had yet.

Shout out...

2011-02-16T20:19:00.006-05:00

I'm starting a new trend here at FU.

Since re-re-starting blogging, I've been tinkering with analytics and seeing where my traffic is coming from. Alas, unlike the good old days when I was getting a shockingly high number of hits (at least I was surprised anyway), things have slowed down, no doubt because I barely posted for like two years.

Anyway, now that I'm resuming regular postings, I thought it would be fun to give a shout out to some readers from smaller communities. While I love my city folk, it's kind of fun to think that someone, somewhere is some town is reading my words.

I just hope the locations I pick are actually those of readers, not just randoms that accidentally got directed while Googling alternative testicular cooling methods.

So, the first official shoutout is to a reader from Wollongong, New South Wales, Australia. Hope you're enjoying the dog days of summer down under!

Peeking at the outside world...

2011-02-12T21:48:00.000-05:00

I forgot how much fuckwittage there is in the cesspool of the online world.

I'm not trying to sound cynical. It's been so long since I've even really looked at any online-profile websites that I'd forgotten how ridiculous and traumatizing it is. Silly old me even thought that - maybe - the world would have gotten nicer during my online absence. Oh brother...

In an attempt to actually meet some people in my general vicinity as well as (possibly) start moving forward and putting some distance between myself and my previous relationship, I re-created a profile on one of the more modest sites. My expectations have been set pretty low both due to geography and 'the nature of the beast' but admittedly I've been surprised at my general lack of success and the dent it leaves in one's ego.

First off, it seems that people come in three groups. One, the smattering of guys that come across as having serious socialization problems. Not exactly great material for friendship. The next are arrogant, cocky and generally sex crazed. It always reads like these guys are just looking for the next lay and basically can't stop talking about how wonderful they are. Again, not the type of guy that I'm really interested in hanging out with.

The final group is the one that exasperates me the most. They're the ones that have the perfect hair, perfect teeth, a killer body, a coverboy that holds a doctorate in neurobiology who also find time to build houses for destitute Guatemalans and volunteer at their local animal shelter.

Yes, yes, yes, I can already hear a certain someone's sage advice: "People bullshit profiles all the time and everybody lies." Don't worry, I'm not sucked in completely, but damn if I haven't read some appealing profiles. But, of course, I shudder to even think of talking to, let alone meeting, these saints.

On one such occasion I read the profile of a guy in his mid-20's who was a short blond with the most amazing smile I've seen. He's a student, working towards his doctorate, seeking genuine and intelligent conversation with similar guys. His photos paint a picture of a very attractive man with a fabulous social life (and deadly smile). His profile described him as having impeccable taste. His favourite music closely resembles mine, something that barely, barely ever happens. In short, he would be the ideal on-paper friend.

So on a whim I messaged him. I politely asked what he was studying and congratulated him on pursuing his education so far. No innuendo, no sly wording, just a few straight-up friendly lines.

Of course I was thrilled when I got a reply a mere 20 minutes later.

The thrill lasted around two seconds when I realized it was 10 words long. An answer to my question. That was it. No further discussion, no questions pointed back at me. Nothing of any substantial meaning.

I don't really know what I'm doing wrong. I didn't send him five pages of personal info, explaining point by point how much we have in common and how awesome and rare that is. I just sent a friendly note. I think I would have preferred silence instead of the one-line reply.

Over the course of about a month I have never been spontaneously sent a message from anyone. Roughly 20 people have viewed my profile. And it makes me feel pretty worthless and unappealing.

I know I shouldn't let it bother me. I mean, it's the fucking internet, it's pretty much all bullshit, lies and half-truths. But it does play into my (insane) want to be wanted. Nobody is more aware than me that my tastes and interests lie outside the 'norm' of a gay 20-something. I'm not expecting people to be banging down the doors wanting to get to know me. But dammit, I would really like if a couple people showed a vague interest!

Sadly, at this point in my life, there really isn't any other way to meet people except online. Now living in a homophobic community, it's even less likely that I'll run into guys around my age and strike up a friendship. And my one experience with a local boy, as you've already seen, was pretty much a disaster. I have little choice but to put myself on the interweb and hope for the best.

I just wish I didn't feel so damn worthless over something so utterly stupid.

So many resolutions...

2011-02-07T14:44:00.000-05:00

I'm not big on New Year's resolutions.

In fact, I don't ever recall really making one, ever, both because everyone I see making them usually breaks them within a month or two, and because I generally believe if I want to make a change in my life, I need to do it at any point in the year, not just on January 1st.

But there are so many things that I want to do lately and just can't seem to muster up the drive or concentration for. Most aren't even difficult, but I've been so out of it lately that I have yet to really follow through with all but one.

The one thing I've been doing - writing a short, one page summary of my day - has been sort of interesting. I'd like to look back in 10 years and see what my life was like. I was inspired to do this from reading a biography on Winston Churchill, which used excerpt from many common British folks' diaries. They gave great insight into the times and how they felt about the issues of the day. Sadly, my diary is more of a recap of my terribly boring life, with no real social or political commentary. I guess that's what Frozen Underwear is for, though I doubt I'll wind up in any books.

Other things on my list, but so far ignored:

- Write to a friend every day. I want to send a letter/note/whatever to somebody every day, both as a way to get back in touch with my friends and to keep up to date on how everybody is doing. Not that challenging, but I still haven't done it yet.

- Volunteer. I want to volunteer for a youth services group in the LGBTQ sector. It wouldn't be a huge commitment of time, and it's something I've wanted to do for a long while. I really want to actually do something for others, even if it's just in a small way. Don't know how difficult it is to get involved with, and it's definitely a pain now that I'm not in Toronto, but I want this to happen this year.

- Write fiction. There have been many times that had the vague workings of a novel or short stories, but my insecurities about writing always take over and I wind up shelving everything because I worry it's not good enough, not original, been done to death and would be a giant cliche. I want to write something that's actually good, and it's intimidating.

- Fitness. I know I've beaten this one to death, but come spring/summer I would like to actually get a little more fit. I lost a ton of weight from stress and anxiety last year, then gained it all back (and then some) with the depression I've been in for the last 6 months. Even just for my general health, I'd like to loose some weight and work on the cardio thing.

- Learn to ride a horse. I've had this on my list for years, and now that I'm back in horse country there's no reason that I can't get some experience and learn to ride.

There are others, but that gives you an idea of the types of things I want out of the next year.

Now it's just finding the time to do it all...

Get out from under my skin...

2011-02-06T15:34:00.000-05:00

I want my ex out from under my skin.

He's not in there in any good kind of way. It's not the sexy itch that needs to be scratched, more the poison ivy that continues to welt and swell.

We talked today for the first time in about a week, and it started a little rocky. Mild bickering more than anything. It got better and we even had a 'normal' conversation. We ended it well and everything was fine.

I waited for the text message that I knew would follow our conversation. Sure enough, it came, albeit having a bit of a surprising invitation to come spend the night and sleep with him.

Now, to be clear, this was very out of context. He's told me many times about how sleeping with his ex's always made him feel bad, "Seemed like a good idea at the time but wound up making me feel lonely and like shit after." So, why oh why would he want to proposition me?

My sex life with the ex was never very satisfying. On my side, he never seemed into me enough, never seemed to want to have sex that often and always made me feel more like he viewed sex with me as 'work' more than fun. On his side, he says I didn't listen to what he wanted, that I wasn't in tune enough with him and that I never 'met him half way'.

Me being (stupid) me, I wanted to know why he felt the way he did, why he would want to have sex with me now, if he ever really enjoyed sex together...on and on. He kept feeding the fire with offhand remarks that generally made me feel bad about myself and basically want to cry. After hashing it all out, he then told me none of it even matters anymore since we're not together.

I wanted to know all that, generally, because I'm a very self-conscious person and always felt as if I never actually made him happy. I wanted to know why. Instead of getting an answer or an understanding, I just got my feelings hurt, and I don't really even know what for.

We allow others to have power over our feelings, expecting that they will handle with care. But what happens when we want to take that power away, when it's better not to be able to be hurt my a few bits of text? Why is it so hard to not give a shit about things that he says, when I know full well it's not right? Why do I let it bother me?

By the end of the conversation I was left vulnerable, hurt and really sad. And stupid. And I had nothing to show for it.

I guess it just takes time and detachment to finally take that power away from someone. But I want him out from under my skin. I want to be free of the hurt that words can cause.

When that will happen is another story.

Local love story (Part 2)...

2011-01-17T21:42:00.000-05:00

One morning I text my local boy to say hi.

We made the usual chit chat that's become more and more flirtatious. I've still got that little flutter in my stomach and a smile that slips onto my face every now and then. In short, I've got a huge crush on this guy.

My phone buzzes and I pick it up, expecting to see another cute message from him. Instead, my heart falls nearly as low as my jaw sags.

"So...I have to be 100% honest with you, since you're a really really nice guy...but I have a bf."

Fuck. Off.

Really?

I mean, really God? I do hope someone out there is getting a laugh at my continual expense.

After a minute or two of hearing ringing in my ears and grasping for something to say, he sends another message. "Please don't hate me"

So I do the gentlemanly thing, and tell him I'm happy for him and hope that we can still work on a friendship since it's nice to actually meet someone new in small-town-bum-fuck-nowhere. Oh and by the way, why didn't you tell me this when I asked you fucking out?

"Well I was going to say something but my bf is a huge asshole, he's a gym nut and really jealous."

Again, lacking in the logic department, this answer seemed as good as any. The subtext was simple: I'm having fun flirting with you because I can't stand my boyfriend but that's all there's ever going to be between us.

Most of the day passes and I'm still walking around harbouring a bit of hurt. Not hurt so much as let down. For whatever reason, I'd finally met someone practically in my backyard. And we have chemistry. And he's crazy cute. Like the non-cynic that I am (when it comes to love, anyway) I thought that maybe this guy would be different, not screwed up by a life in the city, a million one night stands, cheating boyfriends and all the baggage that most people seem to be carrying around. I just hoped he was different.

How wrong I was.

Things continue to get more complicated. Apparently the boyfriend also lives in said town. What a hoot to discover not one, but TWO local gays! Laws of averages dictate they inevitably should be a couple, or at least according to him.

Strangely, the flirting from him continues. He texts nonstop for the rest of the day, saying things that made me blush and wonder just how serious he is with this other guy. Hope springs again as I fantasize about the possibility he's not committed and that maybe we'll have a shot at things.

I visit him one afternoon and arrive just moments before another friend of his. As he's distracted taking a phone call, she leans over and whispers in my ear, "Steal him away from that asshole!"

Jesus, not only does he sound like he hates his boyfriend, the rest of the world apparently does as well.

It continues over the next couple of days, and I start getting a little more uncomfortable with our textual banter. My ethics start up with a vengeance as I realize that his sexual innuendo could actually lead to something. I don't want to be the 'other guy' in the scenario because I respect myself too much to play that part as much as I respect that his boyfriend doesn't deserve being cheated on. And besides, I don't want to be the 'other guy', I want to be the 'guy'.

Just as I'm about to go for coffee with him and inform him of my principals and tell him I won't go beyond just talking to him, he texts me. His boyfriend snooped on his phone and saw all that had been said back and forth.

My drama-alarm goes off and I get the sinking feeling that this whole thing just really isn't worth it.

The boyfriend called him a whore and a slut, they got into a huge fight, it went on forever...and they decided to stay together.

Ok, now I'm officially done. With one last long message telling him that I suppose all we're meant to be is friends, and how I hoped his boyfriend appreciated him, and how nice it must be for him to be so in love with a guy he calls an asshole, I bury any remaining thoughts of what could have been.

We're still texting now and then, and I suppose we're working on the whole friendship thing, but I'm more than a little discouraged about the whole affair. All my hoping that dating outside the city would be relatively drama-free and that the local guys would be genuinely both moral and non-cynical has more or less evaporated. Apparently no matter where you are, the gay baggage that bogs down so many relationships still exists.

After a good weekend of venting to a few friends, I feel better about the whole thing and can pretty much laugh it off. But I'm always going to remember the first guy I almost-dated back home, and what a disaster the whole thing was.

(Stupidly) This doesn't mean I've given up on the idea of a straight-shooting country boy.

Local love story (Part 1)...

2011-01-13T12:07:00.000-05:00

I met a boy in town.

I've been living at my parents since the big breakup a few months ago, which means a life back in the sticks, far away from culture and other gays. Not that it's a big deal, but just kind of a fact-of-life out here.

But recently I made the acquaintance of a guy who works in town and is most definitely gay. And not only that, I found myself strangely, naturally drawn to him. Not out of necessity or neediness, mind you, but simply out of a natural attraction.

So I've visited him a couple times, and we've talked and flirted and found we get along famously. He's got a wicked grin and is quite possibly the cutest guy I've ever chatted up (mostly because I'm so damn shy about that, but anyway...). There's a spark between us, sexual and personal.

He also happens to be my age, which gives us a lot of common ground, both coming from the same area and both being gay. We've talked at length about growing up in a neighborhood where gay is still taboo and compared notes on how he's survived living out here while I up and left for the big city.

For him, living out here hasn't treated him too poorly. In contrast to me, who's never officially met anyone the least bit gay in the area, his experience has been plentiful, with many a homo chatting him up. "Mostly while their wives or girlfriends are out of hearing range," he said with a grimace. While indeed the closeted non-urban gay isn't a rare creature, he seems to have brought them out of the woodwork.

So I summed up the parts to ask for his number, and he gave it to me.

I think this is the first time on record that I've asked someone out face-to-face. I giddily drove home and started planning what we could do in a town with as many cows as people.

What surprises me most about this is how ready I am to just have some fun with somebody. It's been so long since I've felt that spark of something new, the fluttering in your stomach that just won't seem to fade. I'm not looking for an instantly-serious-fall-in-love scenario, but I feel like I deserve to have some fun with someone I genuinely click with.

What surprises me even more is how flattering this guy is to me! I've never been called cute and handsome so many times. It's a damn fine feeling to receive compliments like that, mainly because I have a hard time grasping that someone could possibly feel that draw for me.

So everything has been sunshine and daisies, and I've put myself out there with the hopes of reaping a reward.

But something happens that puts a cloud in the sky and sends me into an ever-more confusing spiral of circumstance...

Fat...

2011-01-12T20:37:00.003-05:00

If you've been a semi-regular here at FU, you probably know that I'm slightly weight-conscious.

Not that you could tell by looking at me as I scarf down chips or order my fourth cocktail, but I've always been sensitive about my size. I'm not 'fat', or overweight for that matter, but I've never really become at peace about my body type. I'm gay-fat - AKA I have more than 5% body fat.

Think football(er), minus the actual intensive working out. Broad shoulders, tall, thick chest. And as I've gotten a little older, I've started to realize that, no matter how small my waist should get, I'll never be a more 'compact' body. My chest will never cave in on itself, shedding it's size such as a waist could.

I have been told if I did put my mind to it, I could have a jock-like body. Since that has never really fit my mindset, I've never really been intent on getting toned up, or sexier still, full-on ripped. The word jock - gay, straight or otherwise - makes me think of all the qualities that I dislike in a man. (Though clearly not you, dear jock readers.)

For my part, I've always maintained my weight based on what I eat. My formal exercise has been practically non-existent, but I'm not a couch potato. While I have actually stuck my head in a gym in recent months, I've yet to see any major impacts on my pecs, quads and delts (I think I may have made that last one up.) I found I actually enjoy using an elliptical provided I've got the tunes to work to. I also found out I sweat like a madman, which is kind of gross.

Would I like that Sean Cody-esque model body? Absolutely. Would I have the foundation for it? Probably. Will I be able to get it? Who knows, maybe if I worked at it.

When I was in high school, I always noticed that my body didn't quite fit in with the rest of the guys my age. Like my personality, my body matured earlier than most. I never got to be a stick-figure twink, and I'm a little sore about it.

The more I've learned about what other guys look for, the more I see that my body might not be so undesirable after all. Granted, once the clothes come off I'll hope the lights are down low. But by then it's too late anyway and they're basically stuck with me.

Not only that, but as corny as it sounds, I really care a lot more about what's inside than what's out. That's probably a source for both discomfort and ease; on one hand I hope the person I'm courting is looking more at my personality than how chiseled my abs are, but I also fully recognize the fact that a portion of the population is primarily vain and driven by looks.

As a new year rolls around, I silently promise myself that this will be the year I take control of my body. Being newly single, I have reason to dedicate a bit more time on how I look.

Now it's just a matter of getting my gay-fat ass in shape.

And four weeks later...

2010-12-17T18:48:00.000-05:00

I'm sitting at the very desk that I started Frozen Underwear at.

There are parts of me that feel like giving you every gory detail about my breakup. Really, there are. I would like nothing more than to get it off my chest. But I'm also sensitive about the fact that my now ex was in my life for two years, not a guy I dated that provided fodder for blogging. He has a right to his privacy, and so I've decided to discuss the breakup as little as possible.

Long story short, we went out not with a bang, but with a whimper. He was pretty blindsided by the whole thing, but I held my ground with my decision and laid it all out. At the end, I think he still believed that he could change my mind, but that ship had sailed.

I took my bags and left. No huge fight, screaming, or anything that had been predicted. Lots and lots of crying and pain. The typical accusations that my leaving him was 'easy' for me, and that I should instantly feel 'happy' about it. Wrong on both counts, but he has a hard time understanding how I feel.

So now, like I said, I'm sitting at the very desk that I began Frozen Underwear at, having moved back in with my parents. And it's around the same time of year when, many moons ago, I was miserable with the direction my life was headed. At least this time I think I've got off to a head start.

2010 was not a good year for me. It's brought nothing but pain and sorrow, and I'm glad to have it behind me. I pray 2011 will be the year I finally get myself back. But nothing is simple, and there are still obstacles to be overcome before I can feel better about myself and my life. A big one was ending a dead-end relationship, yet even that hasn't made me feel all that great. I'm waiting for that time when it hurts less and I've worked through the grief and the crap, but so far I just feel tired and burnt out.

Christmas is upon us, my favourite holiday and season of the year. The tree is trimmed, the lights hung and the very few presents that I can afford are bought. The wine is breathing, the roast is nearly done, and I'm alone.

And for the first time in my life, it doesn't feel sad to be single.

That's one hell of a start.

Antiquated and boring...

2010-11-09T16:23:00.003-05:00

And no, I don't mean me (though there are days...).

Now that I've decided to reinvest some time and energy into Frozen Underwear, I took it upon myself to look around the site and see how it's holding up. After all, I started this thing up many years ago and have never changed the layout, colours, etc. And looking at it today, I have to say it's pretty damn ugly.

This thing is in need of a makeover.

The page comments seem to have been repeatedly raped by spammers. The colour scheme is old and boring. There are no photos, videos or hooks of any kind (though I do usually avoid that because I tend to focus on the words and content rather than pretty pictures of abs and underwear).

I have basically zero online-editing skills, so you guys will have to bear with me while I try and spruce the place up a little.

Any suggestions (or offers of help) are greatly appreciated!

EDIT: So I just monkeyed around a bit and wound up changing the layout a touch. It still looks boring.

He says he's back...

2010-11-08T20:38:00.001-05:00

Well hello again all.

For any of you that still have me on your radar, I’d like to think that I’m about to make a bit of a comeback. I see my last post was in November of 2009. My bad habit of lapsing from weeks to months between posts has now lapsed to years. But no more, or at least I hope.

I was sitting on my couch today thinking about all that’s changed in my life over the past two years (a hell of a lot, really), and how I missed writing down my thoughts and adventures. That was because most of my thoughts and adventures centred around my boyfriend, and who the hell wants to read entry after entry about him and my constant stream-of-consciousness analysis of our relationship. It’s basically over now, so I guess that’s why I’m reaching back for old habits.

Anyway, to briefly update my life:
- I’ve finished my undergraduate degree! Sounds exciting, except,
- I’m unemployed and can’t find steady, stable, professional work, so,
- I decided to go back to school to top off my CV with a bit more fancy education in the hopes that it will help the job hunt
- I’ve moved out of my old apartment that I shared with my dear friends for the past four years
- I moved in with my boyfriend to a totally foreign and culturally neglected part of the city
- Since getting serious with boyfriend, have seriously lost touch with many of my friends, both online and real-world, which really sucks. I miss them a lot.
- I’ve developed a pretty depressed mentality, realizing how sad I am that the high I was riding on in my last year of university quickly faded, I’m nowhere near where I expected to be in my life plan, etc.

I guess I feel like I’m in a coma, floating above myself. I can see my body, but I just can’t quite stir myself back to life. Days and months of monotony have flown by. And I’ve had enough.

So I guess that’s what brings me back to blogging. I started this blog when I was in the same damn situation years ago; I was unhappy with the then-current state of my life, I wanted to vent and I wanted to change. And by God I did. Same thing applies to my state of life now; I’m unhappy, I want to vent and I want change.

Guess that mean’s I’m back.

The very first...

2009-11-24T19:01:00.003-05:00

What exactly is one supposed to say, or do, when confronted with the person they gave their virginity to?

That night will forever be etched in my mind (and immortalized in text online), but I've never given much thought to just how to react if I were to ever see him again. So a couple days ago, takeaway in one hand and a shopping bag in the other, my response and response time to the as yet unanswered question was fairly subdued.

I crossed the street with my typical tunnel vision fully set in, causally unaware of the people surrounding me, trying to balance the load in my arms while flicking through songs on my iPod. I had barely made it as the light changed to amber, then red. I half-stopped in my tracks, deciding last minute to cross the street again, now that the light flicked green. And in that moment of decision, I noticed him standing mere feet from me, coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

It was the briefest of glances, but enough to get my blood pumping in overdrive. My body seems to react in a funny sort of way when presented with such 'surprises'; my heart will pound harder, my legs feel a tingle, my vision goes wonky and my head tries it's best to make a graceful movement away from the subject.

During the entire encounter, I never actually stopped walking. But in that brief second, that night replayed in the big screen of my mind, and a sly smile crept across my face.

It never occurred to me to stop, to say hello or acknowledge my recognition of him. If he even noticed me, he chose to react in the very same way. There was no magical unspoken moment between us, but an almost polite attempt to pretend the whole thing never even happened.

I'm not really sure if that's how everyone reacts to everyone else in this type of situation, but it seemed to fit. The guy himself and I never became anything more than bed buddies, though he was a sweet person and genuinely interesting. But seeing him once more didn't, for whatever reason, compel me to wrap him in a hug and buy him a cup of coffee.

Not to mention the fact that the chance meeting seemed to have come completely out of the blue, since to my understanding he, being a visiting American student, shouldn't have even been in the country anymore...

Ah well. It was what it was. A moment from the past shoved past the tunnel vision into the present. And it made me smile, and it made me feel good about who I am and where I've come from.

And that's something I'll always remember.

The joys of the Internet (Part III)

2009-11-18T15:03:00.000-05:00

One thing has finally occured to me, similar to an old adage that my grandfather drilled into me: we all jerk off just the same.

Sexy, unsexy, cut, flabby, short, tall, Asian, Latin...gorgeous or plain...we all beat our meat for fun and to burn off sexual steam.

But for quite some time, I've always envisioned the really hot people, the ones with ripped bodies and coy, sexy looks never really jerk off. I mean, they could have a lineup of guys wanting to do it for them, so why waste the effort? Why not save yourself and let somebody else do all the work - and clean up the mess?

Strange, I know, since masturbation is one of the most normal, across the board trademarks of human sexuality. It reminds me so of my grandfather's consistent belief that, when confronted with the rich, the famous or the plain beautiful, remember; we all shit the same.

So when I found myself about a year ago talking to a very, very attractive guy online, I was somewhat surprised that he confessed his weekend was going to consist of jerking off and sleeping.

It all started rather strangely, for me; with a compliment. Without being too overly bullshitish, he simply said, "Hello handsome." An unusual comment directed at me, not because I think I'm truly hideous but because nobody ever really says it...

Anyway, we began talking about this and that, and it struck me that maybe this guy wasn't so attractive after all. I mean, he was being nice! He was being polite! He was engaging in intelligent conversation, meaningful dialogue about his job and his life! He couldn't be hot, too; he wasn't self-centred enough!

I know, there are friendly gorgeous people out there. I've met them, I've talked to them, but they remain interested in you only for so long. Eventually, a boy of their calibre passes perilously close and, poof, they're lost in each other and you're reminded that three's a crowd.

But as we broached the subject of each others' weekend plans, he made the rather out of context statement that, since he had no other plans, nor anything much to do, he was going to sleep and jerk off.

He immediately appologized, wiping away any chance that it was a come-on, an attempt to have me do the heavy lifting for him.

Yet the flirtations continued, with me jokingly insulting his alma matter. His response, "You're lucky your cute... you can get away with it."

Well colour me flattered, I thought, I might have a live one here. Intelligent enough to get my jokes, good-natured enough to reciprocate, and open enough to admit he's going to, between Christmas shopping and card writing, beat his dick off multiple times.

As we talked more, his playfulness continued as he described his interests, which included diving. I'd seen a face picture of this guy, and thought indeed that he was quite attractive. But the photo in his IM box was of a perfectly formed, perfectly tanned ass, tucked into a perfectly small Speedo. Holy shit...this is the elusive, porn-star-esque type of boy that I always wondered about but never talked to!

The amazement didn't stop there. He cooks, he keeps a nice house, he has a brilliant and creative job...and he was still flirting with me.

And just as we were wrapping that part of the conversation, about his hot swimmers body and eye candy at the pool, concluding with a witty remark from me that made him laugh, he magically disconnected. I'm going to, as I usually grudgingly do, give him the benefit of the doubt and pretend that his internet died.

Thinking back on it, I instantly focused on what I still found hard to believe:

The eligible, gorgeous, fit, intelligent, well-to-do young guy was going to blow off sexual tension not by bedding other equally etherial boys, but by jerking off. Who knows if it's because he despises casual sex, or if he has his own hangups with hookups, but the only person working over his pole this weekend was going to be him.

It really makes all those overly fierce, hot guys seem just a bit more human, and a bit less fabulous. Instead of the assumed fantasy that they are simply so attractive they need not masturbate, I learned that even the hot ones rub one out all by themselves. That maybe they're not on such a vastly different plane of existence after all.

Because, like my grandfather always said, we all shit the same, each and every one of us.

Pick-me-up

2009-10-13T13:03:00.001-04:00

Often times I wonder just why it is that I'm perpetually cursed with the lack of ability to pick up.

It seems no matter where I am, what time of day or who I'm with, I never really get chatted up or any other forward motion. OK, I know that you're thinking, "Steve, you have a boyfriend, why are you even thinking about this?" But it's relevant to a story I'd like to share about my time in London.

The funny thing about it is that Aaron (my BF) and I both feel like we're in the same boat. As we were getting to know each other, he described many similar things to me, including the lack of attention he felt when out and about. Unless we're mistaken, neither of us has been truly 'picked up'. Aaron has told me stories about sitting alone at a bar after work, sipping a martini and trying to look busy, hoping all the while that someone would sit down beside him and strike up a conversation. It never happened.

I guess it goes without saying that both of us would be hesitant to do the picking up ourselves. Aaron is quite shy in his natural state, and not very forward when it comes to dating. I would say the same about myself, that I would rather a guy approach me than have to casually chat someone up.

Part of it, surely, is being unaware. I often wonder how people unlock that awareness within themselves, to see flirtations at their face value and to easily navigate the talk to a favourable outcome. Unfortunately, even though I'm now 23, I still feel like a very naive teenager when it comes to such things.

But one night in London I tried putting that all behind me and took a half-step towards the great pickup.

My friend Ash and I were out for dinner in Soho, but decided to poke around the neighbourhood before sitting down to eat. We grabbed a pint, then walked the 'seedy streets' of sex shops. I found one that looked particularly nice, and particularly gay, and we went in to check it out.

Inside was much the same as any sex-related store worldwide, and we immediately set out sizing the place up. We found some nice underwear on sale, and Ash bought her straight friend a birthday present of (quite sexy) briefs with some pink lining. Apparently he isn't one to wear pink, or briefs.

As we walked around, the guy behind the counted began talking to us. He was cute, late-20's, and seemed genuine and friendly. For some reason I got a good vibe from him, a natural pull that went beyond just simple surface attraction.

When we walked deeper into the shop and out of earshot, I told Ash just how cute the shopboy was. "There's something about him that's really got a pull," I said, feeling a little fluttery. "He's damn cute too!"

She agreed, and angled me towards the counter. Ash is no shrinking violet, and is about as outgoing as one can get. She forced us into a conversation about Canada and my visit and about the underwear I was planning on buying there. We chatted for a solid 10 minutes before finally making our purchases and walking out.

For his part, the shopboy seemed to be engaged in the conversation, but my hopes of him sporadically asking me out were dashed as we walked out the door. "Damn, and there was something about this guy…" I said, trailing off into my imagination.

"So, you'd go on a date with him, if he was free," Ash asked, giving me a burning look.

"Uh, sure," I said, "but he didn't seem all that interested, I mean, he never said anything…"

By now we'd sat at our restaurant table and ordered another beer. Ash sat looking at me quizzically for a moment, then leaned forward. "If you want, I'll go back and ask him out for you," she said.

I put on a bit of a 'oh please' show for her, but deep down I genuinely wanted to see what she could set up. I finally agreed, and she skipped out the door and back to the shopboy.

For the next few minutes I sat in stunned anticipation. This isn't something that I normally do, or have people push for me to do, but it was exciting and I let myself daydream about a possible date in my near future.

Ash returned and sat across from me again, her face impossible to read.

"Well, first he asked why you didn't come back yourself," she said, "but I explained you're a shy guy."

I nodded along.

"Second, he's actually married, and is 32."

I didn't really have a problem with the 32 bit, but the marriage thing certainly didn't work.

"Third, they're expecting an adopted child within the next couple months."

This information seemed a little overkill, since I already understood the answer was no.

"But he never said he wasn't interested?" I asked.

"That part he didn't say," Ash smiled. "Sorry, though."

We laughed at my perpetually bad luck, and ordered dinner.

An unwelcome return...

2009-10-12T21:24:00.001-04:00

It's funny how familiar circumstances are sometimes of our own creation.

Sure, an incident may set the whole chain of events off, but how we deal with the initial incident is what makes for our own familiar circumstances. Such as myself, tonight, sitting down to write for the first time in months.

Tonight I'm sitting in my bedroom. It's one of the first very cold evenings of the year, and I've closed my window. It reminds me of winter, like the last time I'd posted anything to Frozen Underwear.

Around my room I have a few tealight candles burning, adding to the soft glow of my lone lamp. Usually I prefer to keep the room a bit more…ambient…in the evening. On my dresser, a stick of incense burns softly, adding a mysterious aroma to the room.

These are all things that I've done hundreds of evenings before this one. And the mixture of sights, smells and my mood have all brought me to the realization that I accidentally recreated the exact circumstances of my many nights spent pondering and pining. Which is exactly what I am doing this very evening.

Many things have happened in the life of Steve over the past several months. I did indeed travel to London, returning safely two weeks after my last post. The trip was wonderful; England was exactly how I imagined, meaning that I was happy beyond belief.

Life did not cease to amaze when I returned from my adventure. Little do any of you know, but I had been dating a boy since the start of the new year, someone very special. From our first date, we have not spent more than a few nights apart save my vacation. I didn't want to admit it before I left, mostly because I hadn't realized it, but I found myself in love for the very first time. I told him the night that I got back and we were happily cuddled in each others arms.

Since then, I have been taken on a journey that I have been waiting for since my first posts here. I've been happy, sad, up, down, angry, ecstatic, and everything in between, which I'm told is fairly normal for those in love.

We've shared many moments together, each being what has been hoped to be the first of many. We've counted the days we've been together, marked our anniversaries as they ticked by, and both reveled in the happiness that we had finally found that special person.

In our good moments, we're quite good. We compliment each other, share a common desire and wants for a lifestyle. But like everything, there have been bad moments, some very fresh and sour.

I guess in many ways, we're an average young couple, scavenging for work, scraping together funds, and generally trying to navigate life. Even though it feels like the whole world has gotten bogged down in a depressed rut, including my dear boyfriend, nothing feels as remarkable and happy as waking up with his body pressed into mine.

As I said, there have been bad moments, and for the past month things have not been as they should. I'm still deciding how much of him I should share online, but for the moment I'll say that he has some personal issues that he's trying to work out, and I've been here the whole time trying to be supportive and loving.

It gets a bit difficult when I look back and see just how much of myself I've given in the hopes that we can make everything work out, both for him and between us. There have been some wounds made that will take a very long time to heal. Frustrations often rear their head, especially recently; I can give as much of myself as I want, but a man that doesn't want to work for change most likely will not.

It's not all doom and gloom, I assure you…but sitting here tonight certainly feels gloomy. You see, I just got back from a long weekend away with my family. Each day since Friday we spoke, twice a day. I came home mid-afternoon fully expecting him to be waiting here for me; I've really missed him and can think of nothing but curling up together on the couch.

But when I swung the door open, he was nowhere to be found. With no note left, no cellphone to reach him on, no e-mail waiting for me, I've been left quite alone and uninformed. Last we spoke, he said he might visit a friend until I got home, but that he wanted to be there when I did. Here I sit, six hours later, and still no sign of my dear.

I'm sure to you reading this, I must sound pretty sad. What about all of the above has put me in such a bad mood? I guess it's just my major source of frustration with him, his disappearing act that can last for days. It's beyond frustrating (and a huge let down) to have spoken every day on the phone, yet arrive home to an empty house.

And so tonight I've gone about my routine from the past, lighting candles and burning incense, sitting in the calm dark of my room. Realizing that I feel pretty lonely right now, that I'm still that uneducated boy who first started this blog. Reflecting on how far I've come with some things, yet how little ground I've covered on others.

I sit here tonight alone, feeling as if another of my relationships is blurring into that grey territory between lifeless and alive. It's a weird and sad feeling to be here wondering just where this boyfriend of mine is, why he didn't make it home in time to be with me, and what it all means in the big picture. I have to say, I'm getting a little tired of feeling like the only one that cares.

So here I am, in all to familiar circumstances, writing out my thoughts. I'll post, finish my dinner, and check to see if anyone is online. When nobody is, I'll turn on the TV and stare, fidgeting, never really getting quite relaxed or comfortable. I'll start to realize that, after abandoning the old me months ago, I'm not impressed with it all popping back up again.

Welcome back to Frozen Underwear.

Winter break...

2009-02-09T11:35:00.003-05:00

Howdy all, hope you're doing well.

I've got loads of stories, plenty of writing to do and just a little angst about some gay issues...but I've also been writing (and freezing) my ass of during my last semester of university. That all means not a lot of time for the blog, which really annoys me since I have quite a few posts in the works, but none really finished.

And now it gets worse, I'm off on my winter vacation...to the UK. Yes, I'm escaping the frozen north for a country with record snowfall and still below zero temperatures. Ugh. But I hear the beer's good...plus I get to see a bunch of people that I haven't been able to spend time with in a long while.

This is my very first trip completely alone. I've never traveled from one place to another completely by myself, even though I'm usually the one in control of the people I'm traveling with. I'm completely capable of it, and completely secure...yet my mother had to just get one last little piece of parental advice in during my car ride back to Toronto.

"Just be safe. I want you to be safe and come back all in one piece, happy and healthy."

I laughed and shook my head. "Yeah, I usually put myself in harm's way. You know me, always jumping off cliffs..."

"Well, just be careful while you're there with everything...and sexually..."

Wow, for a person I don't discuss my sex life with, it's kinda funny that dear old mom knows I'll be keeping my options open during my trip. Not that I'm seeking to bed surf my way across the home of my ancestors, or anything. I'll just let whatever happens happen. Besides, it sounds like my friends are insisting that I try to woo a Briton. Why, I have no idea.

But hey, I'm on vacation.

Added padding...

2009-01-24T11:19:00.001-05:00

I'm literally freezing my ass off.

For the past few weeks, we've been suffering through a cold snap. It comes and goes, but there have been moments walking around outside where the frosty wind and dampness have made it feel like -25 C. That's damn cold!

In an effort to keep warm, most have adopted a winter-weather strategy. Some have been bundled up in heavy parkas, others not so willing to sacrifice fashion for function jump from doorway to doorway, trying to re-warm their frigid legs stuffed into skinny jeans.

My approach hasn't really changed much over the last few winters: have a warm coat and wear my secret weapon when needed.

Long johns.

Sounds kinda stupid, but it truly works. If I wake up and my window is frozen closed and frosted over, it's a good bet I'll reach for my thermal skivvies. They fit snugly on my body, and nobody even notices since they don't bunch or add 10 pounds to your legs and ass.

And for the most part, they work fairly well at keeping me warm. I don't have much else to wear warmer than jeans, and since I don't want anything important suffering from frostbite, it makes great sense to sacrifice a bit of sexiness by doing the full-length version of briefs.

For their part, the gays seem to be trying to stay warm this winter as best they can, which seemingly includes visits to other people's beds. Shared bodily warmth, you know...

On one such occasion, I had actually forgotten that I was still clad in long underwear under my jeans. For a moment I predicted disaster; what is a bigger turn off than seeing someone wearing something your grandfather probably walks around the house in?

But the fact I was keeping my bits and pieces warm actually received a compliment for ingenuity, and I have to say, the large fly-flap on the crotch proved most useful.

So when I went shopping yesterday to find another pair (since it's not getting any warmer around here) I was a little surprised to have such a hard time finding some.

I stopped at an outdoorsy manly-man type store swimming in plaid, and there before me stood a rack of multiple kinds of underwear. They had the fleece variety, the waffle-woven cotton blend and what looked suspiciously like a leotard.

And they were all two sizes too big.

As I went, rack by rack, I realized with a growing horror that every pair in the store was much bigger than I needed. They ranged from medium, what the package called 34-36, all the way to 3XL, and who knows if they even count waist sizes for things that big...

I combed the entire shelf, hoping that I could find one small pair of them, but to no avail. This must be the one instance where I don't want to shell out for Calvin Klein, but at least they have something closer to my size...

It was then that I realized, I must be the only homo in Toronto that actually wears the damn things. What's a gay to do?

Apparently when ordering long underwear for the masses, smaller-waisted folks were not given a second thought. Now, I know that the target audience for such a store is the overweight, jerky-chewing variety of masculine male...but Jesus, couldn't they have ordered a couple small's? Every customer isn't necessarily headed for bypass surgery.

Just to be sure that it's not a slight against the gays, I decided to check the selection at one of the underwear stores that cater to those of the homo persuasion. That, and I needed to buy a new bottle of lube, but I figured I should multi-purpose my trip.

To be fair, they did have a couple pairs of very long underwear, even in sizes that fit me...but since I could practically see through them I decided they were probably more for play than for work. I left the store (nearly) empty handed, and more than a little discouraged. Even our own people don't stock the damn things!

Am I so out of touch with things that I haven't yet realized my quest for long underwear will end with me empty handed? Does nobody stock sizes that will actually fit my waist? Am I really not 'average' in the long-underwear business? And most importantly, how do the gays keep their bits warm during those frosty days and frigid nights?

For now, I've got to rely on my one lonely pair that are, as we speak, spinning away happily in the wash.

But I should be careful with them, since they're apparently a collectors item: the only small size in town...

Where'd you get those assets?...

2009-01-20T19:11:00.000-05:00

For some reason, people have been checking out my ass.

Not that I mind. In the grand scheme of things, I'm usually hard up for compliments. Though I don't know why, I'm the type of guy who rarely gets boys seductively batting eyes at him, or the up-and-down eye scan on the street.

And to be honest, I'm not sure if they're looking at my ass...or just my jeans.

A few months ago when meeting up with a friend-of-a-friend I was wearing my favourite pair of jeans. Twenty paces down the street later, he asked, "Oh, where'd you get your Sevens?"

Not being a label whore, but being one who likes nice things, I wasn't surprised that he appreciated them. What threw me off was the notion that he had to ask where I'd bought them...jeez, they're jeans!

I took the compliment and enjoyed the microsecond of attention. Then I had my ass grabbed at a bar...now that I think of it, I should rename them my Lucky Sevens.

Even so, I have a hard time taking a compliment such as an ass grab standing at a bar as being genuine. I mean, I'm suspicious of homosexuals; we're all over-sexed creatures that are more often than not sexually liberated. There's nothing wrong with showing your interest and appreciation of someone via an affecitonate touch.

I'm just often skeptical that it's ever genuine. Sure, you might grab my ass, but how many others have you felt up that night? Is this attention directed at me because you genuinely want me or because you just like touching boys in general?

Recently, I had yet another comment on my jeans. After I had promptly removed them and tossed them on my bedroom floor, and began attending to other business, the guy blurts out, "Oh nice Sevens, where'd you get them?"

I almost choked...

...and then answered his question.

How strange though! Why the homo-significance of certain brand jeans, and who the hell really cares where you bought them?

But it begs a chicken-and-egg type question: Are they noticing my jeans because of my ass, or do they check out my ass because they like my jeans?

Yet another evening, standing in his kitchen, rehydrating after a workout, I caught him gazing at my ass.

"What kind of jeans are those?" he asked, gulping water from his glass and checking his watch.

I know I looked puzzled, but I replied anyway. "Oh, these are Lucky's."

"Well, they got you lucky tonight," he said with a smile.

They did indeed, but since when were guys more concerned with the jeans themselves rather than what's underneath the denim?...

Imagined Sloppy Seconds...

2009-01-08T13:20:00.004-05:00

I feel like I just got hit by a bus.

That, and like I'm about 14 years old.

When James and I first started going out, he put his feelers into the community to try and find out more about me. I can't blame him, since that's what everybody does...the more you know about someone's past, the better.

But he never found anything out about me. As he told me one night, nobody seemed to know who I was. I laughed, since it's no surprise; I would have been shocked if anyone actually knew of me.

The one thing that I was somewhat ignorant of during our relationship was just how many people knew James, and by knowing him began knowing me. Not on any intimate basis, but more as the guy who he was dating. Nothing personal, just the vague idea of who I was. It never really occurred to me that he'd be telling people about me, acquaintances of his, friends from the clubs, whatever.

Furthermore, it never occurred to me that anyone would either remember who I was or care. Clearly I was mistaken.

I've been messaging back and forth with a guy online. He had an interesting profile, seemed cute but really level headed. There were a few things on there that won my respect, things that the average 20something wouldn't really be a part of.

So I sent him a message asking about just those things. I figured since it seemed rare to find someone with such qualities, he would find it rare that someone even commented on them. And so we exchanged a few messages back and forth, talking about pretty wholesome topics.

He seemed friendly. He seemed genuine. He seemed totally removed from drama and gay bullshit. We even shared the same name.

So when we exchanged IM addresses, I looked forward to talking with him in real time. This morning, Steve came online and almost instantly said hello.

But things quickly took an odd turn. He bombarded me with questions, where I went to university, what I studied, how old I was. Typical topics of conversation of course, but he asked with such hurry, such importance. And then it came.

"So, do you know a guy named James?" he asked.

I had no reason to lie, and admitted that I did.

"Oh, James told me about his friend Steve, same school and major as you," was his reply. "So I guess that's you."

Briefly I wondered how a guy from out of town, who lives an hour and a half away from Toronto, knew all about me. But it seemed like James had at some point during the summer told him all about me. And he remembered, including the details of my program and where my hometown is.

I wasn't too weirded out, since it's pretty innocent stuff. So we know the same people, who cares? Friends of friends makes things more casual anyway, you have a commonality. And I hadn't entered into our talking with any agenda or specific desire to date; I just made the mistake of being genuinely curious about someone.

Then things got weird.

"Well James is a good friend, I can't take his 2nds :P Anyway the reason I was on your profile is my friend really liked it.. He told me to check it out, you added him to favorites," said Steve. "He wants you to message him."

My jaw dropped. How fucking rude . And what an ego, nowhere had I even come onto the guy!

Steve then proceeded to extol James' virtues to me. "He's so cute and sweet, you should date him."

I laughed a little to myself. "Uh, we already did."

"Well, do it again," was his answer.

I explained that, had things worked out, we'd still be together. After all, you usually don't stop seeing someone you're happily coupled with. "If it had worked out, I'd still be with him," I said.

"It takes time, patience, understanding...you can work it out," Steve said.

"lol whatever I don't care," he continued, which seemed ridiculous since he'd just spent a few minutes telling me why I should date my ex. "I'm not going to tell him about our rendezvous though."

That made me laugh out loud. "Oh, well I'll definitely be asking him who Steve from [blank] is," I responded.

I tried to swing conversation back to his other point, this third guy who is apparently interested in me, and to try and find out just why Steve was receptive to conversation if he then was going to tell me he would never date me. It all got more confusing, since he couldn't remember this third guy's username.

"But you should message him, he wants you to," Steve said. "Better not tell him that I told you to though."

"Uhh...right," I said.

Steve then said he had work to do, bid me good luck and left the conversation.

I sat there in stunned silence, feeling like I was the victim of a drive by shooting.

What kind of a jerk would immediately call me 'seconds' and pretty much tell me to move along, then sing the praises of my ex, plus encourage me to message some third guy who is interested in me?

All of this came from simple, seemingly-genuine, friendly messages. I just wanted to get to know what seemed to be a nice guy. I just wanted a friendly conversation. And I never expected such a bizarre slap in the face. How could someone waste the time and energy to write me lengthy messages, then when we finally talk shut me down so quickly and rudely? And where did he get the idea that I was expressing a huge interest in him, when we'd never even been flirty?

I don't know exactly why the experience bothered me so much, outside of the general rudeness. After all, it's a tough gay world out there, full of judgment and intricate webs of friends and lovers. And me getting mildly upset about something so small seems unnecessary...and makes me feel like I'm a teenager. In many ways I am, since I haven't gone through much of that type of thing. It's all new, it's all fresh.

And so I sat there and just shook my head. What an odd experience, and what a rude guy. But I guess it shows me that I need to build up a thicker skin, to expect such reactions when I put myself out in the world.

The final though is a little more scary. A boy from another city knows who I am. Was able to recognize me from my university, my major, my age. Judged me from a distance, didn't leave room for a friendship or a casual acquaintance. He has no idea who I am , what I stand for or what I believe in. But he knows who I am, and he lives 50 miles away.

Just how many other people do, right in my back yard? And are they as dismissive as he is?

I have no idea, but it looks like for better or for worse, people just may recognize who I am...rather, who I dated...

Fresh type...

2009-01-06T15:33:00.004-05:00

One of the things that's fun about blogging is reading other blogs and getting to know other bloggers.

I know many people say that I should stop comparing myself to others, stop drawing differences or similarities between what my life has brought me and what people in similar situations have had thrown their way.

But my reply is always the same; you have no idea what you might be missing, have better or worse than others if you have nothing to compare it to. And with blogging, we get a (partially) unbiased view of the lives of people all over the world.

Since I've been very lax about links and updating things, I thought I'd take the time now to introduce you to a blogger I just picked up on. Jake over at Ten Minute Nap seems like a pretty nice guy. Apparently this isn't his first blog, but it's where he currently vents about life and (lack of) love.

He's very musically-inclined, which is awesome. And his picture is cute.

Like I said before, it's interesting to get such access into the lives of others, and to see how he's grown up differently than me. It's also interesting to see the dynamics of life in different sized cities and towns.

And for his part, Jake seems to do a pretty good job at getting to know the guys in his area. What always strikes me about smaller cities is how their gay residents all seem to be drawn together. From what I've read, he's met guys from all across the spectrum, befriended them, hung out with them... I guess my point is that it seems to come easier than living in a big city.

I've always wondered how different my life would have been had I done two things, pursued music more and gone to university in a smaller city. While Jake can't really compare with me musically (since he sounds quite talented), I can sort of see how differently life would have gone at a smaller university.

For one, it feels as though the community in the abstract is a lot smaller, especially students. People know people, everyone is forced into the same pool, more or less. It's prone to dramatics and love triangles, but it's also easier to put one's self out there.

And ultimately, it feels to me like it's a lot less intimidating and a lot more inviting on a smaller scale. There will always be power dynamics, but overall, people seem more open minded and a little more gentle. There isn't as much of the stereotyped gayness that plagues big cities.

Plus, the boys seem more friendly.

I'll never know what it's like to go to university in a small city, but thanks to others we get a firsthand account of just what goes on all across America...

Sinking, Swimming...

2009-01-02T17:15:00.001-05:00

In what was probably a bad decision, I texted James mid-afternoon with a sappy, emotional message.

"I know this is totally inappropriate, but I've really missed you the past 24 hours."

There I was, three weeks ago, in my parents living room. Surrounded with Christmas decorations, holiday music on the radio and the prefabricated Noel scent that my mom sprays into each room every year. And all I could think about was James, and what he'd said at our last coffee meeting.

"I really had wished we'd be together at Christmas," he'd said. I agreed; for a religious holiday, Christmas certainly has all the hallmarks of a romantic event. Low lights, fire places, snowflakes, chocolate and love. So as I was surrounded with most of these things, I found myself really missing the one that I don't have.

He wrote back a little while later and said hi. And then, late in the evening, he called. When I saw his name on the caller ID, I debated if I should even answer. This was strange; I miss him terribly, but I really didn't want to talk to him.

At first, conversation was rocky. I was fairly quiet, because I didn't know what else to say other than to avoid blurting out awkward statements like, "While decorating today I was debating in my mind if I'm actually in love with you or not," and, "I'm considering getting back together with you because I only now realized you might be the one for me."

So we talked about nothing. Time crept by, and I toyed with the idea of telling him he should go, for fear of missing his friends at the bar.

Conversation shifted to his life post exams, which he'd just finished. He said he'd been out every night for the past week. "Fun, at least you're blowing off some after-school steam," I said, for once not intentionally going for the sexual pun.

"Uh, you could say I've been doing lots of that," he said slyly.

"Oh," I said, fumbling slightly. In that moment, the last thing I'd wanted to hear about was his fabulous sex life.

The subject changed again, but moments later we were back on it, and his admission, "I've been with someone every night for the last week."

My heart just sort of cracked in a way, for different reasons. As he explained, it became apparent that he'd been picking up, or picked up, at every bar he'd visited. His phone was overflowing with numbers of boys wanting him to call. Sex was abundant, he was getting attention everywhere. Guys that had been flirting with him before were swooping in for the main attraction and now that he was once again single, he was open to suggestions.

"Right now it's more of a get-er-done thing," he said, half-laughing. "I'm not really getting much satisfaction, just in one way."

He told me about the boy he'd gone home with on Thursday, the Abercrombie-like model who teased him that such a nice boy shouldn't get involved with a bad one like him. About the college soccer player who wanted action after his game. The "beautiful bleach-blond, blue eyed guy who I met a long time ago but never did anything with. I waved at him and he waved back, and we talked online afterwards."

"But he forgot who I was, had no idea it was me waving at him," James said. "He still gave me his number though."

It was at this point that I seriously considered calling in the 'too much information' card that I'd proposed before, since all this info about how seemingly easy it is for him to attract attention - any kind of attention - was becoming a little too much for the moment. But I knew I never would...my curiosity is dangerous, and I'm an emotional cutter.

I let him talk, but didn't have a lot to say. When he'd exhausted his tales of tricks, I skimmed into a couple of my own, though mine have been more haphazard and disasterous than sexy and blonde.

"Aww," was all he had to say in sympathy.

In many ways, I can't be critical of his promiscuity. I've been (attempting to) burn up the sheets ever since we parted ways, especially in the last couple weeks. But it still bothered me that he was out there, living his life, having a damn good time doing it. He was swimming in a sea of boys every night. I was sinking in the wading pool.

Jealousy plays a part in it; it's not really warm and fuzzy to hear about all the guys your ex is sleeping with, how sexy they all are and how much great action he's getting. But it's not just that, I'm jealous of the attention he's getting. I guess I never realized just how much people like him, how many people wanted to fuck the boy I was with. Cheers to me for being the guy who got to for so long, though he's obviously making up for lost time now.

But the jealousy doesn't end at the fact he's out fucking half the gay population of Toronto, nor at the fact that he's being lusted after, inundated with phone numbers and e-mail addresses. Part of me is just jealous that he gets to have the fun, the glamour of gay. He's out partying, flirting and fucking while I'm barely able to scare up a date for coffee with someone who isn't certifiably insane.

It all sounds 'poor me' in a way, but it all cuts right to the core of my gay angst that's been in hiding for so long. I wouldn't mind, for once, being the guy out on the town, having numbers thrown at me and taking the cute blonde home.

It's clear that he's not being overly satisfied with the whole situation, as he told me. I know there's more to him than that, and ultimately he wants more of a connection, more than just sex. But it's also clear that he's having a hell of a lot of fun with it, before it gets old. It's satisfying something, maybe even just plain curiosity...it's not substitution for a relationship yet he's taking whatever comes his way, even if it's just a night of sloppy passion.

"It's almost over!" he said to me, emphatically. "I'll be home for Christmas soon, and then no more boys."

"Oh, please," I said, trying to sound like I was kidding. "You and I both know you've got a list of guys lined up for when you get home."

"Well..." he said, hesitating. "But there's nowhere to go! You know that very well!"

A few moments of awkward silence passed between us. "Woah, that brings back memories," he said.

"Yeah," I breathed.

The conversation wrapped up with him telling me he needed to get dressed before heading out. We said our goodbyes, and he told me to keep in touch.

Later, my inbox flashed on my phone.

"I miss you too, Steve," he texted at midnight, an hour after the phone call. "Have a good night."

At least one of us did.

Holidaze...

2008-12-30T10:14:00.005-05:00

Ho ho ho, everybody.

Well Christmas has come and gone for another year, and it was unfortunately eventful. My mom has often told stories about my grandfather and his unpredictable moods, but in my life I've never actually experienced it.

Christmas day changed that. He and my grandmother arrived like any other year in the morning, quickly ducking inside to avoid the cold. But instead of joining in the conversation and cheer, he sat off by himself and really refused to interact with anyone.

As the day progressed, my mom became more and more anxious, since he was behaving so strangely. But he never did join in conversation or have any laughs with the rest of us; he sat in his corner and stared out the window. Bizarre.

After Christmas dinner, which was slaved over for hours, and as we were quickly washing some dishes, we saw him walk by, headed towards the door. He wound up leaving practically without a word, even as my mom tried to ask if there was a problem, if he was alright. We stood outside as he grudgingly placed their presents in the car, and he reluctantly gave my mom a kiss in the cheek. He walked right by me, like I was literally a ghost.

So for the next couple days, mom waited anxiously to see what was wrong with him, why he had been so upset and if he was ever going to call us back. It was horrible; Christmas more or less ruined, and the next few days of 'rest' devoted to constant worry.

In the end, he called and apologized, saying that he was very tired that day and feeling in a strange mood that even he had no idea the source of. I was exasperated, since someone who caused that much heartache ought to be told about it, but my mom was so relieved that she didn't highlight the fact we were all quite upset by the whole thing.

Add to that our unpredictable weather, in the form of rain, freezing rain, snow, fog, and high winds, which made great conditions for a power outage that lasted 18 hours. I really should have left for Toronto when I had the chance.

And now, here we are the day before New Years Eve, and I find myself neither relaxed nor festive. I would rather just wake up tomorrow and find that everything had passed by, that I could resume normal life on a Monday morning and move on from this holiday season. I really don't even have the drive to go out on New Years Eve with my friends, and I know I'll have nobody to kiss at midnight.

I'm just going to make the best of it, and be thankful to even have the chance to be surrounded by friends, have a drink on New Years Eve, a roof over my head and food in the fridge. It just helps if such perks of the evening include a midnight makeout, dancing with some cute guys and being able to celebrate the New Year with one special person, in dawn's early light.

To mark the occasion, I stole someone's New Years survey. Feel free to read if interested:

2008: In The Beginning
Where did you go on New Years: A local bar/club.
Who were you with: Friends from high school and some new ones from university.
Did you kiss anyone at midnight: No.
Did you make any resolutions: A couple.

2008: Your Love Life
Did you break up with anyone: Yes
Did you meet anyone special: Yes, the one I broke up with.
Did you fall in love: No, that was the problem.
Did you fall out of love: Uhh see above.
Did you fall for a friend: No.

2008: Friends and Enemies
Did you meet any new friends this year: Yes, in the most unexpected ways.
Did any of your friendships end: Maybe not ended, but we don't see much of each other anymore.
Did you dislike anyone: Certainly, but I try not to treat them any differently.
Did you make any new enemies: Don't think so, at least I hope not.
Did you resolve any fights: I helped when people needed someone to talk to.
Who was your closest friend: I'm happy to have a few close friends that really mean something.
Who did you grow apart from: Some not-so-close friends.
Who did you get closer to: People from my project.
Do you have any regrets when it comes to your friendships: I just regret not pushing myself to be more social and taking the initiative.

2008: Your BIRTHDAY!
Did you have a cake: I did, my room mate made it.
What did you do for your birthday: Cake, dinner & drinks...but secretly it was really boring.
What did you get for your birthday: Cash and a great winter coat.
If so what was the best thing you got: By far the coat...so warm.

2008: All about YOU
Did you change at all this year: In some ways, I feel just a little more older and in control of life I suppose.
Did you dye your hair: I did actually! First time actually changing the colour.
Did you get your hair cut: Good Lord, of course!
Did you change your style: A little bit, but I want something new for 2009.
Were you in school: Indeed.
Did you get good grades: Quite.
Did you have a job: You could say.
Did you drive: Yes.
Did you own a car: No, nor would I want to in the city.
Did anyone close to you give birth: Miscarried a few days before delivery? Does that count?
Did you move at all: I don't know about move, but I did live in two places.
Did you go on any vacations: Yeah.

2008: Wrap Up.
Is 2008 a good year: Very memorable, I feel I've changed again for the better.
Do you think 2009 will top 2008: I really hope so, lots of changes coming down the pipes.
If you could relive any moment which would you choose: A beautiful night in summer that ended with a kiss.

I confess that in 2008 I...
() stayed single for the whole year
(x) made out in/on a car
(x) kissed in the snow
(x) celebrated Halloween
(x) kissed in the rain
() had your heart broken
(maybe) broke someone else's heart
() had a stalker
() mooned someone
(x) went over the minutes on your cell phone
(x) had a good relationship with someone
(haha) someone questioned your sexual orientation
() gotten pregnant
() had an abortion
(x) have a relationship with someone you'll never forget
() done something you've regretted
() lost faith in love
() kissed under a mistletoe

SCHOOL
(x) took an honors/advanced class
() broke the dress code
() sent to the principles office for misbehavior
(x) got straight A's
(x) met one teacher you really like
() met one teacher you really hated
() failed a class
(x) skipped school
(x) did something you were proud of
(x) discovered a new talent
(x) proved yourself an idiot
(x) embarrassed yourself in front of the class
() fell in love with a teacher
() intentionally tripped someone at school
() gotten lead in school play
() made a varsity team
(x) were involved in something you'll never forget

OTHER
() painted a picture
(x) wrote a poem
() ran a mile
() shopped at Hollister or Abercrombie and Fitch
(x) posted a blog on MySpace
(X) listened to music you couldn't stand
(x) went to a sleepover
() went camping
() threw a surprise party
(x) laughed till you cried
() laughed till you peed in your pants
() visited a foreign country
() cut in a line of waiting people
(x) told someone you were busy when you weren't
(x) partied to celebrate the new year
(x) cooked a disastrous meal
(x) lost something/someone important to you
() lied about how old you were
() prank called someone

In 2008 I...
() broke a promise
() fallen out of love
(x) lied
() went behind your parents back
() cried over a broken heart
(x) disappointed someone close
(x) hid a secret
(x) pretended to be happy
(x) kissed in the rain
(x) slept under the stars
( ) kept your new years resolution
() forgot your new years resolution
(x) met someone who changed your life
() met one of your idols
() changed your outlook on life
(x) sat home all day doing nothing
() pretended to be sick
() left the country
() almost died
() given up something important to you
(X) lost something expensive
(x) learned something new about yourself
(x) tried something you normally wouldn't try and liked it
(x) made a change in your life
(x) found out who your true friends were
(x) met great people
(x) stayed up til sunrise
() Cried over the silliest thing
() was never home on most weekends
() got into a car accident
(x) had friends who were drifting away from you
() had someone close to you die
(x) had a high cell phone bill
(x) spent most of your money on food
() had a fist fight
() went to the beach with your best friend
() saw a celebrity
(x) gotten sick
( ) liked more than 5 people at the same time
() became closer with alot of people

A very Happy New Year to you all! Warmest wishes for 2009, may you and yours be healthy, happy and enjoy the fruits of your labour in the year ahead.

I hear a symphony...

2008-12-22T21:48:00.001-05:00

Yesterday brought one of those soul-wrenching moments of sadness.

It was me, Mom and Dad out trying to do some last minute Christmas shopping. As we walked up and down the aisles, searching for this or that, I also found myself searching for another part of James' Christmas present.

We've decided to give each other something, since we're friends and since both of us acknowledge this need within us to do so. When I asked him what he wanted, he shrugged and said, "Something thoughtful."

So I wracked my brain, but all I could come up with was memories of the two of us, not really much that spoke solely to him.

Thus far, I've chosen two things that remind me of him, and are actually quite gay. First, I picked up a CD, Celine Dion's new compilation of love songs. Slightly out of line, but thoughtful since he found himself in some self-described 'Celine moods' in the later days of our relationship.

Secondly, I chose the Sex and the City movie, since we both went to a preview the night before opening night. It was the first time I'd met any of his family (his cousins rode along), and we both actually quite enjoyed the movie.

As I was standing with my parents in line, trying to figure out something else that was thoughtful without being too boyfriendish, I caught the melody of a familiar song.

Before I went on summer vacation this year, James and I went out for one final night to say goodbye. At the end of the evening, he pulled out a bag of stuff for me; magazines for the trip, a travel kleenex tissue pack (always the one to plan ahead), chocolate to eat instead of bad plane food, and a handwritten card that recapped the adventures of our summer together thus far.

It was a really beautiful gesture, and pretty moving; nobody has ever done something like that for me, and reading over what he had wrote outlined just how much we'd grown together.

I drove home that night all warm and fuzzy and sad to leave him behind for over a week's time. I also was amazed at what had just happened, at how someone showed their affection for me so openly and so honestly. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes.

When I got home, I sat up for a little bit. Late in the night, I checked my Facebook and saw I had a new message. When I opened it, I realized it was a video message from James.

"Well Steve, I hope you have a great time on your trip," he said into the camera, smiling. Music played in the background, but I didn't recognize it, until someone started singing...and James started singing along.

It was that Jason Mraz song, the one I'd heard on the radio and disregarded. But I listened, as James sat there singing along...

"In short this is our fate,
I'm yours..."

After that, James stopped singing along. "What can I say Steve. I'm yours. Have a safe trip, I'll miss you." And he blew me a kiss and waved goodbye.

It pretty much blew me away. For a guy that's been unlucky at love, never able to find that right guy much less than find one who really was crazy for him, what James had done was probably the sweetest thing any boy had ever attempted, and certainly the most meaningful.

So as I stood in the checkout by the cash register yesterday, hands full of James' gifts and head floating in memories, the gentle rhythm of that guitar and familiar voice caught my attention almost immediately. My parents standing behind me, the cashier in front, I bit my lip hard and tried my best not to cry.

My heart just sunk, my chest just felt hollow, and my eyes burned. And the memory of that night, and of his video, played in my mind's eye. And for that moment, all I could think about was him.

I guess that's what happens when you realize just what you've lost.

The gypsy that I was...

2008-12-21T17:48:00.001-05:00

A few nights after the breakup, a gypsy told me that I must not be ready for love.

I hadn't even told her my situation, about just shutting the door on my most successful relationship, about feeling so incredibly alone. She just asked if I had a girlfriend yet, and when I said no, she clicked her tongue and offered an explanation. My heart, or love skills, or whatever, must not be developed.

She's a friend of my grandparents, so when she asked if I had a girlfriend yet, instead of being able to say, "Actually I just got out of something that didn't work," I had to say that I still didn't have a 'woman in my life'.

This woman is really great, one of those people who you love actually seeing...she radiates warmth. But she also is incredibly blunt in that Eastern European way. "Your heart must be closed," she said, since I'm now basically getting a little old to not have been in love. At least, society thinks so. And in retrospect, I have to agree; by 22 I would have thought that love would have graced/made a mess of my life.

The Gypsy made some vague references to what I'm projecting, the energy I'm drawing, and so on...stuff that The Secret is trying to sell to North Americans that people in Eastern Europe have believed for years. To make me feel better, or worse, or at the very least give context she told me a story about an older woman who came to see her one day a few months ago. "My son needs a wife," she said. The setup is classic: a doting Jewish mother wants to set up her single Doctor son, who is without romance.

I don't recall exactly how she put it, but essentially, the guy doesn't really care who this woman is, "Just find him someone to marry."

The Gypsy's take on all of this was that he has spent his life honing his mind, studying, and so on...ignoring his heart. Never 'learning how to love'.

"So sad," she half whispered.

She then more or less told me that she's worried for me, because she wants me to be happy and have a full, well-rounded life. She doesn't want me to ignore my heart, and wind up like the man in her story.

Of course in many ways I cannot identify with this guy. I've been trying to find love for over two years now, and it hasn't gone quite like I'd planned it. In a city full of men, some of whom that are even looking for a relationship all their own, I've struck out, never finding that elusive boyfriend/man I love. But it's not like I've ignored my heart...like I'm not trying to learn to love...right?

Even though I can't see many similarities between me and the single 30-something Jewish doctor, it's pretty scary to be faced with the idea that my heart isn't working properly, that I can't attract love because of some problem on my end. Actually, more like terrified.

Lots of people maintain that nobody will love you until you love yourself. I even had one of my best friends, who flew into town the day before, tell me bluntly that I don't 'love myself'.

"Oh, come on, that's not true!" I argued. I may not think I'm phenomenal, but I don't hate myself.

"Ok, that's exaggerated," she said. "You actually don't, for most of the time. But there are moments..." She too sometimes thinks that I'm not ready for love, because I'm not ready with myself.

But who is? And what is 'ready'?

I guess it's because I've always blamed circumstance, blamed the fact that I haven't met the right person, or that the situation was beyond my control. It's never really felt like I've got a 'closed heart' or that I'm not ready and willing to love and be loved. It's more like God enjoys tempting me with the prospect, then quickly deflects the situation.

In fact, I always have felt that my heart is wide open. I give everyone a shot, try to leave no stone unturned. I admit what I want. I have a feeling in my heart and mind what love looks and acts like; a deep down soul stirring that I've managed not to find.

But having the Gypsy tell me about hearts not being open or ready for love is just plain scary. While I can't see it within myself, what if it's true? Am I really my own problem in all of this? Is my own heart the reason why I can't seem to meet the right guy, and fall in love?

The same friend once drunkenly told me that I also have, "So much love to give," which actually made me cry. As cliche as it is, we apparently both think it's true. I'm ready, willing and able. As far as I think, anyway.

Like most of my problems right now, I don't know how to solve this, if what the Gypsy says is true. I can't see the fix, if indeed my heart is closed and needs opening up. And it's damn scary, to think that what's standing between me and love...is myself.

At the end of the day, I do shrug it all off as Eastern mysticism. The same woman also told me that my liver must be shot because my eyes water easily.

But her story hit on my deep, dark fear of perpetual aloneness. What if I turn into this 30-something doctor? What have I done, or more importantly, not done, to swing the floodgates of love open in my own (young) life?

Maybe some Gypsy tears will help set things right...

Breakup...

2008-12-20T21:30:00.002-05:00

After a couple months of denying it, trying really hard to ultimately not falling in love, James and I have parted ways.

It all went down a few weeks ago, in the same bedroom we'd spent countless hours in before. The same bedroom where I woke up in his arms after my first Pride. The same bedroom where I told him my dirty little secrets, the stuff that other than you, dear readers, not many people know. The same bedroom where he too let down his guard and told me everything.

Trying not to be cliched but finding no other way of getting his attention, I sent him a text that evening, "Can you come by? We need to talk about something." I waited in my living room, with nobody else home, the TV on for background noise. My stomach clenched in sadness and in uncertainty; was he going to hate me after I said what I needed to say?

A flurry of messages later, and he told me that someone else needed his attention, and that he'd come late. So I sat there, alone, and waited.

He finally came, but not alone; as the lock tumbled, I realized that my roommates had come home the exact moment he had arrived. We all stood awkwardly, with everyone but James knowing what was about to happen. He came over to kiss me and I tried to deflect it...I didn't need closeness at that moment, and I didn't want to give him the wrong impression.

We stalked into my bedroom, I closed the door, and we sat facing each other, me in my chair and him perched on the bed. We talked briefly about each other's day and after a few moments I bit the bullet and started my speech. "Well, that's not why I asked you to come," I started, and then went into it.

How much he means to me, how great he is and how I wish things could work. But I just don't feel enough of that magic 'something' to push things to the next level. Without saying, "I don't love you," I tried as best I could to explain how, even though I was comfortable with him, dangerously comfortable...I didn't see it taking the next step.

He sat there, trying not to cry, nodding along. It felt like looking into a mirror, seeing his face cloud over with each sentence and his eyes glisten. My voice was like gravel, monotone, crunching out words.

I explained how I felt, how even though there was nothing broken between us there also wasn't that special 'magic' that I've always thought I'd feel when I was in love. There was so much that was good, so much hard to find with anybody else, but it just wasn't going to get us to the next level, up to the next stage.

Without ever saying the L word, we talked around how we both admittedly felt the lack of magic. As time wore on, he admitted that he'd been trying, probably too hard, to make things work. "But it's because I feel like there's something there...there could be something there, I didn't want to give up on it," he explained. I'd been trying too, but painfully aware of what was lacking in our relationship.

It became a really involved conversation into the facts of life, of relationships. What truly defines 'happy'? We both like each other, enjoy our collective company and for some reason, we can both share similar tastes in music, food, movies...all things that you seek out in a perspective mate. We were happy in each other's presence, even after six months. We got to know each other, the insides of our minds, the things that not many others know. There had to be something there to keep us together for that long, and cause making a decision to be a long and painful process.

We both acknowledged that the 'magic', that certain something that Hollywood tries to capture on film, that soul-wrenching attraction and draw to someone...was missing. While we were happy, we weren't blissful.

But is anybody? Are even the most happily paired couples really, fundamentally burning up inside for each other? Or does that simply exist in movies, or dollar paperbacks from the drug store?

Neither of us knew the answer. And at that point, it didn't matter really.

"So...what are we going to do?" James asked, subtly trying to figure out if I wanted to take a short break, or a permanent one.

"Well, it's pretty unfair to expect things to get better in a certain amount of time," I said. "I mean, if that were the case...we'd already have enough to get to the next level."

He nodded along.

What was most heartbreaking about the evening was, strangely, how close we felt to each other by the end of our conversation. James even remarked on it, "Tonight is an example of why I really like you, your honesty, your compassion. You thought things through, you take things seriously."

After two hours of talking, and both managing not to cry, conversation wound down. But it was so much more than a breakup conversation, more than the cliched 'this isn't working' that so many simply fall back on. We went into the issues, we dug into each other's souls, and we wound up feeling closer than ever to each other on the most ironic night of our relationship.

Someone had told me in the hours before that perhaps this wasn't the time for us to fall in love. I'm no expert, and from what I see most 'relationships' in the gay community are often too complicated and overcompensate a lack of love with quirks that seemingly do nothing to draw two people together. Yet, what he said seemed plausible; either that, or it gave my overly-romantic self something to cling to:

"Maybe this isn't the time for you two. Maybe in a year, or two, you'll find each other again and be ready."

Strangely, James said nearly the same thing at the end of our conversation. "We might not be ready now, but I'll always have you in my heart. And who knows, one day..."

"The one thing I've always been terrified of is loosing you from my life," I said. "I can't imagine life without you in it anymore. And I've told you that a lot of times," I said.

And so we agreed that we both care too much about each other to exorcise the other from our lives. "I have no idea how this works," I said, "since this is my first longer relationship. I don't know when we get to be friends. Hell, we weren't even friends to begin with. But I want to work on it. I can't not work on it."

We stood at my door and hugged tightly for a few minutes. There really wasn't anything more to say, we were both so sad and so drawn that we really had no idea what to do. But the conversation was over, and it didn't explode in my face...but we were both suddenly back to being alone again, and it was just starting to sink in.

As he walked out my door, and down the hall, all the positivity, the closeness and connection shattered, and I was left with the feeling that I was utterly alone. It was a crushing few moments, seeing him turn the corner and walk away for the last time, and me returning to my bedroom, sitting in bed, alone, and really realizing how alone I was again.

It's taken me a long time to get my thoughts together about it. At the time, I wanted to write, to get everything down on paper so I knew how I felt in the moment. But whenever I tried, it never came. I fell into writers block, and a mild depression, and it's even taken me a few weeks to write this one post. I guess it all comes down to time; it heals all wounds.

But it still really hurts.

Christmas time is nearly here...

2008-10-29T15:35:00.000-04:00

According to my calendar, and everyone's gleeful smiles, it's nearly time for gay-Christmas.

Yes, Halloween is just days away...and like each all hallows eve before it, I find myself scrambling to come up with a costume.

I'm a creature of habit. Every year, I start October with a shudder; the leaves start to change, the air gets colder, and I swear that I don't care about Halloween. I maintain over the next few weeks that I'm over the whole thing, that I don't want to waste time and energy (and cash) finding a costume for one night that is never particularly memorable for me.

By around the third week of the month, I start to worry. Just what will I be missing if I don't get gussied up and into the festive spirit? I'm always bemoaning the fact I have a pathetic social life, so why would I want to miss a perfect opportunity to get out and mingle with the rest of Toronto-proper?

But then there's the stress, the trying to find a costume that would work for 'me', and of course, wondering if it's going to snow/if I'll freeze my ass off.

And then I break down, and frantically try to put together a costume, resenting the stupid holiday.

Apparently, most gays don't feel that way.

I guess it's the one night a year when everyone can be anyone, where the rest of society doesn't look down on men dressed in drag, or skintight leather. Or like the guy above, not much of anything.

I'm the first to admit that I have no comprehension of why gays make such a big deal of Halloween. Like I said, it probably has a lot to do with the fact that it's one night of the year where everyone, regardless of sexuality, lets out their inner freak.

That said, it's always really fun to walk Church St. during the evening hours, taking in all the costumes and the craziness. The town really comes alive, as Torontonians from all walks of life converge on the gay strip.

But as I usually do, I try to understand why. What makes it such a significant holiday? Why do gays embrace it so, dressing in nothing (but looking quite sexy) and parading in public. This isn't Pride, it's Halloween!

There is a part of me that would actually love to dress as a little angel, clad in nothing more than wings and a nice pair of underwear. I get the allure of being allowed one night of outrageous dress... I just don't have the body for it, or the resistance to our low temperatures.

I guess I also feel like, as usual, I'm missing the point, missing the party. Like there's something that I just don't get about the night, and everyone else does.

Whatever my thoughts on Halloween, I'll be there, on Church St., hopefully blended into a crowd of colourful characters. My costume isn't even remotely ready. I have no idea where I'm winding up, or who I'll be with. But I'll be there, a smile on my face, and hopefully letting a bit of my own inner freak out, too.

I just had to include this photo, I think this guy looks awkwardly adorable. Pretty hard to take him seriously...but at least he has the body to pull it off. Mostly.

Happy Halloween everyone!

Such a turn off...

2008-10-28T18:23:00.002-04:00

Blood is not my thing.

Nor is vomit, or pretty much any other human bodily excretion. I'm not a squeamish person, per se; it just seems like when confronted with a pool of red, even if it's not my own, I get a bit of a gut wrenching feeling.

I'd make a great nurse, right?

So it was quite the moment in the men's washroom today that left me standing awkwardly a few feet from the grand white bowl, mouth agape and stomach clenched.

I'd strolled in innocently enough, planning to do my business and get back to work. Unlike many, I don't find the bathroom a refuge; there is no stack of magazines in my loo, since I prefer to do my reading on a softer seat than a plastic ring.

My phone was in one hand, tapping out a text message, while I locked the door with the other. I hit send, then looked down.

Inside, surrounded by clean, clear water, was a large dollop of blood and a small smear of brown.

Being the quick thinker I am, I flushed immediately before the sight made me gag. Only after the water had rushed away did I think about what someone had left behind. Can you say 'fucking gross!?', cause I sure can.

Of course, my mind then jumped to wondering just who it was that left a great deal of themselves behind in the toilet at work. It looked as if their ass had been raped with a rusty nail, then left to unload into a public rest room.

I shudder to think how this happened, and pray the poor soul isn't suffering too much. I mean, really! Jesus, that must have hurt!

I also shudder to think that anal sex can do such collateral damage to one's colon.

So, thank you to the guy who left a piece of himself behind in the toilet, only for me to discover after eating lunch. I sincerely hope you're not bleeding to death, or suffering any long-term effects from your backdoor activities.

I'll just try to focus on the good feeling instead of the bloody mental picture I have next time my own back door becomes the subject of certain activities.

The new friend...

2008-10-21T21:25:00.002-04:00

I've made the acquaintance of a new friend in the past month.

We met online (shock and awe), randomly enough. I don't really even know what got the ball rolling, other than a 'hello' message that turned into IM conversations that turned into text messages...you get the picture.

And before anyone says anything, he hasn't hit on me, so I'm pretty sure he's not looking to get laid.

We've been getting to know each other, almost the same way that I've gotten to know guys via online who I wound up dating...which brings to mind the question of the difference between friendship and a relationship (save the sex, of course)...but that's another day's work.

Shocking, to think that I may now actually have a gay male friend. Well, one in the 18-22 bracket, anyway.

As I've gotten to know Vic, I see a lot of similar thoughts about life that we share. He's 19, but he's pretty damn mature, and pretty damn smart. Our conversations can drag and become a little slow, and we haven't gotten into any fierce debates about politics or the IMF...but we do talk about life in general, and I appreciate the fact that he isn't hung up on acting like a 19-year-old.

But he is such a conundrum, someone that I cannot wrap my head around. Great looking, model-quality even; someone that I would have assumed to have all the little intricacies of gay life figured out, simply because he's got the good fortune of being young and pretty.

But he's got this naive outlook on life, this part of him that I don't understand. Behind all the seriousness and the grounded nature is this naive gay guy who wonders about what a lingering glance means, questions his own life decisions, and generally feels pretty disconnected from the gay world.

Most of that is actually pretty endearing; he'll ask me what to do about this guy at work that keeps chatting him up, or wonder aloud if we should go clubbing and burn off some steam. Sometimes he really opens up about how lonely he feels, and we both have the same outlook on love; we want to find the guy that sets off the fireworks.

But it all perplexes me, and I really don't understand why. I guess I just find it hard to believe that someone so smart could be so...uneducated...about the simplest glance.

Who am I to complain, it's not like I would know what the hell I was doing if someone was smiling at me every day...then again, nobody is, so I've never had to learn...

But the hardest thing about this young, vibrant, sweet guy is the fact that dates men with Ferraris.

Maybe it just comes down to his seemingly infatuation with older men. He says he's looking for people that are "mature", yet he seems like he's more interested in guys that have the ways and means. Not that I would think he's a gold digger, but he doesn't seem to mind when a guy sends a car to pick him up for a date.

We've just started talking about past relationships, and already I recognize we have wildly different tastes in men. Nothing wrong with that...he's just part of the community that I cannot wrap my head around.

For instance, I asked what he was looking for in a boyfriend. His answers were completely normal, and pretty textbook, save for one; he says he likes men that are dominant, and we weren't talking sexually.

"But...what do you mean by dominant?" I asked, sort of stunned. Here's this sweet guy, young, with a seemingly good head on his shoulders, and he wants a guy to boss him around?

"Well, like alpha-male," was his response. "Someone who takes control."

Since this is completely not me, and I don't understand why anyone wants a guy to tell them what to do and how to do it (outside the bedroom, natch), I pressed for more details.

"I like when a guy knows what he wants. Tells me to meet him at 8 for dinner at this restaurant," he said. "My ex boyfriend was like that. I guess that's what I liked about him."

I couldn't help myself. "When I hear alpha-male, I think 'huge jerk'," I said. "Is there no room for your opinion?"

He laughed. "I dunno, I just like when a guy knows what he wants."

Here was what I assumed to be an innocent guy of 19, who moments ago was asking what he should do about a cute guy at work, talking about how he wants more friends and more socialization in his life...and now he's telling me that he likes men to boss him around.

It just...scared me. Someone young and naive and optimistic about the world...who also didn't mind if older guys told him where to go and what to do. It all seemed so imbalanced, like the classic power struggle that older, rich men seemingly hold over younger, naive guys. Just how compliant was he being in all of this; was he really in control of the situation, or was he allowing his real maturity level show in being told what to do by guys twice his age.

I went to bed worried that night, wondering about how different yet similar his life has been from mine. I'd say we're both in the same place, gay-developmental wise, with neither of us having a firm hold of the community or a social life that is threaded by its fibers. Yet here's this young boy, who admitted to a one night stand with a significantly older man, and enjoyed it.

It all comes back to my complete lack of understanding about age differences. I still, after two years, do not understand what a beautiful 19-year-old sees in a man of 38. I'm not knocking anyone, because there are great people everywhere...but on a physical level, this older, rich guy he slept with for fun would probably do nothing for me in the sack.

As I thought about him, I started to realized I wasn't so worried about him, I was more concerned with the fact that I've never done anything like this before. No guy has ever sent a driver to pick me up, or fucked me in the back of a Ferrari.

But why do I care? I mean, I don't even believe that older-younger works, and I get upset by the potential power imbalance...yet there I was, realizing what irked me about it most.

The attention.

Here's a model-cute boy, 19, smart, funny and caring, being propositioned by God knows how many guys (most of which sound like they have all the ways, and most of the means...). And me? I get creepy older guys with shriveled cocks and younger guys who never seem to have the mettle that I'm looking for, much less the fuse to my fireworks.

I doubt very much that I'd really get the kind of enjoyment he receives from dating this particular group, but the fact that he's got people knocking at his door and I simply don't really caught my attention.

I know it shouldn't matter what happens to this other guy, because he's putting himself in a totally different scenario...but the same thing happened to James, more or less. He too is a big draw for the older, richer crowd, and he's taken some of them up on their offers for dinner and drives...

Vic is supposed to update me about the other nights date, this time with an investment banker. I'll of course be interested in what happened, if he liked the guy, if they'll be seeing each other again...but I'll also be reminded that, while he's got the world knocking on his door, I really don't.

And even if I did...would I care enough to answer?

Time and time again...

2008-09-29T19:47:00.003-04:00

I continually find myself placed in an age bracket that I do not belong.

This past weekend, I attended a gay soiree. A friend of James' was having people by for what was to be their house warming...even though they've already lived there for a few months.

We were greeted at the door enthusiastically by our host. That is to say, James was greeted enthusiastically by our host, while I got an awkwardly-weak hug and hello. I know that I've got probably 40 pounds and an extra foot on the guy, but I always prefer a genuine hug over some half-assed imitation.

As we circled the room, I, like any other red-blooded gay, drank in the scenery. I instantly recognized his friends, and said my hellos, as well as enjoyed the sight of a few other cute ones I'd never met before.

The second most important step in these situations is getting your ass into the kitchen and getting a drink in your hand. James got distracted by his friends as we made our way towards the kitchen, so I cut my losses and went on ahead. And there he was.

Standing under the tube lighting was a guy my height, with short cropped brown hair and a staggeringly innocent face. Not that he was 18 years old, but he just looked genuine, happy and friendly. He immediately said hello as I entered the room, and gave me an electric smile.

Probably the number one quality I appreciate in any gay is if they're unpretentious. I have no problem with a guy who loves the scene, loves partying and loves fashion; I hate when that means he has to hate everyone else, judge everyone else and act as if he were above everyone else.

Unpretentious is the definition I give this guy. And damn, was he unpretentious wrapped in nice packaging.

After Rick and I shook hands, and I'd made a drink, James showed up to claim his. Again, Rick introduced himself with a hearty handshake and smile. We started talking, and James asked if he would like a drink.

"I'm not much of a drinker," Rick said. "Half a glass and I'm falling all over myself."

We all laughed, since he was pretty much the same build that I am, and I can tuck away quite a few before I loose operational status.

"Oh, ok then," James said simply. "If you want some, it's right here."

Rick's eyes glinted slightly as his smile flashed again. "Thanks," he said, still smiling. "But wait, you guys aren't trying to get me drunk?" he added coyly, staring directly into my eyes.

Since I don't know how to flirt, I did my best to beam a smile and little eye glinting back at him. James stepped aside to talk to some other people who had just arrived, and I took the moment to try and get to know the unpretentious character in front of me.

"So, you a student?" I asked, since everyone else in the room was.

"No, actually, finished school a couple years ago," he said. "But wait, you must be around my age, right?"

I hesitated, trying not to roll my eyes. It was happening again...

"Uh, well, that depends," I said, playing along. "How old are you?"

"Well how old do you think I am?" he shot back, a grin cracking across his face.

In truth, I was 90% sure he was 27. But that sounds so close to 30, and if he wasn't, I didn't want to be insulting.

"26," I lied.

"Wrong, 27," he said. I explained that I'd already figured, but didn't want to offend him in case I was wrong.

"So how old are you then," he questioned.

"Well, actually, a couple years younger...I'm twenty...uh," I said, pausing, since I'm not really used to saying 22 just quite yet. "Twenty two. But I know what you were going to say," I added with a self-deprecating laugh. "That's how old you thought I was, right?"

He paused, sensing by some divine insight that this might be a bit of a sensitive subject with me. "Well..." he said, trailing off.

"It's ok, I get it all the time!" I said as cheerfully as possible, and navigated the conversation on to other subjects.

Like it or not, the rest of the world seems to think I look 27. And they've been saying it for about a year now. For some reason, even though I really don't understand what exactly about my appearance looks that age, people just come up with the same number. Over and over, person after person, all claim the same thing. I look 27, but still many days under 30.

Last night, the topic came up again with my roommates. I recounted the story, and with a bit of disgust, thrust my face in a mirror and asked, "Just what exactly makes me look five years older than I actually am!?"

Sufficed to say, neither of them could pin it down. "It's just...one of those things?" said one. "You can't control it, I can't even say what features make it that way. You just look a little older."

"We both look younger than our ages," the other added. "It's just the way things are, it's just 'the way' you look. Don't take it as such a bad thing."

Even though it's not necessarily a bad thing, I still resent it. And even a guy who belongs to my phantom age can't tell the difference. Not that I'm profoundly disturbed by it, by my perceived older age...I just would like an explanation why the configuration of my eyes, nose and mouth conspire to add five years to my actual age.

Somehow, I don't think I'll ever have the answer.

It's just the way it is.

Au natural/Illigally Blonde

2008-09-24T23:20:00.000-04:00

To my horror of horrors, practically all my blonde hair is gone.

Thankfully, it hasn't all fallen out. More like washed out.

I saw my family a few nights ago to celebrate my birthday. Now, it was a little belated, but I still appreciate the fact that I get a birthday cake, not to mention that it was nice to see my family, including my grandparents, after weeks apart.

As we sat around waiting for dinner to arrive at our table, I noticed my mother's head swivel. She stared at the top of my head, my hair clumsily styled (since I wasn't really going out with anyone I wanted to impress).

"Your hair has really gone dark," she said, sticking a finger into it. Thanks mom...

"Meh," I said, shrugging it off. "Not like I've been outside much in a month to give it some natural lightening."

"No, it's really dark!" my grandfather chimed in. "Looks brown now."

"Remember when it used to be so blonde it was white?" my dad said, all sentimental-like. It was around this time that I started getting a little self-conscious.

"Oh, come off it...it's gone a little darker, but it's still got a lot of colour! I mean, it's got some red, some darker blonde..." I said, trailing off.

"Well, is it coloured?" my grandmother asked. "It looks like you dyed it brown!"

Ahh! Fuck, really? I thought to myself.

"It's...it's...well," I said in my hair's defense.

Other than a naturally-high sloped forehead, my hair has always treated me quite well. It grows like mad, a nice thick texture. And though I can't grow it too long before it starts flying everywhere, much less have it swoop dramatically a-la Zac Efron, it's not really failing me.

Up until now. I've gone from white-blonde, to blonde, to dirty blonde, to ash blonde...to brown. With red strands.

"But your beard still grows in red, I bet," my dad added.

Jesus, I'm multi-coloured. Add to that black chest hair, blonde arm hair, beige pubes...

Point being, I'm now questioning if I'm a legitimate blonde anymore. I've let my highlights wash away after having them touched up for about a year...and now I realize that there really isn't much blonde under the added colour.

It's a little ironic, since I've been thinking lately of a change, to the point of dying my hair quite dark and doing some non-blonde highlights. I haven't ever explored different hair colours, so I figure I'm entitled to making at least one really stupid mistake before packing it in.

But now that people are apparently recognizing me as non-blonde, I find myself gravitating back to my blonde locks. Save for the fact that now, my claim of being a natural blonde will be practically a lie. I'll become illegally blonde.

Ah well, it beats bald.

We're all fucked...

2008-09-15T22:38:00.006-04:00

Things that are wrong with the world:

- A new Cold War starting: featuring NATO vs. Russia. I'm not even being overly-dramatic about this, it's quite real I'm afraid. For the past few year's I've subscribed to the whole argument that I'd rather be fighting the Cold War than the war on terror. After all, it's nice to have the 'us' versus 'them', and actually be able to point to 'them' on a map. But now that we're plunging into another one, I think I might have to rethink that answer.

- The markets collapsing on themselves: like today, when the TSX lost over 500 points, on top of the DOW loosing the same value. Oh, plus an bunch of financials declaring bankruptcy/needing liquid cash infusions. What better time to be looking for a real job than during a rampant recession, brought on by over-zealous greedy pricks wearing very nice suits sitting in very nice offices fucking very nice looking people. (I'd generalize to 'boys', but I'm sure they're not all closeted, or that kinky.)

- Rick Wright, Pink Floyd pianist/organist/etc, dies at age 65, putting the last 'nail in the coffin' (pun unintended) on any hopes that the group will ever reunite for a world tour. At least I got to see him and David Gilmour when they passed through Toronto in April 2006 (or was it '05...). But still, fuck. And I just found out about this, on top of all the great market closing numbers.

- A few days ago I officially became 22, passing out of the ever-sexy 18-21 bracket and pushing one more year closer to that dreaded adulthood. 21, while still not incredibly young, was bearable because it was barely in the 20's. Now, I'm pushed whole-heartedly into that bracket. At least maybe now people in the 18-21 bracket will want to sleep with me. After all, I'm practically old.

and on a lighter note...

- The Toronto International Film Festival has once again finished screening another fine selection of entries. And I missed them all. Once again. I swear, one of these years I'll actually make it out to see one of them.

Lighting candles...

2008-09-10T17:40:00.006-04:00

Yes, there are reasons that I haven't been posting at all.

To leave you all mid story is horrible, but my life has been a huge challenge since the day I came out to my father. There has been lots of good, mostly thanks to being back in the city I love, seeing people I love. But there has been bad, including a lot of family stress and a funeral, which I'll explain at some point soon.

And there's been the busy. I've been run off my feet, to say the least, since the first second of the academic year. I'm a project manager of our practical exercises (and more I cannot say, I'm sorry :p), which requires me to be on call (and on hand) 24/7. Seriously, this is the first night since starting out that I've been home by this early part of the evening. It's enjoyable work, but it's draining; I have basically no life outside of what has now become my 'job' and I feel like I'm missing out on a few opportunities to get back into the swing of Toronto life.

Still, I've managed to be as social as possible throughout all this, even if it means getting fairly little sleep. As one friend put it, I'm still putting myself out there, even if I'm sacrificing sleep and laundry time.

But none of this is really what spurred me to write this post today. I've got bigger annoyances at the moment.

It's my birthday this week.

Again, the year has gone by, and it's once again time for me to 'celebrate' my being born. And again, it's once again time for me to be more stressed and annoyed than celebratory.

Already, my close friends have asked me what my plans are. Where would I like to go? What would I like to do? How would I like to celebrate this joyous occasion? My answer is the same as every year: I simply don't know.

Like every year before, my birthday brings out more stress and anxiety than feelings of happiness and love. The same questions are asked, the same answer given. To put it bluntly, the sum of all my fears can be expressed in one question:

If I had a birthday party, would anyone come?

Sounds insane, I know. But it's something that has always worried me. I have great friends, know people in different walks of life and different towns and cities. But I don't have the archetypal 'group of friends' that so many people identify themselves with. I've got small pockets of people, but not enough to fill a room simultaneously with 30 people who all know each other.

And each time I get asked what I want to do, my insides shrink a little. I don't want to say aloud that I'd have a hard time trying to figure out just who would exactly care enough to spend the evening celebrating my birthday.

So as usual, instead of trying to set up an elaborate series of birthday-style events, I've simply stuck my head in the sand.

Another sticking point is the gay thing. My roommates want to be a part of my birthday, but they want me to be able to kiss boys if I want to. I appreciate that fact, since James will most likely be part of my birthday plans. We can't make out drunkenly at a straight bar...it's just not done. But at the same time, no matter what I wind up doing, I'll have to be as inclusive as possible.

"So, we figured that we could have dinner on Friday night together," one roommate said, "and then you and James can go out with your gay friends."

In my mind, I heard a very loud voice ask, "What gay friends?"

It is truly annoying to be reminded, at a time when you're supposed to be happy and exuberant, that there really is something amiss. While I'd love to go gay for my birthday, the fact remains that I just really don't have any gay friends. Guys I dated aside, I still don't have my 'gay group', even though the rest of the world apparently thinks that I do.

Then again, I'm still overwhelmed when I think of having to attempt to round up a group of people, gay, straight or otherwise, to be in the same spot at the same time on my behalf.

I don't have long to decide. I've never really had a 'great' birthday before, merely a slew of unremarkable ones (and a few crappy ones, like last year). For my part, I'd almost prefer to pretend that it's any other day, and to just carry on with life as is. But I question whether that's because I'm truly non-plussed about the event itself or because I'm horrified at the implications of a poorly executed celebration.

Maybe I'll just close my eyes, and hope that someone else will just do it all for me...

All that life offers (Part 1)...

2008-09-02T22:25:00.001-04:00

I know I left you all hanging, but it was impossible for me to have the time up until this second to continue the story.

Flash back to last Friday. I spent most of the day feeling nauseous, knowing that in a few short hours my life was about to change yet again. It's a funny feeling, knowing one is about to change the course of their life...so powerful yet so helpless in the same second.

I don't recall most of what happened that day, because really, I accomplished nothing. I was fixated on what was to come, what would happen after we ate dinner as a family surrounding the glass-topped table, after the dishes were tucked away in the washer and my dad had drifted in to sit on the couch.

My mother was equally on pins and needles, giving me the occasional glance as I walked by that seemed to remind me constantly of the gravity of the situation. We didn't really talk about it, save for a few moments where she confirmed that it would be 'tonight'.

At roughly 4 p.m., both parents were leaving the house, bound for different destinations. Outside, mom told dad that I had something to talk about, and that we needed to talk tonight. He retraced his steps, back into the house, calling up stairs to me, who had slunk back to my bedroom.

I came down to him, completely unaware of what was going on. "Come here," he said. "Sit down." We sat on the small bench in the porch, barely enough room for the two of us to fit. I still had no idea what was happening, save the idea he was going to tell me he'd miss me once I went back to school.

"I just really want you to enjoy your last few days at home," he said. "I just want you to enjoy them."

"I...uh...well, of course," I said, "so do I." It would only be 48 hours before I had moved back to Toronto and left home once more, and I understood where he was coming from.

He paused. "I know what you want to talk about," he said. I sat there, confused, and asked just what he meant, since I hadn't said a word about anything.

"Your mom told me just now you needed to talk about something," he said, "and I wanted to let you know I already know what you have to say." There was something in his voice, a naked honesty, that finally made me see the light: he knew.

The room swayed, and I burst into tears.

Everything that I had planned, everything that had been taken into account, simply flew out the window. There we sat on the bench, me clinging to him, sobbing, trying to form words, form a sentence.

"It's ok, it's ok," he said, pulling me to him.

"What do you mean you know?" I asked through sobs.

"I know, I've known for a while," he replied.

"But...how long is a while?" I asked, still gasping for air.

"A long time. A couple years," he said.

So I started to talk, started to try and tell him how awkward life has been, how difficult summer was, knowing that I needed to tell him and not knowing how he would react.

But all the pep talk that I had thought through simply vanished. I didn't know what to say, how to say things. I didn't understand just how much he 'got it' or if he was confused and unsure. So we sat there, with me attempting to get conversation on track.

He really had no questions, which bothered me a little, since my understanding of his gay education was stereotypes and bad TV. So instead I focused on the positives, how happy I am, how I feel more comfortable in my skin and with my life.

"But you gotta admit, it's pretty weird," he said. "It's not really normal."

And so we talked, and I tried to clear things up (gently) about what exactly 'normal' is, and how being different from a majority isn't necessarily weird. I tried equating things to being left handed versus right handed.

With that, we got to the root of his thinking...how he feels like something 'went wrong' somewhere genetically, from whose side of the family the gayness came from.

I still don't really understand just what he's thinking or how he feels. On the one hand, he made it very clear he still loves me, that I'm still his son and that we're still a family. On the other, he still seems to be pretty uncomfortable with the whole situation, not really sure of where he stands..."It's going to take a lot of getting used to," he said. "Two guys...that will take a lot..."

Throughout it all, he did give me a bit of insight into the hidden gays in our community. There have been some before me (no surprise), though I'd never heard of them before. Other farmer's sons who had been gay, and who had come out years and years ago. They all left, of course, but it feels nice knowing that I wasn't exclusively alone in my situation.

Like my mother, he was most concerned about safety, both interior and exterior. He worries that I'll get killed in a straight bar, or that people would hurt me for being gay somewhere, sometime in my life. And he worries about me 'getting sick' (since he couldn't seem to bring himself to use the word HIV) like one of the other farmers sons had. He died, tragically, in Vancouver.

Overall, it was a surreal experience. I had no idea he knew, no inclination that he had known for so long. In many ways, I got my wish after all; I only have to deal with the awkwardness after the coming-out conversation, I didn't have to break the news to him that I'm gay. Even now, looking back, I still don't really know exactly how he feels about the whole thing...I get the feeling he is accepting more because of the love for his son than the true belief that being gay is OK.

And so we've entered a new phase of life. Both my parents know now. I'm out to my family. Now what?

It seems crazy to be thinking about the next step, but I couldn't help but wonder as our conversation wound down just how things would progress. I told him quite clearly that I have no intention of this just becoming a family secret, of it being spoken of once and then never again. But just how much it's discussed, and in which way, is something that we'll have to discover.

And as if there wasn't enough drama on this weekend, Sunday proved to be no slouch...

Tomorrow is a big day...

2008-08-28T22:39:00.004-04:00

I'm coming out to my dad tomorrow.

Sunday I move back to Toronto. Saturday I'm helping another friend move. That leaves Friday, more specifically Friday at around 7 p.m. Eastern time.

I've known what to say for a long time...there really isn't much thinking. I'm gay. I'm happy. The trick now is to not get upset or angry, depending on his reaction, while I explain things. But it needs to happen; it's needed to happen for a year, and no good opportunity has presented itself. There never will be one.

Really, the awkwardness after the fact I can deal with. We've had a difficult summer between the two of us, with me putting a lot of safety distance between him and me. It's the getting through the conversation that I'm dreading.

So send me positive vibes tomorrow night, because it'll be helpful to know there are people behind me. If I don't get anything posted for a few days, don't take it as really bad news, since I'll barely be around a computer let alone have any privacy to write it all out.

And so I go, once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more...

It all comes down to you...

2008-08-28T10:37:00.002-04:00

I've spent the last few days getting my life in order.

The corn has grown above my head, the sun sets earlier each evening, and there is a decided chill in the air during the dead of night. Everything is pointing to the one sure thing in life: time is creeping forward. Summer is coming to a close.

With the end of the season ticking ever closer, I've started my ritualistic packing and organizing. Decisions must be made, what to take and what to leave. Arrangements must be made, the big move in date set. Summer ends, school begins. The next new chapter of life.

Last week I wasn't stressed about the subject. Far from it...I was excited, relaxed and really looking forward to being back in Toronto, having my new normal life back. The butterflies that used to come on when I started planning my new year were nowhere to be found, and truth be told I enjoyed it. For the first time, I felt no unease about just how things would go, what kind of a year I'd have.

But over the last few days, my carefree mood darkened. I started realizing how much of a change was coming, how different things were about to be again.

I started to see the end of the line.

Come September I'll be going into my fourth and final year of university. It's hard to imagine something that you've chosen, planned for, dedicated yourself to, lived, ate and slept - coming to a close. Yet it is, or will be. In eight months I will be a university graduate.

Of course, it has the ring of accomplishment to it, the knowledge that you've succeeded in your field of study and have successfully navigated another phase of your life. I'm proud of what I've done so far, and I hope that this final year will be the crowning achievement, the culmination of my four years of study.

But...there's so much more I feel like I have to do, or at least want to.

Life as a student is truly amazing. Yes, there is responsibility (at least, for me), but there is the overwhelming sense that anything is possible. During the past three years, I've discovered more about myself, learned who I really am and experienced more life than I did in the 17 years before.

But again, when I think that it's coming to a close, I feel like there are so many things still left to do.

It all comes down to safety. As a student, you have a great safety net surrounding your life; you're young, learning, experimenting. There is no 9 to 5 job you have to attend every day. Nights can drag until 4 a.m. with little consequence to your life. Days can be spent thinking, or at least attempting to, solving the riddles of life.

Of course, many people see it differently. On having this conversation with a friend, she turned the inflection of the thought on its head. "Exactly, you're finished university in eight months!" she said with enthusiasm and sincerity. "And there's so much more you can do once you graduate!"

She's right, to an extent. It's true that just because I'm going to be finished school doesn't mean I have achieved the highest peaks of my life. There are years and years (and hopefully a few more after that) for me to continue to explore, to live.

I can't even put my finger on what exactly it is I feel I have yet to do. At university, I suppose I would argue I haven't had the 'American college' experience; there are no meanderings through the quad, no school spirit or community. Unlike a Bret Easton Ellis novel, we're not all doing copious amounts of drugs and constantly sleeping with each other...not that that would make for the most well-rounded university experience.

I guess a lot of it comes down to being 'involved.' I've passed three years of my life at university already, yet I still feel on the outside of the organizational sphere. I never got into councils, organizations, action groups...but then a lot of it wasn't really for me to begin with...

Also, thinking of leaving university in many ways makes me feel I'm loosing my gay safety net. It's one thing to think I'll figure out the whole gay thing during school, where there are people my age experiencing the same things, where there is a student group with an open door I could always force myself through. Once I graduate, that all evaporates...and I become one gay against the world. But, since I haven't really figured it out after three years of the same thing, maybe a change would be for the better after all.

So here's to eight more months of the best job of my life.

So far.

Actions speak louder than words...

2008-08-21T15:40:00.000-04:00

Online interaction between humans brings out the worst in us.

It's as if the ambiguity of representing yourself electronically is too much for our relatively unevolved psyches to understand and accept. It's something we're not taught from our youth, like how we gauge other interaction between people. Such a fluid thing is likely to cause problems.

Much like online interaction brings out the worst in us, it can be related to playing 'the game' while dating. The ideas are similar; neither party knows quite what the other is saying, and how things are meant usually are interpreted very differently by the other person.

As we speak, I'm having said issue. I popped online a few minutes ago, more as a distraction than a serious need to speak with anyone. A couple people were online, but only one person, whom I wouldn't have minded speaking with, sat there 'Online', his little green man glowing, welcoming conversation.

I double clicked on his icon, then stopped. I don't want to appear too needy/forward/irritating to someone who I was just talking to last night, so I should probably just see if he messages me.

A few moments pass. I busy myself with other things, checking messages and dropping a few 'happy birthday' messages to people on Facebook. Nothing is happening on the IM front; both our icons glow the happy green, and neither is making the first attempt at a hello.

So I sit there. I don't really need to talk, but I'm getting a little irritated that he's not so much as acknowledged my presence.

I look away to do something, and when I look back his status is now set to 'Away'. Hrm...well, maybe he truly was busy, or had stepped away from his computer. Again, I turn around and work on other things.

After another ten minutes, I've decided it's not really worth my time to sit here when nobody is talking to me. Might as well accomplish the 5000 other things I have to do. So, I set myself to 'Appear Offline', and get busy.

A couple minutes later, I notice that he has now gone back online.

This is where the uncertainty seems to be grounded in something more than a vivid imagination. When I'm online, he sets himself away...when I leave, he comes back online.

I try to be reasonable, rational. We really could have had some bad timing, he may have literally stepped away for those few minutes I was online, only to return when I went offline.

But the unlearned side of us, the side that deals with this new set of social interactions, really wonders if I'd just been ignored with such enthusiasm that a friend actually went to great pains to avoid speaking with me.

Of course, there's no way to prove any of this, to answer the question and put the mind at ease. Everything online is so open ended; we have nothing else to interpret the other's meaning except the naked words (or silence) that are sent to us. So how are you supposed to take it when a friend completely ignores your existence, simply reversing what you have done in an attempt to appear innocent?

And naturally, one can't simply flat-out ask them, because you would look absolutely insane, desperate and paranoid. As we all know, I'm only two of those three things.

So I sit here still, he now back online, me still invisible, and I wonder if I've been silently slapped in the face, or if I'm just a paranoid egomaniac.

Yes, I know I have too much time on my hands.

Heavy...

2008-08-19T16:02:00.000-04:00

"All I want to do is make you happy, because you've made me the happiest I've ever been in a long time."

Forgiving the bad grammar, I read, re-read, and read once more the last sentence of his e-mail to me.

For some reason, I almost didn't want to see it. I almost didn't want to hear that, yes, I'm making someone happy. Why? Because, in my experience, it's something that's hard to trust. I've been there before...sure, this time I have way more substantial evidence that it's true, but it can be a little daunting to imagine things working...still working, for someone where it very rarely has.

But there it was, in black and white. And mixed with the slight unease was a great sense of flushed warmth.

Of course, it didn't take long for me to slip from pleasure to pressure. While half of me was relaxed and happy because of the statement, the other half felt a new weight fall on my shoulders, the don't-fuck-it-up-now-because-it's-getting-more-serious pressure to perform.

Actually, writing this now sounds like I'm a lot more worried by the pressure than reassure by the sentiment. That's not the case; when I got it, and after I kept reading it, I was really reassured by it. It felt right.

I just have to remind myself to stop thinking and go with the flow.

Warm inside and out...

2008-08-14T19:20:00.001-04:00

I had one of those near-perfect moments this afternoon.

After another day at work, and another mid-afternoon of boredom and what could be called introspective thinking (but was really just moping and listlessness), I chanced to go online and check my messages. Strangely enough, there were a few people online, and I happily said hello to a good friend of mine.

Within two minutes, we were on the phone together. It was late afternoon, and nobody was home; for the first time in what I would swear to be weeks, the sun blazed through the large front window, warming the couch already covered in pillows.

I lay out on it, sunshine nearly burning my eyes, and instantly felt comfortable. My body just sank into place, my back propped just enough to let me speak clearly. And we talked.

For 48 minutes and one second, I lounged comfortably and had a great conversation with him. We haven't spoken in what felt like months, but was really weeks...only an eventful few weeks. We never run out of things to say, we always can talk endlessly and not get bored.

Our topics of conversation ranged from work to our respective love lives to travel. I didn't even realize how good it felt to lay there, with nobody else around, and have a meaningful conversation with someone; by the time he was ready to say goodbye I had sunk into an impossibly comfortable position that I did not want to move from.

The goodbye's are always brief, so we said them and he disconnected. I waited on the line to hear the click, and the fuzz of static afterwards. And I smiled.

I'm not really sure what it was...the conversation, the couch or the sunshine. Probably the combination of all three, at that exact moment in the universe, in that exact harmony. But I sat there, a smile on my face, and just felt blissfully happy. Content.

And so I carried out the next few hours of the day in the similar manner, still with a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. Even now, I want to go back to that couch and feel it all over again, but alas the sun has slid further to the west, the the couch grew cold, and the phone line is silent.

But it doesn't take away the pure joy that one of those near-perfect moments brings you.

Some interesting opinions...

2008-08-09T21:01:00.000-04:00

So I must confess, I've actually been watching the Olympics.

Not that I had intended to...I had actually sort of decided to boycott the damn things and ignore their existence as a way to protest against China...but they're the only thing on TV. And I have to say, they've been kinda fun to watch, a horrifying statement from a guy that generally hates sports.

It certainly doesn't hurt that almost all of the male athletes are completely dreamy...they're so damn muscled it's annoying, but they're not hyper-developed. Add to that the fact many are in the 18-25 category...and it makes for delicious viewing.

I also realized during the opening ceremonies that I'm particularly fond of the Swiss and Swede crowd. I think I'm adding to my list of things to do a couple guys from that general geographic area. Hell, I'll even put on 'Olympic athlete' on that list; I wouldn't mind one of those swimmers gyrating with me in bed.

Of course, all of this commentary was silent because of the company I've kept today. We had a family-visit day, so it was just me, my parents and my grandparents all hanging out. And because of the beautiful pissing-rain-and-cold weather, we were stuck inside watching the games unfold.

And since I was with my grandparents, there had to be the inevitable moment of sheer awkwardness. Well...of course, there were actually a few, mostly surrounding their insane ideas about the world outside North America. But the one that was most bizarre was a rant about the male swimmers.

"They're all fags, you know," my grandmother said, as if she were telling me the sky is cloudy today.

"Oh?" I said, in strangled laughter. This is certainly odd...

"Yeah, like that young kid, whatshisname," my grandfather added. "He's as queer as a two dollar bill. See, all these male swimmers...it's mostly a gay competition."

The conviction in his voice was laughable; it was as if he were a retired drag queen trying to lecture me on the gay community. He was dead certain that every male swimmer was gay.

"Um...ok," I said, not really knowing where to begin. "So, why do you say that?"

"Because they are!" he said. "They're all gay, you can tell."

At this point, I was biting my tongue to keep from barking with laughter. Sure, there are some gay athletes...but could we whitewash much more than that? Now they're all magically gay, and an old straight dude can tell them apart?

"So...uh....how can you tell?" I said. "I mean, they just swim on TV."

He thought for a second. "No, no, you can tell," he assured me. "It's all in their mannerisms...they move like they're gay, they look gay...it's just the way they behave." My grandmother nodded along, since clearly she is an expert on such things as well.

"Oh," I said simply, rolling my eyes to the back of my head and still suppressing the laughter. The irony was amazing; here he sat two feet from a gay guy, and he was preaching about how he just knew all the swimmers at the Olympics are gay from the way they acted on screen.

Luckily he didn't degenerate into a hate speech about said gay swimmers, but it still was hilarious and bizarre to hear him preach with such authority on the subject.

After they had gone home, my mother shook her head at the thought. "They have some pretty crazy ideas about athletes. It's pretty clear they have no idea about sports whatsoever," she said.

"Ha, I know!" I replied. "And what's with the gay thing? I mean, I'm a huge homo, and they don't seem to be picking up on that at all...but he's such an authority on the subject!"

We both shared a bit of a laugh, inwardly thankful that they really don't know as much as they think they do.

Things left unsaid...

2008-08-06T19:54:00.004-04:00

In the past few days, there have been a few things that I've left unsaid to people.

I'm not usually one to hold my opinions back, except in moments where a formal politeness is required. One of the only other times is when my statements will potentially leave a very sour taste in someone's mouth, even though they're not intended to be cutting comments.

---------------

The old Fuck Buddy isn't in Toronto...hell, he hasn't been for months. Every few weeks I get a poke on Facebook from him, a little reminder that he's alive. It also reminds me of our cycle, how we keep fooling around and I get a small rush of sexual excitement whenever he messages me. Then we set up a time, and he usually keeps me waiting around until the early hours of the next morning before showing up on my doorstep. The sex is usually quite banal and more often than not, when he leaves, I feel only slightly satisfied. And exhausted the next day, because I got four hours of sleep in lieu of boring sex.

He's not one to show his hand, so I never really know quite what he thinks of me. I more often than not, I'd guess he just likes to get his rocks off, and likes the fact that he doesn't have to go trolling for another boy to sleep with. But every time he messages me this summer, it surprises me a little...I'm obviously on his mind, because he's thousands of miles away from me, yet still sending me the occasional communication. Hrm...what does that mean? Is he just that good with PR that he's keeping the embers glowing until he gets home?

And his messages get even stranger...from "Hey." to "How's it going." to the shocker..."Dude. I miss you haha."

Each time I've replied with a vague, "Yeah, miss you too..." style comment.

But each time, I stop myself from typing what's really on my mind.

"Do you miss me, or do you just miss fucking me? Having a bit of a horny moment, are we?"

Really, I'm just curious.

---------------

A guy I used to go out with randomly messaged me this afternoon on a gay site. We're on good terms with each other, so much so that I get the feeling he wants to date me again. While I don't see us working in the dating sense, I do see us sleeping with each other. And why not...when we were good, we were good.

Out of curiosity, I checked out his profile. His picture was awful, albeit candid. His description was a bit of a mixed message...the typical 'down to earth guy' thing with a curious statement tagged on the end about 'enjoy life and other human beings'. Further down, it listed his interests both in and out of the sack. Strangely, at least to me, he didn't have "Relationships/LTR" written anywhere. A little out of context for me, since we seemed to have been shooting for something more than just a casual date.

Maybe he was just interested in something casual after all. Maybe I should learn to just date for the hell of it, to not expect things to always show signs of getting serious. Not like I do that on a first date, but instead of moving on when the spark vanishes, maybe I should take a page from his book and just 'enjoy life and other human beings'.

I replied to his message, saying that I of course want to see him again come the fall, hoping that he didn't take that as a sign we're giving it another shot. But again, I left out the questions that would most satisfy my curiosity.

"So, I thought you weren't the type to hook up with randoms. Just how many guys are you sleeping with on an average week?"

Peer pressure...

2008-08-05T15:13:00.001-04:00

Everybody knows you talk about your relationships with your friends.

Sometimes it's to celebrate how ecstatically happy you are. Other times it's to vent your frustrations about your partner, where friends offer a safe place outside of earshot to talk about what's been bothering you.

So, it's no surprise to me that my name has been on James' lips lately, when I'm not around. After all, we're still dating, and still happy. And as it turns out, we're one of the few actually happy couples within his circle of friends.

"It feel weird," he said last night, "being the one that actually has something good to say on the dating front."

I laughed, mostly because I agree; I'm never the one that has had such consecutively good news related to dating. And his point was pretty valid; it's odd for both of us to be actually happy while others are hitting the down-in-the-dumps/I-hate-boys wall.

Being the modest sort, it feels weird to imagine his friends discussing my relationship. But being the curious sort, I naturally want to know just what the hell they're talking about.

During our conversation last night, it became more and more clear.

"They're all happy that I'm happy," said James simply. Well, that's a good thing...but I highly doubt that he would repeat anything too negative about me directly to me. Then things started to become a bit more clear.

While discussing one of his friend's new boyfriends, James mentioned the fact the newly happy couple has only been dating for two weeks. "Seems sort of unbelievable," he said, "since it's been so short. I mean, us...we have like three months!"

I nodded my head. "Yeah, of course, I would hope that means we're a lot closer than they are." I kind of got a little tingle of excitement and wonder at the fact I've been with someone for that long and things haven't exploded yet.

But apparently this friend of his isn't too impressed with our track record, no matter how long we've been going out.

"He says he doesn't understand why I'm still seeing you since we're not boyfriends after two months," James said bluntly.

Huh?

"Actually, a lot of them don't really get it...they think we're some casual on-and-off thing," he continued. Apparently a couple weeks ago, his friends invited him out to a party somewhere, "there would be a lot of single guys. They wanted me to go have fun with them and basically get laid," he said.

The bottom line is, most of his friends think that James shouldn't wait around for me to commit, especially after this 'long'. To them, I represent some guy stringing their friend along, unwilling to slip a ring on his finger and book the Orange Hall...er, wait...just what do they expect me to do?

"I don't get it," I said after a minute. "We've been together for a long time, we've been getting more serious and taking our time with the whole 'boyfriend' thing. Why don't they approve?"

James snorted softly. "I have no idea. One of the things I like about you the most is how thoughtful you are, how you really think things through. I really like the fact you don't just call everyone a boyfriend, that you're actually making sure there's something there. They don't get the fact that we're pretty serious about each other."

The conversation segued into a lengthy talk about labels, and what we are, and the fact that we're both quite happy as is. But even after we'd said our goodbyes, I was still stuck on the lofty opinions of his friends about our relationship.

Just where the hell are these guys coming from? We're about as sane and stable as the best couples, because we've taken our time to make sure we actually like each other before slapping a ridiculous label on ourselves. He constantly tells them how happy he is, and that we're still together. He's told them he wants to be with me - and only me - and to stop suggesting guys for him to date. For all intents and purposes, we are boyfriends...except for the fact they don't see it that way.

I've been doing a sort of slow-burn ever since, rolling things around in my head and trying to think up a more polite response than, "Go fuck yourself." Are these guys seriously as vapid as they sound from my end? Do they really think all there is to a relationship is the simple title of 'boyfriend? Does the fact we've been seeing each other for so long mean nothing to them, except that I'm 'wasting his time'?

Even now, I shake my head in amazement. Here I thought these guys were a little above the crazed scene ideology that has seemingly guided them to their conclusion...but clearly I gave them a little too much credit. While I feel like we've done everything the adult way, they seem to think I'm acting like a child.

I vented some of this to James last night. "I mean, really, what would be different if I started calling you my boyfriend?" I asked him. "I'll still feel the same way for you that I do now, we'll still be the same people, except for some stupid label that somehow would prove to your friends that we're a legit couple."

He agreed, saying that he's happy with the way things have gone, and that he's glad we didn't rush into anything.

"Unless we're getting married," I said, "what will the difference be when we finally use that B word?"

In my imagination, I played out the scene...me, on one knee, holding his hand and asking..."Will you be my boyfriend?" What a load of shit.

Our conversation veered into our pasts, with him describing a few instances of intimacy with the boys of yesterday. We compared notes on the subject, and I offered a little anecdote to go along with one of my little stories. Three quarters of the way through, it happened.

After describing a sexual encounter that didn't go so well, and venting a little of my frustration, I casually said, "Ha, I guess that's something that I really shouldn't be reliving with my...oh God."

"What? What oh God?" he said.

"I almost said it."

He paused. "Said what."

I rolled my eyes. "That word. You know?"

James laughed. "What word?" Ok...he wants to hear me say it now. Great.

"You know," I said, with more than a hint of drama in my voice. "The B word."

He burst into laughter. "Ohhh..." he said.

That little scene proves my point entirely. Just what exactly do James' friends think will change when I finally say that word out loud? I already thought it in my head, and slammed on the brakes before I said it, and it clearly shows that we're on the cusp of it happening.

So what makes his friends think we're less legitimate than a couple who label themselves after 14 days of dating?

Track a ghost through the fog...

2008-07-31T15:53:00.001-04:00

It is said that ghosts haunt our lives until we release them.

They hide in shadows, appearing to us at the most inopportune times, when our defences are down and our attention is distracted. Sometimes they are loud, rattling their chains and howling, surprising us with their full effect. Others are silent, with nothing more than a penetrating glance that stops us in our tracks.

I had a moment like that this morning. Freshly on vacation from work, and just returned from a trip to Halifax (details later...) I woke up relaxed and happy in my Toronto apartment. The noises of the city were comforting instead of grinding, and I wasted a bit of time before I pulled myself out of bed and off to an appointment.

The first walk after being away from my apartment is always a little joy for me. I pull on my messenger bag, plug in my iPod and head down the street. The entire trip is a reminder of Toronto, of tall buildings and bustling people and a pulse that isn't present back in bum-fuck-nowhere. And today was no different, as I strolled along in the morning sunshine with a goofy smile on my face.

That is, until I got to an intersection not too far from my building. I'd missed the light to cross, as usual, and swiveled around to cross in the opposite direction. The light changed, and I started forward, barely glancing ahead, until I saw someone pass from left to right, across the intersection in front of me.

At first glance nothing even grabbed my attention. Someone walking north, while I was crossing the street, walking west. Medium height, medium build, a nice tanned shine to his skin. I started to pay a little more attention, since this was the first cute guy that I'd crossed paths with since starting my walk.

Then I started noticing things...like his shirt, the way his jeans fit, the strikingly familiar height...and I started wondering if this was actually a guy I'd gone out with or someone that just looked like him. At that moment, his head turned a fraction of an inch, and between our sunglasses I felt our eyes lock for a moment. But his face didn't change, his pace didn't alter...he kept on walking.

This all happened in a matter of a few seconds. By the time I'd crossed the street to his side, he'd continued walking north, and I was treated to a profile of his back. Again, I studied him, trying to decide if it was really him or just someone that looked an awful lot like him.

And if it was him, what the hell was he doing here? He lived on the other side of town, why would he be in my neighborhood? I shuddered at the thought that his new boyfriend lives in the area.

I'm getting to understand more and more what people say about exes and how they are remembered. Not that I've dated a significantly large number of guys, but the memories of ones I have gone out with have all blended together in bizarre hybrids. Qualities that made you happy, or irritated you, are not remembered in one person, but in several different vehicles.

My memory swirled, as I thought about him and I, one of the ghosts from my past that still hasn't been released. He was the silent variety, who left without a word, and offered no insight today on the street. I had that mix of memories, that fuzzy remembrance of how I liked him, how I thought things were going to wind up working between us...then I realized that I was dragging one of my hybrid memories onto his face, and shook my head. Things fucked up for a reason, after all, even though I don't really know what that reason was.

I'd always wondered what would happen if I saw him again. Would I get a smile, or a few words? Or, like today, the cold shoulder? As I walked, I toyed with the idea of going after him, or calling his name. After all, could I finally let one of my ghosts go?

But no, I kept walking, just like he did. Of course, it didn't stop the questions from coming, the nagging in my mind, and the wonder if it really was him that had walked by. And, of course, after he had left my vision, I just thought, "What an asshole!"

But as we all know, these ghosts tend to pop up from time to time, and shake our world for the briefest moment. Usually at the most inopportune moments, and always when you least expect it.

Next time I hope I get to banish him forever.

His sexy exes...

2008-07-21T17:44:00.007-04:00

There are many things I'm still trying to figure out about the almost-boyfriend.

Stuff like compatibility in tastes, compatibility in cultural appreciation, the whole physical thing...

About the only thing I know is that we get along well and like each other's company.

It should end there, really. After all, isn't that the most important thing? That we like being in the same space as each other? Take Saturday, for example. With our plans washed up, we decided to go out and hang out/hike in a park and enjoy the weather. Unfortunately, when I picked him up, it started to pour and thunderstorm as we pulled into the park gates.

So instead of sitting outside, we sat in my car, with the rain pelting the windshield, and just talked. And it was actually really nice.

I'm even trying to wrap my head around the physical end of things, the fact that he's not what I'm really attracted to. Every time I walk by a guy I think is really cute, I sigh a little inside and say to myself, "I wish James came in that packaging."

It's obscene of me to think, since the inside counts way more than the outside...and it's not even that he's unattractive! He's just really not my type. And it's hard, because I think to myself, "Do I keep running with things as they are, or do I end things and keep on searching for 'perfection' in a boyfriend?"

Lately, with our return to school coming ever closer, I also wonder what kind of a couple we'll be in the big city. Will he enjoy going to a gallery as much as I do? Can he handle taking in the Royal Ontario Museum on a Friday night instead of...well, anything? Is he fast food while I'm wine-and-cheese?

Are we going to find that our interests in our 'regular' lives are a lot different, after we have the freedom from small-town confines?

Not that I'm terrified about the possibility, because there are of course plenty of couples that share different interests but can meet on common grounds. It's just the thought that, in my mind, the boyfriend I finally find would be strikingly similar to myself, enough that we'd have similar desires to check out this show or that restaurant.

- - - - - - - - -

During Pride weekend, while we mingled in the crowds, occasionally James would recognize someone and either wave or cower behind me. While trying not to be obviously nosey, I asked him who all these mystery men were.

As it turned out, most were exes, one night stands or part of the similar collection of homosexual skeletons we have hanging in our closets. They were all friendly...or at least the ones that talked to us were...and they were all very, very cute.

One after another, I was dazzled by his roster of very eligible boys. They were a diverse lot of races and sizes, but all set off my attraction meter in similar fashion. I kept thinking, and asking subtly, "Why the hell did you break it off with that hot thing?"

And I kept asking myself, "Why the hell are you with me?"

In one instance, we were walking up Church St. in the dusky light, and I was admiring a tall, lean boy walking south past us. He wore black jeans, a tight-but-not-too-tight t-shirt and a summer scarf. I smiled slightly, appreciating him; he was attractive without being over the top, just another example of what I had believed to be my diverse taste in guys.

"Oh shit," James said, stepping beside me. "That's {blank}."

"Friend of yours?" I asked, sticking my tongue out.

"Well, we dated for like a week," he said. "It didn't work out, we didn't really spark," he added, nonchalantly.

Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. While I understand that without a click there's no point, it's hard for me to see an attractive boy walk by and find out my almost-boyfriend had dated him for a week and moved on. I mean, Jesus, at least date him for a few, he's hot!

But again and again I found the same thing; James' boyfriends and lovers were all striking. And again and again, I found myself desiring their bodies more than his.

What it all comes down to is my struggle to understand this whole conundrum. Here we have a host of boyfriends that have killer looks, who dated a boy I'm now with, who is in my taste of tastes not really my best physical match.

It's bizarre! He's clearly hot, or not all of his exes would be. So why am I just not feeling that intense appreciation of his looks, when by the rules of logic he should be as attractive as all the boys from his past?

I know, I know...I'm weird. I can't explain it. And I hate it, because I'd rather be falling over myself because of his looks instead of wondering why I'm not. Maybe it's some insane psychological thing, that I'm not intensely physically attracted to him because of the fact we've got these feelings planted in each other. Or maybe it's just as stupidly simple as he's just not my type. So now what do we do?

And what does it say about me, another in this stream of boys in his life? Does this mean that I'm as attractive as all the rest of them, that my presence in his life means I stand next to the other sexy specimens who passed us by that weekend? Or am I the freak anomaly, the bizarre being that he's giving a spin because I'm radically different from the rest of the guy's he's been with? That he's simply trying something outside of his usual feast of fabulous boyfriends?

Does it mean I'm attractive, or ugly?

Throughout all of this, I have to reiterate that things are going really well between us. We're both in the longest thing either of us has ever had, and netiher of us really believes it's happening. We don't want to push it too much, because it might explode...yet we're being pushed out of our comfort zones by things actually working out with the guy we're dating.

And all of this stuff is the superficial top layer, the least important parts to a connection of the heart. Still, I find myself wracking my brain to understand the bizarre triangle of looks that seems to have appeared, and so far, I haven't had much luck.

Maybe I'll just break down and ask him.

But I get the feeling that honesty in this conversation might not be the most reassuring policy.

Sorry to disappoint...

2008-07-17T20:42:00.003-04:00

It's just been one of those weeks.

A week full of corporate bullshit, a week about bitching about paying employees and having meetings to ensure quality work and to promote better returns.

I was told that if I smile more, and be more cheerful, the company will perform better. I kid you not. And I'd say I'm one of the happiest people at work, 'cause I'm a fuckin' happy person.

The respite for all of this, the carrot at then end of a very long and improperly inserted stick, was supposed to come this weekend. Supposed to.

The almost-boyfriend and me were supposed to house-sit at my cousin's Saturday/Sunday. It was going to be the first time since Pride that we had time to ourselves, time to just hang out together 'at home' and enjoy each other's company in the most casual way possible.

We're both looking forward to it, yearning to have an evening of normality where we can cuddle on the couch, cook dinner and have sex with each other...attempt to be a functional, normal couple. We're both so much looking forward to it, in fact, that we talked about it for an hour yesterday.

And as of yesterday, just like two weeks ago when the originally asked, the word from my cousins was yes, we still need you. No doubt in my mind, I told them to call me tonight to let me know the details.

But fate decided to give me another bitch-slap, because now the whole thing is off. They're not going after all, last minute decision, but thanks for being available.

So there will be no cooking dinner, no cuddling on the couch, and no privacy. And now I have to make a phone call and disappoint someone else.

I guess it's just been one of those weeks.

A gay highschool reunion...

2008-07-12T20:18:00.002-04:00

After probably a year and a half, I finally got to spend an evening with the only openly gay person I went to highschool with.

Leah didn't come out until the second year of her university, and while everyone else wasn't particularly surprised, it certainly took me off guard. After all, this was a girl that I had known to have fooled around with a few boys in her day, especially on one hilarious and fondly remembered evening a few summers ago during a party at my house.

I vividly remember her coming out to me during my first year at university. I was talking to her via IM, and commented on her profile picture, a nice snapshot of her and another girl, both dressed formally and looking great. Their smiles were a mile wide, and I asked who the other girl was, honestly curious about her friends and how she was enjoying school.

"Oh," she said. "That's my date."

Thinking she was being a typical girl, I assumed that this 'date' was just a friend of hers who had attended their residence formal with her. The thought she was being serious didn't enter my mind, as I replied, "She looks cute, how long have you two been together?"

"Oh, I guess a couple months now," she said. "Her name is Elizabeth."

Without ever actually saying, "I am gay," we spent the next few minutes talking about her girlfriend. Looking back, it was a nice experience, and I hope I was one of the people that offered no snobbish, small-town reaction to her sexuality. I myself was still figuring things out at the time, and didn't return the favor of being as candid.

Last night, she happened to be passing through our home town. She hasn't been home for the summer in years, and barely makes more than a few day's appearance at Christmas, so when she wrote asking if I was free I jumped at the chance to see her.

The evening was a flashback to highschool days. I took the same route that I always did from my house towards hers, and grinned when I pulled into her driveway. Here I was, Friday night back home, and I was going out once again with the people I used to.

She opened the door seconds after I'd run the bell, and smiled at me. Her hair was cut shorter than usual, with a shag that I would have found quite attractive on a boy. I smiled as we hugged, and noticed her parents come into the room. We talked for a few minutes about how I was doing, about the old days and how everyone had flown the coop, including their daughter.

"But you, you're so thin!" Leah's father said, sizing me up. I muttered some comment about being on a student's budget, and the conversation changed to something else.

Of course, for the next few minutes, I obsessed over his comment. Good Lord, was I that big in highschool? I don't think I necessarily qualify as being really thin, comparative to the naked boys I've seen. Not that I'm large, but it took me off guard that someone who hasn't seen me in years would make a point to imply I've lost a lot of weight. Wow, has it really been that much? And if so, what the hell was I thinking in highschool?

The only departure from our usual Friday routine was the fact that instead of drinking at someone's house, or rather in their basement, we were drinking in a bar. Leah sat across the booth from me, and our conversation just flowed. We covered the usual topics, catching up on school and future prospects and living arrangements...everything.

Then came her mentioning of Pride Week. I had hoped she would recount her time with me, thinking maybe it would be a good way to segue into subtly telling her about my own sexuality. All I had to ask was, "Did you have fun?" and she spent the next minutes explaining all the details of her weekend.

I was conflicted the entire time. Part of me wanted so badly to say, "Oh, I know, wasn't the weather stupid?" and just have it out in the open, but the other wanted me to tread lightly. While I have no problem with her knowing (and actually really would love to have that open between us), I do question her ability to keep it between us. And really, there is only one person I would fear her letting it slip to, the most probable blabbermouth...her best friend from highschool, Marie.

And so I sat there, nodding along as she told her story, then proceeded to go into great detail about all the recent drama in her love life at school. She goes to a small university known for it's extremely high population of gays and lesbians, as well as a very liberal town that provides a positive space for the community, young and old. And yet, she still maintains that the gay community is small.

"It's all interwoven, these weird triangles," she said. "You probably are dating someone that somebody else you know already dated, and it gets dramatic," she added. No shit.

In many ways, we're a lot alike. Her thoughts on dating seem to mirror my own; we're both not unattracted to relationships of substance, but we both still allow ourselves to have fun along the way. I very much got the sense from her that she's the easy-going one in dramatic situations, and it's often everyone else that gets jealous of the other person. She even really impressed me with her politeness and gentlemanly attitude in a situation she described..."We could have either gotten into a making-out competition, or I could have just not shoved it in everyone's face, so I didn't throw myself on her after she made out with the third party," she said calmly of a brewing love triangle between her and two of her friends.

And that was the most interesting point of our gay talk, her troubles with her friends. "I've got to get myself into the whole 'make friends first' thing," she said. Now, I know for a fact she has a great group of lesbian friends at school, I've even been out with them before. But it was how she described meeting new people that I so related to.

"You just..." she said, trailing off. "You meet a person, and you see so much potential for it to go somewhere, and I just find myself interested in them romantically, or I think 'oh you're pretty' or something, and just fall into thinking of them that way instead of actually just being their friend."

I nodded.

"But, it's hard, I mean I've got to stop doing that and focus on just enlarging the circle of friends. Why does that happen, why do I just jump right to being interested in them!" she said, taking a mouthful of beer.

"Well, it's a small community!" I said. "It's not like other people, where you can maybe meet a date anywhere in life...things are small that when you meet someone you want to jump at the chance to have something with them, because the odds seem to be a lot lower than in the straight community."

If that didn't get her mind whirring, I don't know what would, but she didn't ask me any questions. I thought somewhere in that, in my comfort about talking gay and my understanding of how impossible it is at times to stop yourself from going for more than friendship, that she would have picked up on me. But nothing was said and we carried on to a new topic.

Then the reason I didn't want to tell Leah walked through the door. Marie slid into the seat beside her, and suddenly the urge to come out was shoved back into the closet. In the few first minutes, I was reminded how gossipy and nosey Marie is, and how entirely possible it would be for Leah to accidentally mention it, and then Marie spread it far and wide. I did some mental head slapping, thinking how stupid it all was that I couldn't be out to a lesbian, that I couldn't be out to the few people I still talk to from home because of the small-towns-talk-syndrome.

Conversation continued, and suddenly Leah looked at me and said, "So Steve, how about you, what's new on the dating front?" It would have been a perfect introduction for me to tell her about my current romance, but I shrugged it off with an over-dramatic, "Oh GOD, let's not talk about it, you'll be bored."

In the parking lot, we had our hugs and said our goodbyes and made our promises to visit each other. I stared meaningfully at Leah when she suggested maybe visiting me in Toronto. "Yes!" I said, enthused at the idea, already planning our trip out on the town. "Come visit...we'll go out!"

On the way home, I decided I should probably tell her. Why not, right? Ask her to keep it specifically from Marie, and things should be alright. And then finally we can have that long talk about our gay lives, from day one.

I'm just still not convinced it's the best idea.

The Big Gay Weekend (Part 3...)

2008-07-07T19:51:00.001-04:00

So here we are, a week after my first Pride.

Last Sunday morning had my mind slightly preoccupied with visions of the previous 24 hours. I lay in bed, a body beside me for the first time in months, and took in my surroundings. My legs sort of hurt from the night before, and for some reason I had the twitching of a headache. I heard the sound of the sky opening and rain slapping concrete...

Oh shit! Don't rain on my first parade!

We eased awake at around 11:30 a.m. and did some rolling around between the sheets. But my heart wasn't in it...a little because I didn't feel top notch, and a little because I started to feel that little feeling creeping into my mind, that annoying voice that quietly said maybe I'm really not that interested in him...maybe we're not going to work...

I tried to shut it out of my mind, and made us some lunch. We threw on some clothes and hit the street to full sunshine; the clouds had parted and we were on our way. A quick stop at Starbucks and I had some nourishing coffee in my hand...then all of a sudden James' hand grasped mine.

I reeled. We've already talked about what we are and are not, and we both agreed we're not 'there' yet, but there was his hand in mine again. Only now, it wasn't heat of the moment gay pride, or post-clubbing sex appeal. It was just walking down the street to the parade.

As subtly as I could, I slipped my grip from his and inserted my coffee cup in it's place. I still feel sort of childish not actually just saying aloud what I was thinking, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings or anything... it's such a fine line between being honest adults and making someone upset at the smallest thing. If he noticed, he didn't comment, and we walked toward the parade route.

On the way, he called his friends. The few of mine that were supposed to be coming with me all ditched me for various reasons of varying importance. I was a little sad, considering I thought people were coming with (the more the merrier)...and I was also relieved. I mean, had I not been there with James, I would have been alone.

But we wound up alone. His friends were at the beer garden, having a few drinks before the 2 p.m. start time. We didn't want to slog through the crowds to get back to where they were, so he said to call him when they figured out what they were doing. It all seemed a little weird to me. After all, these were his friends, and they weren't insisting that we join them, or telling us to wait at a certain place to meet.

I asked James what was up with that, and he guessed maybe the wanted to give us some alone time.

"Oh God, they hated me that much?" I asked, joking but genuinely nervous. It crossed my mind that they may not have wanted some random tag-along at the parade...but then again, they didn't care about me tagging along Saturday night...my brain tumbled it around a while, and in the end came up with nothing other than a vague disappointment that I wasn't going to get to know any of them during daylight hours. If James cared, he really didn't show it.

We chose a lucky shaded spot on Yonge St. and waited for things to begin. We stood there, side by side, and James hugged me out of nowhere. With me already slightly on edge about the whole touchy-feely thing, I asked him what was up.

"Nothing," he said. "I'm just glad I'm here with you."

Sweet sentiment, but I was trying to figure out just what he meant. For the rest of the day he became increasingly quiet and distant, lost in thought about his parents and what lay ahead at home. I kept reminding myself how alone I felt during those moments, and how great it would have been to have someone's hand to hold for support. So we hugged.

The parade started. I went in with a very open mind about what would pass us by, refusing to believe that it was all nearly-naked men shooting water guns at each other. It wasn't...far from it, actually.

Down the street they marched, the young and old, representing all the different community groups, sub-communities, political parties, police forces, varieties of sports, clubs and bars. For every guy in underwear, there were three fully dressed, representing an AIDS foundation, community interest or other support.

Of course, the hot nearly-naked guys were more fun to look at, but it really hit home the number of people who were out to support sexual equality. Not just that, but the differences in ages was staggering; union members that looked to be in their 60's were marching alongside Amnesty International's contingent of under-30 paraders. It was all a big love fest, and sort of gave you that flicker in your heart, the affirmation that you are not alone. Support the other 364 days a year may not be as visible, but everyone was out for the parade.

I've read elsewhere that once you've had your first pride, you become a little jaded. It doesn't mean as much, the second or third or tenth go-round, because you're less 'new' to the whole thing. People seem to agree that if it's your first pride, you think it's some holy groundbreaking event, but as the years go by you become less and less engaged with it. I'll happily admit it was a fulfilling experience for me, one that I'm glad I had and I'm glad was full of the naive glad-tidings other people seem to regard as being foolish.

Of course, there had to be one moment that hit home for both of us. PFLAG marched by, with lots of moms and dads holding signs like "I love my trans child". It was all nice to see, but the last three marchers of their group really got both James and I choked up. There was a guy our age, standing between his parents, and holding a handwritten sign, scribbled on a cotton sheet.

"My parents rock."

It all came gushing forward for both of us, how elated and envious we both were of this boy. Here he was, marching in the pride parade, surrounded by his accepting, encouraging parents who were comfortable and legitimate enough to walk with their homosexual son. For a moment my eyes stung as James leaned into me.

"Oh Jesus, just don't think about it, don't even say it out loud," I said, knowing what would happen to us both if we started talking about it then and there. He nodded and we focused on what was coming down the street behind them.

After three hours, the parade ended and we started walking back to my place. James wanted to walk through the village 'one more time' to experience the whole thing again before the world went back to normal the next day. I didn't really want to, I was more interested in avoiding the crushing crowds, but he grabbed my hand and led the way. It took us half an hour to walk a block through the masses of people, and I have to say the magic of Saturday night didn't carry over to Sunday evening. Instead of enjoying the diversity and beauty of the spectacle, I just wanted to push through the crowd and get to the other side.

The rest of the walk was quiet, with James lapsing into long moments of silence. It didn't look like anyone was home as he walked on autopilot beside me. Seeing him like that, experiencing it all firsthand in another person, was hard; I ached for him. When we got back to my apartment, he put his arms around me and squeezed. Hard. I pulled him in as tight as I could, and we stood there at my door.

A few moments of me trying to be lighthearted, and we were packed up and ready to go. He phoned his cousin as I told my roommate (who had just got back from out of town) about the weekend so far. Any thoughts of us fooling around once more while we had the chance were removed; the mood was awful and neither of us would have had fun.

The ride home was similarly depressing. When we started down the road, James really looked as if he were going to burst into tears. I grabbed his hand and held it on his lap, and we sat in silence as I drove home.

I dropped him off at his cousin's house, so he could feel out the situation at home before going there himself. In the car he gave me a really quick kiss and a big hug.

"There really are no words," I said, almost squeezing his hand off his body. Any attempt at me trying to distill what he was feeling and what I felt would have been laughable; it was a moment of rawness and I hope he understood how much I wanted to give him strength to walk in the door.

"Yeah, I know," he said quietly. "Thank you Steve."

And he left.

I hurried home, exhausted and a little worried myself. My mom knew exactly where I was...but would my dad have realized I was downtown on the gayest day of the year, and coming home in the early evening after the pride parade? I started worrying myself that I was going to be walking into a house full of questions.

But when I arrived, I found both of my parents in upbeat moods. One of the first things out of my mom's mouth (after dad had left earshot) was to ask if I'd had fun at the parade. I took from that that he had not questioned where I was, and I didn't need to worry.

A very short time later, I was tucked in my bed, quietly reviewing my 24 hours. So many firsts, all of them things that I've wanted. And while I wanted to stew, to wonder if it would be another 21 years before I had those experiences again, the questions didn't take hold in my exhausted brain.

My eyes closed, but the smile didn't leave my face.

The Big Gay Weekend (Part 2)...

2008-07-01T21:12:00.002-04:00

As we stepped inside, our host hugged James, and then myself.

"We go way back," he said casually, throwing on, "but how are you!? Haven't seen you in a while!"

I wasn't surprised at who opened the door...I knew a long time ago that James and our host were friends. He'd never really explained just how close they were, but it seemed that they were quite friendly (but no, not that friendly, you pervs...) Admittedly it was sort of intimidating knowing that our host for the evening was an acquaintance of mine that stretched back a couple years. Hell, I knew him before he came out, but I've never known him well.

I could tell he was a little surprised at the identity of the mysterious Steve that James was now seeing, but he shrugged it off. I'd love to be a fly on the wall after the fact, mind you.

As we stepped inside, James hugged each of his friends and did the introductions. I got a friendly handshake and hello from them all, and generally felt pretty at ease. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits, chatting away rapidly with each other. The crowd was mixed; they were all roughly the same age, at at a distance they all looked somewhat similar, though close up you could tell each was a little different than the other. They all had a common denominator in my eyes: I'd probably gladly sleep with them all. They were all, in their way, quite good looking.

Since we had left my place in a hurry, I had forgot to bring a bottle of anything to drink. James had...a 4-pack of some variety of Smirnoff Ice. I shuddered as I drank the sugar-water, then glanced around to notice most of the other guests were drinking something similar. I laughed to myself, thinking how truly campy it was.

I also realized that most of the other guests were just that: a touch on the camp side. Not that there was anything wrong with it at all; they were all fun and cheerful, but I felt almost not gay enough. I mean, we're all homosexuals, but I just felt like I didn't have enough outward gay happening. I'm by no means the straight-jock-gay variety...but when placed in a room of slightly campy gay boys I was afraid I came across as just that.

During the next hour I had a few good conversations and got to know some of the guys a little. We talked about Pride week and what we took in school and the usual get-to-know-you conversations. I also chatted with the few girls who were in attendance, and found everyone to be generally good company.

James, being the lightweight that he is, was quite happy when he finished his second drink...while I was feeling positively nothing. Not in the best interest of the evening ahead, I though, though it would certainly help in keeping me from drinking entirely too much.

Someone sounded the alert and we all prepared to leave. As I was standing in the kitchen dropping off my empty bottle, I had a short conversation with a guy who had just arrived. He complimented me on my glasses and told me I had good taste, to which I complimented him on his really well done highlights. It was really funny to actually get to say such a thing out loud, and we talked about how he usually likes to have them done. It also gave me a little perk up; I wasn't falling flat on my ass, and it seemed that at least one of the boys didn't stop and ask who brought the ugly straight guy to the party.

We all piled into the elevator, James' arms wrapped drunkenly around my body. Someone not-so-subtly asked, "Oh, are they together?" as he moved in and wrapped us both in a hug.

The walk to the club was quick and loud, with everyone practically bouncing with energy. Thanks to some advance tickets, we bypassed the lineup and stepped inside. And there I was, past the threshold. Inside I gazed into a room dimly lit and full of boys. I may have swooned.

Our group had gotten a little split up as we tried to get inside, so James and I headed for the bar and bought an armful of drinks. It was at that moment I realized the interesting situation I was placed in. We were standing in line, with him in front of me and my arms wrapped around him. It was very calming to have someone to hold on to, someone who I was there with, that allowed me to hold him and that made me feel like I wasn't out of place and completely lost. It was also strange, because here I was surrounded with gay boys and had no chance whatsoever to slip into any of their arms.

In retrospect, it was probably for the best that I had someone that devoted their attention to me the entire night. Had I went in just as friends, I would have had to quickly tackle the whole flirt/nod/dance/kiss/etc with complete strangers, something I have no experience with and no idea how to do. But at different points of the night, I would still find myself thinking what it would be like to just go out and play with whomever.

The music throbbed as we danced on the spot, waiting to be served. Suddenly someone caught James' attention, and next thing I was shaking hands with a guy a few feet away, between patrons waiting for drinks. I retracted my hand, only to be introduced to another person, who rolled his eyes back, cocked his head and said something to the effect of, "Well I guess I'm not important to shake hands with." I offered it again, but he declined to shake. I then rolled my own eyes and realized I'd made my first bad impression/unfriendly connection with a bitchy queen.

With energy-drink-vodka-things in hand, we stepped back into the thick of the crowd...or what we thought was the thick of the crowd. One of the group came and took us by the shoulder saying, "This isn't the main room tonight...come with me."

We walked through a corridor, and into a room triple the size of the one we'd just been in, full of lights and fog and hundreds of dancing boys. It was as if the pearly gates had opened and we were presented with nirvana.

Immediately we all plunged into the crowd and music and started to dance. For the next five hours, we danced non stop. I danced mostly with James, but occasionally with one of the other guys or the girls in the group.

For the first time in my life, I danced with a freedom I'd never known. I moved and thrusted and waved like I've never done before, and I loved it. We laughed and grinded , as I watched the crowds around us do the exact same thing. Some were shirtless, others simply made out with each other. They were all mostly around our age, dancing, drinking and groping their way around the room. It was amazing. James and I danced, like everyone else, with enough sexual suggestion to frighten my grandmother to death (and probably my mother too), but it was fun to be able to. It all felt right, a verification of things that have been missing from my life so far.

I don't know when, but one of the girls accidentally knocked my glasses clear off my face. Thankfully I grabbed them as they slid down my chest, and I tucked them into my jeans pocket. Not having them on really didn't effect my vision in the dark and crowded room, and I felt less self-conscious with them off my face. I may not have taken off my shirt, but losing the glasses was liberating all the same.

There were some memorable fun moments, outside of the generally great time. At one point I noticed James making out with one of his friends, who then inched over to me and made out with me, who then pushed us all together and caused a three-way tounging. It was fucking hot.

There were also some moments that reminded me of the positive/negative of being there 'with' someone. While James was a few feet away, dancing with one of the girls, I kept noticing the guy to my left looking vaguely in my direction. He was cute, though not as cute as most of the other guys there. A large part of me wanted to shimmy my way over and start dancing, but I felt obligated to behave myself. We hadn't set out any rules about other guys, and I know it would have just been dancing/a kiss or two, all very innocent...but I still felt gentlemanly enough not to do it directly in front of my date for the night.

My most embarrassing moment came around three quarters of the way through the evening, when we were heading to grab a couple more drinks. James was leading me through the crowd by the hand, when I felt something underfoot. People had been dropping their empties everywhere, and I had just stood directly on one. It started to roll under my foot, and I went down like a ton of bricks onto the floor below. The people around us all looked over, and one yelled out, "Wow, someone better take him home, he's had way too much to drink!"

Being past midnight, and having had a couple drinks by now (though not enough to have caused the fall, thank you), and being mortally embarrassed by the fact I'd just fallen flat on my ass, I rose slowly, and using the gayest voice I could muster, and a fey limp wrist, I shot back, "Ohmigod, I think I've drank too much. Someone take me home?" I didn't wait around long enough to see if anyone laughed.

While I didn't feel drunk by the end of the night, I did feel exhilarated. It was such a great time, the energy of the crowd and the fun of the evening made me feel amazing. Even the next morning, I felt like things were blurry and fuzzy; the lights and the darkness and the dancing all made for a hypnotic effect.

Finally, the music wound down, and the crowd shuffled out. On the street we said our good nights, with a hug from each of the guys, and James and I headed back to my apartment. He wanted to walk back through the Village, so we did en route, to find it as packed as before. People spilled from clubs and bars, and the energy felt the same as before. And also like before, James grabbed for my hand as we made our way through the crowd. While I wasn't super-impressed, I didn't really mind at that point.

A girl staggered by us, smiling serenely. "You're beautiful," she said to me, "and you're beautiful," she said to James. "Happy Pride!"

We finally made it through my apartment door. As I switched on the light, James laughed. "Wow, your back is soaked!" he said, bemused.

I flipped on a light and looked in the mirror. "Eeeew," I said, seeing the dark patch at the base of my back. "That's gross. But doesn't everybody get like that?" I asked.

"Well, not everybody..." he replied.

Great, now I'm the only 21-year-old to sweat out half his body weight when he dances in a boiling hot club for the night. Come on, everyone must wind up this disgusting...right?...

"There's no way I'm sleeping like this," I said, "I'm gross. I've gotta shower."

"Me too," James said.

I went to my room, stripped, and stepped towards the bathroom door. My left hand clicked on the light, and I looked back over my shoulder to see James standing behind me.

"Well?" I said with a grin. "Coming?"

The Big Gay Weekend (Part 1)

2008-06-30T17:08:00.002-04:00

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...

2008-06-25T15:01:00.003-04:00

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...

2008-06-17T14:34:00.004-04:00

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...

2008-06-13T22:06:00.003-04:00

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!?!?...

2008-06-09T21:56:00.005-04:00

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...

2008-06-08T19:03:00.002-04:00

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...

2008-06-06T10:42:00.000-04:00

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.

An awkward moment...

2008-05-30T10:35:00.003-04:00

Want to know what awkward feels like?

Awkward feels like walking through a crowded mall, with you Mom, and wondering if you'll run into someone you really don't want to see. So far you've been lucky; every time before, when you walk past the store that he works in, he hasn't been there. That's been on at least four separate occasions, so maybe he's moved on from that job.

As you walk, with her talking about something, the little flutter of terror murmurs in your stomach. It would be one thing to see him alone, or with friends. It's another thing to run into him with your mother in tow.

You shake your head. This is silly! It was one date, one not-so-great date, that you just forgot to return a phone call from. Never mind that he waited outside your building after the date, hoping you would call him to come upstairs (even after he told you he wouldn't think of such a thing. In retrospect it could have been a little fun, but c'est la vie.) OK, so you fucked it up, and feel a little guilty about not coming clean and saying the "it's not you it's me" line.

But now you wonder what's going to happen when he sees you. Will he even recognize you? Will he wave, say hi? Should you be the bigger man and say hey?

A few feet to go, and you nervously check your phone. No messages...but of course there aren't any, you would have felt it vibrate. Abandoning that, you go to slide it back into your pocket when you look up.

Like a scene from a movie, the crowd parts for the briefest moment, and there he is, standing having coffee with a couple people in front of his store. You look straight ahead, but the expression on his face betrays him. He's seen you, but looks quizzically at you. In a nanosecond the crowd envelops them again.

Panicking, you start to talk about the smallest detail to your mother, distracting yourself and her from the situation. Your phone is your shield, still clutched in your hand, and you wave it wildly in front of you in an overly exaggerated way, as if you're really, really involved in a serious conversation.

And just like that you're past him. A few stores later, your Mom steps inside one. You follow, then watch the door to see if he followed you.

For a moment you wonder why you are so pathetic, why you couldn't just go back and say hi to him. Make a bit of small talk, or see if he even wants to speak to you again. In your minds eye, after that brief glance, he looked better than you remembered... but no, you walk out of the store, back into the mall, as if this little drama has never occurred.

And that's what awkward feels like.

'Socially old man'...

2008-05-30T09:58:00.005-04:00

Apparently, to the outside world, I am 27 years old.

I've been told I can't pull 27 off...but 25 or 26 is fine.

Let me remind you all, I'm 21. Therein lies my frustration.

For the past few months, everyone I ever meet immediately thinks I look well beyond my age. I'm not really sure what causes it; even after asking, people just say I 'look like I could be 27'. Every time it happens (well, happened...I can see it coming now so I'm more prepared) it surprises me a little and makes me question not only how people view me, but I how I present myself.

I got into a big discussion with a friend over coffee on Tuesday. She's the third person I've seen socially back home since I moved back out (how sad is that?) and I relished the chance to have adult conversations...with someone my own age.

Somewhere along the line, I brought up the funny fact that everyone new I meet believes me to be a lot older. We batted it around for a while, trying to understand why people add six years to my life when some people look so young that those years are removed instead.

"Well, you don't really 'act your age', do you?" she said. I shot her a puzzled look as she continued. "You're a lot more mature, even for 21, so people pick up on that."

"Great, now I'm fucked because I'm the mature, responsible one," I said. "Oh, wait, fucked again...high school would have been the first instance where not being the mature, responsible one would have been a lot more fun."

It seems that across the board, people just fall over themselves to label me 27. Guys I've dated thought I was 'older', people on the street, friends from school...

Once I was going out with this cute guy, around 23. On our first 'date' (it wasn't really date-ish at that point) we were walking outside, the sun shining in our faces, doing the whole get-to-know-your-basics conversation. I love learning about people, but I didn't want to hear what he had to say about me.

"So, how old are you again?" he asked, innocently enough.

"21," I said, nonchalantly. After all, it's true.

"Oh," he said. "Really. Because you look 27."

Behind my sunglasses, my eyes rolled and I tried not to purse my lips too visibly.

I've even got into words with a guy or two who I was organizing some recreational time with. "You're not 21," one of them shot at me, "come on, you're way older than that. Don't be such a fake." No matter how much you promise and try to convince them, it really just adds doubt and makes you look even more desperate. Needless to say, we didn't spend any recreational time together.

I thought I'd hit a bit of a reprieve on Wednesday when I went to an electronics store to buy a can of that compressed air stuff. My Mac is on the fritz and one of the suggestions was to blow out some dust from the thing, which called for me to buy a $10 can of air-with-a-straw.

As I was rung through the cash, the teenage girl behind the counter looked me up and down. "You're over 17, right?" she asked seriously.

My jaw dropped. True, I was wearing a hoodie, jeans and a t-shirt, but come on, I don't 'look' 17. Do I?

"Are you serious," I asked her. "I just bought some bottles of wine and nobody carded me there!"

She paused. "Well, anythings possible," she said, "you could be under 17."

"Oh, thank you. Oh, God! Thank you!" I said, as she laughed and nodded. "This never happens anymore!"

She smiled. "I know how you feel, I love to get carded these days."

OK, so count her for one that doesn't think I'm 27. One out of a thousand.

I just don't know what all of this means for me. In a society where youth is appreciated, but age is supposedly 'just a number', do we 'socially old men' have a shot at meeting someone our own age?

Fundamentally, it doesn't matter at all what our age is. We all get along based on personality and compatibility, friends and lovers included. But why does it irk me so that people refuse to acknowledge my actual age, instead tacking on a few too many years for my preference?

And, since it always comes back to boys, what does it mean when someone who looks 27 but is actually 21? How ridiculous will I look trying to pick up guys in the 18-22 bracket when they all think I'm an old man of 27? And, dear God, how will I feel when they pick me up hoping that I'm actually the older man? I just don't need another strike against me in the dating world.

It does make me wonder, though, if I would have better luck dating someone who really is 27. Since I'm supposedly so much older, mature, etc. then maybe my perfect match is someone who really is that much older. Having never done it before, I don't really know how it would work out. I just hope I don't look too old for the youngins, but too young for the guys who actually are 27.

Do I really mind looking that much older? Yes, I guess I do, because it's not what I find attractive. I like guys who are my age, who look like it; the only thing I can hope for now is that opposites really do attract. And it's not that I really am bothered by looking a little older...it's when I'm told I look a lot older that things get a little scary. 23 or 24 I could handle...27, not so much.

The one thing I always joke about is my hope that this is how I'll look until I actually am 27. If I can just keep from starting to look any older, I can (sort of) live with looking past my age. When you do the math, if I still look markedly older than I am, I'll look like I'm in my 30's when I'm 24.

Now that's enough to put lines on your face.

Good morning...

2008-05-26T17:00:00.002-04:00

As a society, we try to look our best most of the time.

Even when we're not decked out in the latest wares, there is the sense that we should be trying to look as together as possible. Our ears should be washed thoroughly, underwear changed daily, teeth scrubbed pearly white and hair kept to appropriate angles. After all, what would the neighbors think if we were hit by a bus? Sloppiness, even in today's modern world, is still looked down upon with the heavy suspicion of a cantankerous Grandmother.

We always try to look good when we're seeing someone. Weather it's the night of the first date, the afternoon coffee or the midnight rendezvous, the aim is to look sexy and civilized. And quite often this can lead to looking sexy and a lot less dressed.

But when you've been rolling around in bed all night with product in your hair, slept on a strange pillow that left crease marks in your face and wound up developing a slightly, uh, 'used' scent, not unlike being ridden hard and put away wet, the appearance the morning after can be remarkably different from the well-kept gent you were the night before.

So how do you not look like shit when you wake up the next morning with a boy in your bed? I mean, with product gunking up your hair, sticking it out at all sorts of crazy angles after a night of sleep, you have the capacity to look like you just broke out of a mental institution. Just hope that you haven't drooled on yourself or your pillow, because that certainly will take your credibility down a peg or three.

Add to that the 24 hours of stubble, the bad breath, the eye crusts...there is no limit to the changes that occur in appearance after a few hours under the covers.

It says a bit about ourselves if we're concerned about such things. Logically, everyone understands that you don't roll out of bed looking the the edible human being you were rolling in. It's impossible, and it's shallow to think otherwise. But at the same time, I'm always concerned about making myself look at least semi-presentable; it's not that I mind if the guy looks a little worse for wear, but I want him to still recall that flicker of cuteness that existed the night before.

In some ways, it's not really an issue. If the boy was just there on a one-time visit, then who really cares if he looks at your uninvited fauxhawk and thinks you look insane? His opinion really shouldn't matter, since you may not even know his last name to begin with. And the ones that are staying in bed with you, cuddling and talking about nothing, are probably going to look past the ridiculousness of your appearance, because after all, they're interested in the whole 'you'. They're going to give you the benefit of a caring eye. Hell, they might even think it's 'cute'.

I'll freely admit I look 100% better after a shower, and 110% better after a cup of coffee. And so far, nobody has run from my bedroom screaming when the shades are pulled open and sunlight "tears off the shadows on the strange new flesh you've found" (to borrow a phrase). Maybe it really is part of the whole experience of 'being' with someone.

Just like all other parts of life, you see them at their best, and at their worst.

Hold your breath...

2008-05-22T16:36:00.003-04:00

Well, not much has happened since I posted last.

It's sort of anticlimactic, really. Not that I was hoping for major drama or big scenes, but the entire matter seems to have dropped entirely. Dad's never said a word to me, never acted differently or tried an awkward segue into the 'is there something you want to tell me' speech.

That night, after he'd gone out to cut grass and my Mom had returned home, I made small talk with her until I could rehash the story. As I started talking, I said how upset I was getting with the way he was referring to gays in general, and that was why I asked him what his problem was.

"Well, it's not like he knows, I mean he's not being mean to you intentionally..." she said.

"Oh, ok, so if he calls a black person a nigger, but not to their face, that's OK too?" I shot back. I was astounded at how she was taking his side, and basically saying that he wouldn't say such things if he knew I was gay. That still, in my mind, does not excuse a word of the slanderous bullshit he said.

After I finished telling her everything, she asked, "So, does that mean you 'told him', that you'd came out to him?"

"Far from it," I said, then asked if she though he'd have picked up on the implications and my not answering his 'are you telling me you're gay' question.

She seems to think he's 'intuitive' and that the notion is now planted in his mind, that he'll think about it for a few days and then ask her something about it. "That's the way he is," she said, "he'll think to himself for a while first."

"Well, that's why I'm telling you all this now," I said, "in case he turns around and asks you. I didn't want you to be caught off guard about it."

We then talked for the better part of an hour. She's decided that she's good with talking about it with him and that should he ask, she's not going to hide anything. "I think it would be best, and besides, I can't lie to him about it," she said. I agreed, thinking that if she knew him like she should, then he would probably come asking her about it.

Discussion turned to how he might react, how the family at large might find out, how we can't tell the grandparents or fear excommunication, and how the 'small town community' might talk. "But we're pretty independent anyway," she said, "so that part shouldn't really matter."

At the end, I was still shaken by the whole thing, but at the same time I felt a little positive. This might be it, I thought, finally I'll be out to those most important to me. I fantasized about the weight being lifted from my shoulders, of not having to endure the subtle questions from family and from Dad about 'having a girlfriend'.

But after that night, nothing else happened. He's never asked her anything, and never made any attempt to talk to me about it.

It's a little awkward for me, because I can feel myself pushing away from him, trying to put distance between us. For the first few days afterward, the pink elephant in the room loomed larger than ever. I could barely stand in the same room with him and not feel uncomfortable and worried.

And so life has gone for the past week, with me wondering when he's going to ask, or if he even clued in at all.

Do you have a problem...

2008-05-15T20:10:00.001-04:00

My hands are still shaking, and I'm trying hard to control my legs from doing the same.

We were standing in the kitchen, washing the dishes, just me and my dad. Mom's out for the evening, and I'd just made some pork chops for dinner. He was talking about somebody who had told him their family seemed not to be the marrying type.

"Maybe they're all queers," he said.

Later, he was talking about how he heard the Provincial government was going to start pay for sex change operations again. "Like we need to be paying for turd-pushers," he said.

I could barely contain myself. I stared into the water held in the sink, aimlessly washing the same plate over and over. Finally, I asked, "Do you have a problem with gays?"

He thought for a moment. "Not really, I guess," he said. "But they seem to think they're better than everyone else, they have more rights or something."

I shook my head. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, the whole pride parade bullshit. You don't see a straight parade, why do they need to have a parade to show people they're gay?"

I didn't really answer that, but kept on washing the dishes. My heart started to sink to my feet, and my chest felt tight. I wanted to cry and vomit at the same time, but stood there idly washing what was left in the sink.

A few moments went by in silence, then he said, "Why, are you telling me you're gay?"

I froze for a moment. This is not how I wanted it to happen, with me angry and hurt and him spouting homophobic crap.

"Would you have a problem if I was?" I asked, not really answering his question but testing his waters.

He mumbled for a moment, then said something along the lines of him "preferring that I'm not."

"Yeah, I guess I'd have a problem," he said, and I felt my heart sink even further. "I might even have to suicide myself."

I stopped breathing. A moment later, I choked out, "That's a bit dramatic."

We finished the dishes and he resumed normal conversation.

---

I've always imagined how my coming out will be to my father. Mostly, I've tried to stay on the positive bent, thinking things will go alright, hoping that after the initial surprise he'll realize I'm not a different person than I was. But as each day goes by, I find myself more and more angry with his closemindness, his intolerance and his ignorance. I wonder if he even realizes how deeply he hurt me just a few moments ago.

The situation has come up before, and I hope it will not be the way it happens, but I've had to stop myself lately from blurting out that yes, I am one of those horrible people he refers to. I'm one of the fags that he seems to have such a problem with, that his son is one of the people he's running down.

Tonight was the closest it's ever come to me actually saying the words to him, and it would be out of anger and hurt, not out of hopeful confidence. I stood there, in the moments after he had said his piece, and fought with myself. Blurt it out now, and get it over with? Wait until a 'better time'?

Whatever the case may be, I was surprised to feel a bit of indignation towards him. Within myself, I felt the sense of strength, that if he's going to hate me for me, so be it. If I'm going to come out to him, I'm going to tell it like it is, and as much as I want him to

I guess the bottom line is, he will love me less when I tell him. But I'm surprised to discover that I would rather be true and honest than continue to lie and be belittled. If he's not going to love his son for being his son, than I don't need that in my life.

I'm not saying I'm going to cut him out when I come out, but I'm not going to be dragged into shame or denial because he can't accept me. I hope that when I do utter the three magic words, he'll be able to get used to it, but who knows.

---

I'm surprised even right now about how I feel. I want to get up, walk up to him and say, "You know what, yes, I am gay." I just want it off my chest, out there, in the open.

I know that as soon as I got face to face with him, I would loose my steam, fall back from my plan. But sitting here, writing this now, I am almost overcome with the urge to just have it over with, to tell him how much he's hurt me, and to try and explain that I'm not some sort of mutant being. It's so hard to control myself not to confront him, yet it's so hard to just go and confront him period.

---

I wonder what he's thinking now, after our conversation. I didn't answer his question about if I'm gay. I wonder if he picked up on that point, realized that I was really trying to pave the way. He's gone outside to cut some grass...but I wonder if it's now on his mind. So tempting to just walk up to him now and tell him. But I know it would be so hard to.

I've been trying to come up with a plan, some way that would minimize his reaction. Should it be morning, so he has a day to digest it? Evening, after he's relaxed a bit and happy? Weekday, so work can distract him, or weekend so he has time to work through it in private?

Do I stay home when I tell him, or run back to Toronto as soon as I say the words, to give him space? Would leaving a letter behind, explaining everything, be better for me, easier on both of us? Will I have the strength to tell him, in the end, that I am gay?

Another night, I'm left feeling scared and cold and alone.

Hot headed...

2008-05-14T16:37:00.002-04:00

The more I learn about what is perceived to be the 'norms' of the gay community, the more it puzzles and perplexes me.

I was sitting in Gay Starbucks (the Church Street Starbucks that is populated almost exclusively by gays) last Thursday, minding my own business and devouring the paper. The layout of the shop is sort of interesting, since it has a second floor that accomodates couches, armchairs and the usual wooden chairs and tables.

The crowd was no different than what I normally run into there. Some older guys, maybe on their days off, dressed casually and reading a book. Younger guys typing frantically on laptops and sipping from overlarge plastic cups. Business guys having their afternoon break. A lesbian scratching on a pad of paper. And me, trying to find a comfy nook in the deflated armchair that I occupied.

I had gotten about halfway through the paper, lazily reading and enjoying the fresh coffee, when I noticed the guy across from me doing pretty much the same thing. He was a good looking guy, dressed in surprisingly fashionable office garb, and what I would peg to be mid-30's. He laughed aloud, quietly, at the occasional piece he read, something that I do on a daily basis and always wonder how crazy it makes me look. To some, I suppose, it stands next to such horrors as talking to ones self out loud and maniacally petting a cat on your lap that happens not to exist.

But, since I knew exactly what his laughter was geared towards, I found it a bit of an intellectual turn on.

That is, until I heard him open his mouth.

A few moments later, two younger guys sat at the table next to me and Laughing Boy. There we were, a triangle of tables and chairs, with the relative silence of the shop broken with the conversation of the new arrivals.

It was hard not to hear their chatting, since nobody else was really talking, and the music was faint enough to avoid all hope of drowning them out. As they talked, I learned of their mutual friend, who had held a dinner party the night before, and how he hated so-and-so who happened to be the boyfriend of one of the guests...and on and on...

As I flipped the pages, a new voice joined the conversation. It was Laughing Boy, who had injected himself in their little coffee break chat, happily discussing the merits of Montreal over Toronto.

My interest wained, and I had pretty much finished up the paper. So too had the guys and Laughing Boy almost finished up their conversation. They were discussing shopping in Yorkville, and (though I don't really recall how they got there), one of the guys said, "Oh, there's this guy who works there you should meet. I think you'd like him."

Laughing Boy paused briefly, then said, "Well, is he as good looking as we are?"

I almost fell out of my chair, not that they noticed. Their conversation ended, the boys got up and Laughing Boy left on their heels.

I couldn't believe the tone, the delivery, the matter-of-factness that Laughing Boy had mustered in the statement. He said it with such conviction; it wasn't a really flirty gesture towards the guys, but merely an affirmation that they were all, indeed, fabulous.

As I walked home, I couldn't get it out of my mind. I would never say something like that to complete strangers. Let me rephrase that, I would never insinuate that I was good looking, or preface my interest in someone with a verbal affirmation that he was as 'good looking as me'.

I wouldn't mind telling a guy, "Wow, you're really good looking!" But to be so damn self-glorifying to say, "Is he as good looking as we are," blows my mind.

The question is, does he really believe it? Is this some ploy to project a sense of superiority and protect him from his innermost fears? Or is he really so caught up with himself to say it that he really, actually, believes in his great looks?

As we all know, beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. While I think Zac Efron is gorgeous, a recent poll of my friends seems to indicate that many don't see the super-attraction. To imagine that you're just naturally a guy's type is crazy to me; we all see couples that have differences in appearance.

On Friday I brought up the incident at dinner with a friend. "Can you believe the pig-handedness?" I asked. "It's worse than straight guys!"

She looked at me, and nodded slowly. "Yeah...well, that's sort of the norm for you people," she said.

"But...but how is that attractive? Being full of yourself is hot these days?"

"Well, not that," she said. "But gay guys just naturally pump themselves up in public. It's like a survival thing, it projects an image."

Afterwards, I kept thinking back to her point, that it's 'normal' for gay guys to be so outwardly overconfident in themselves. It scared me a little, thinking that I one day might wind up as abrasive as this guy, to 'survive'. And it sends a twofold message: the overconfidence in one's self also implies that other guys won't be 'good enough' for you, that the unsaid words were, "...because if he's not, I probably won't be interested."

I'm not ever one to play up my appearance. In fact, I more use more self-deprecating humour about the whole thing as a way to cover my genuine insecurities, which stem mostly from never feeling noticed or deemed attractive like so many other people I knew growing up. I don't get uncomfortable talking amongst friends about people's looks, but I don't think I could ever declare to a complete stranger (or even my friends, for that matter) that I was an attractive creature. It seems in damn poor, ungentlemanly taste.

And what does it say about me, then? I got the, "Unless you really love yourself nobody will really love you," speech recently from a friend. Does it mean that I have a healthy attitude about my looks, or am I beating myself down far too much, so much that people see the insecurities and look away in distaste? Should I be adopting a more 'fuck you' confidence, telling people that I'm for sure 'hot stuff'?

I wonder how the mysterious 'blind date' candidate really did look...

Oh, hey!...

2008-05-11T16:07:00.002-04:00

So, what exactly is the etiquette when you bump into someone you know on gay websites?

No, I'm not talking about bumping into someone you know's porn photo shoot (though that would be ridiculously hot, albeit awkward, depending on the person...) I'm talking about running into someone you're acquainted with on gay 'dating' sites.

I hate the term 'online dating' and the biases that stem from it. At this point in my life, I haven't become so superior (or cynical, I'm not sure which yet) that I look down on the things. And recently, while devouring some insightful (read: fluffy) gay media, I was stunned at the number of couples who had met online.

This flies in the face of a conversation I had just the other day, with a friend who tried to convince me that I would never meet anyone worthwhile by looking for dates online. "Look, how did we meet?" she asked.

"Friend of a friend," I said, "but we're not dating."

"But my point is," she said emphatically, "you think you're going to meet a quality person online by simply clicking a profile? You think a relationship will actually go somewhere that started without you even knowing something about the person, not even meeting them through someone?"

I understand her point, that it's much easier to have a feel for someone, and be drawn together 'naturally' by meeting people in a physical interaction. But as for the argument that you'll know they are a more compatible partner based on your conversation with them, what about the thousands of people that go out on dates with someone they just met? How about those people who just casually exchange numbers, and actually use them? Are they all damned to failed relationships too, simply because they didn't fraternize with their other half before starting the dating process?

The appeal of meeting people online is understandable, to me (at this point anyway). You get a bit of a sales pitch, compare interests and sneak a glimpse into the image they portray of themselves. Hell, people even post their statistics for all to see.

Then come the initial small talk. From the comfort of your home, you can engage with someone in a chat to see if you have anything in common, to test the potential for good conversation. It's pretty much like a real coffee date, in a way; you get the initial "Hi" out of the way and see if there's really anything going on behind that (presumably) pretty face.

It seems that the book is constantly being written on the 'online' experience, but at the moment the prevailing mood is an acceptance of it as part of gay society. During my reading I was amused by the profile of a couple that were (from what I recall) 22 and 23 respectively. According to what I read, "Like any closeted gay teens, the two met online and finally decided to take their relationship into the physical realm." It seems the rubber stamp has been given to trying to connect to people via 0's and 1's, even if only at the early stages of your gay life.

But back to my point...in this magical world of gay websites, what does one do when he runs head first into someone he knows?

Let me preface my relationship to this particular boy. He's the type that I wave to when I pass on the street, or occasionally say hi to if he's chatting to someone I know. Not the most warm and cuddly contact between us, but no loathing (as far as I know).

Actually, he's the last person I'd have expected to see grace the gay internet's stage. Sociable, connected, easy on the eyes...actually, pretty much what I would identify as a well-adjusted gay 20-something. Seeing him online does two things: reinforce that I'm (while maybe not completely in the right) at least not completely wrong for trying to meet guys online, but also terrifies me that this presumably well-to-do-mo has to be searching for dates online.

And like I said before, what does this say about online dating itself? The approval of the method for 'closeted gay teens' is understandable, but this boy is not what I would call innocent new blood.

Short of being genuinely intrigued by him, I don't really expect to strike up a genuine friendship between us. But as acquaintances, and as a polite sort of guy, I pained over the question of acknowledging his presence or not.

So is the gay site the same as the gay street? Am I supposed to wave in passing, or gracefully ignore his presence? Is it embarrassing to admit to the world that you're trying to meet people online, or is it just the next step in the natural social evolution of gays, a people that usually tend to need to meet people through means other than 'mainstream'? And is he himself having this same discussion, trying to decide if he should send me a friendly "Hey there!" message or not?

And does it say something if he himself never acknowledges my online presence?

Or is he a bad cyber-citizen too?

Gays pop up in the strangest places...

2008-04-30T19:16:00.004-04:00

Does Facebook know I'm gay?

It's not like I've told it about my preferences. And though I have added gay friends and lovers to my Facebook, it's not like they've been whispering in the mainframe's ear about what I've been up to.

Right?...

It certainly feels like someone's tipped them off (though in reality there is no way). Yet, the tone of the magical site has changed. More and more, I've been exposed to gay-themed advertising on Facebook's sidebars, and I'm starting to really wonder about it.

Take, for example, this ad:

I snatched this image just today, after clicking onto the site's Home Newsfeed. What I first noticed was how hot the guys were...then I shook my head and realized it was an advert for an online gay dating site, sitting idly by on the overly-heterosexual Facebook page.

I studied it for a moment, puzzled. I mean, why advertise gay dating on Facebook, a place that, statistically, would be skewed to the more populous heterosexual audience. It makes no sense...well, very little sense, anyway. Even the photo is slightly (and I mean Miley Cyrus slightly) provocative...two boys who appear to be naked, seen from the bare shoulders up! Maybe Annie Leibovitz is involved...

Naturally, I kept an eye on things over the past few weeks (with the promise of more hot boy photos), and realized that I've been bombarded with gay-centred advertising the entire time. Ads for dating sites, gay social networking sites, even gay Student Unions.

But why so much gay on Facebook?

When I clicked the 'more ads' link, I was treated to a full description of those pesky boxes. There are, this evening, 24 different ads posted. Of those, two are explicitly gay. There are 10 ads aimed at straight men looking for anything from casual sex to a romantic relationship. The other 12 are a mash of wine society advertising, college ads, and other various products/services/entertainment.

So what, you say. Two whole ads, and he writes a post about it?

But it's more than that, in my mind. Sort of amazing to see that, remarkably, the gay audience is being advertised to in 'normal' areas. This isn't a niche gay site, this is the all-inclusive Facebook. Everyone has Facebook.

Even the way the advertising is done differs little from the 'straight' ads for dating sites. It's like they're *gasp* on the same playing field. There is no implied promiscuity, no negative stereotypes skewing the image of the gay ads. They exist as if equal to the straight ones, in both content and in acceptance of things as the 'norm'.

So is this a sign of things to come? Does it mean that the younger generation - my generation - has become so accustomed to gays that it isn't the least bit strange that gay-centric advertising is popping up in their otherwise heterosexually-dominated site?

Admittedly, it's only two ads, and compared to the number of straight-dating ones, it's small. But it really speaks volumes to me about where the ads are popping up. When I clicked refresh on the page once more, I was exposed to an ad for a guitar festival, one I haven't seen before.

But for the most part, I apparently am just prone to getting the gay ones.

Saying goodbye (two variations)...

2008-04-27T21:45:00.001-04:00

I had to say goodbye to two people today, and neither one was a particularly happy parting.

To start my day, I helped Lisa move out from her place. She's been living a fair distance from everybody else, and had spent a lot of time in the last few months at her boyfriend's place, which is very near mine. As we threw around the boxes of her belongings, it really sunk in that I was about to say goodbye to her, one of my best friends, for another four months.

The move out took most of the early afternoon, then we decided to have one last lunch and walk around in the sun. As we neared her place, I got a bit of a lump in my throat; here we were, about to separate for another summer. The promises of phone calls and streams of e-mails often get forgotten with us. She lives on the West Coast; a different time zone, a different group of friends. Not that we forget each other, it just becomes difficult to stay in as close contact as we do at school.

There was a brief hug and a 'see you soon', and I mentioned I may try and come out to visit this summer (possibly my last opportunity, if she moves to Toronto permanently after graduating). And with that, I had said goodbye to another constant in my life.

What is most frustrating in life as a student is the constant changes in one's life. I would argue this a lot different than the 'change is good' type of constant change that so many seek in order to spice up their lives. As a student, every four months of my life mean a complete upset in my timetable and even location. While the variety can be fun, it makes moments like loosing friends to summer vacation irritating.

I had made plans to see Latin Boy after the move, something I was looking forward to. We haven't seen each other for about a week, due to scheduling, but were both wide open Sunday afternoon. As we fell into each others arms, it felt so nice to have been missed, and to miss him. One thing led to another, and clothes started to come off, and we were lying in a panting heap on his bed.

He dozed, but I stared up at the ceiling. I hadn't really realized that summer was now here, and that my planned move back home was imminent. It was, as I have said before, a fact that I happily ignored; it was going on in one part of my life, but seemed to have been forgotten in others.

The lump in my throat returned, as he quietly blew air across my chest. I could do two things at this point: forget my problems and just enjoy the evening, or have the discussion I had been dreading for days. But, as uncomfortable as I was, I couldn't simply shrug it off and pretend that everything was going along perfectly.

After a few moments, he woke and kissed me. And I said it, I think for the first time in my life.

"Can we talk about something?"

He looked at me and sleepily nodded.

For a moment my voice caught, but I pushed forward. I told him about my summer plans, about moving away. I told him he was an unplanned but happy development, something that was really unexpected just a few weeks ago. Something that couldn't have come at a more awkward time.

He listened through all of this, as I went on about the problem. I felt it was unfair to be the guy who visited on random weekends, or once a month, or maybe never, and expect him to still be around and interested. "That's just not something I'm looking for, something I want to be," I said.

As we lay there naked, I felt an added sense of vulnerability. We sat in silence, his arms still draped across my stomach.

"You have to say something," I said, looking into his eyes. He looked hurt, but not angry or resentful.

Finally, he spoke. He said very little, just that he understood why I was having this conversation, that our schedules for the next few months would rarely sync, and that it was too early for us to seriously consider spending the summer apart without seeing each other.

But, he then talked about how he hoped I wouldn't disappear, and about the possibility of picking things up in September, "If you want."

I tried to talk around that point, as I want no promises made about reconnecting come fall. The whole point of the conversation was to avoid the situation of being 'together' yet being apart for an entire season, much less promising to be waiting at the other end.

If he had gotten mad, or upset, it would have been easier. But the entire time he lay there, holding my hand, and nodding along. I'm still amazed at how he could take the positive away from it - that we had met completely randomly, unexpectedly discovering we had a spark, and had enjoyed a few weeks of each other's company.

He then launched into a bit of a lengthy speech about how amazing he thinks I am; everything inside and out was commented on. He thanked me for teaching him about Canadians, showing him that we can be loving and open.

"See, this is where I wish you were a Canadian boy. You'd have thrown me out by now, then tossed my clothes out behind me," I said, trying to lighten the situation. It was harder to have him tell me how great I was than to hear how much of an asshole I was.

We were still lying on his bed when I ran out of things to say. The facts were on the table, and while neither of us has said things were 'over', there was a pretty clear understanding that this would be the last time we saw each other for a long while.

He told me he was happier to have spent the time with me than to have gone without ever knowing me, and that he still felt a lot for me and probably would. I'm apparently special enough that I'll always have an opening, at least for a while.

"I'm not going to disappear," I assured him, after he asked if we could still stay in touch.

We were still lying there, now in complete silence. I felt so uncomfortable, being held by the guy I just told I wouldn't be dating any more. But still, he held me, and I limply embraced him back. He kissed me, and I weakly kissed back.

"I think I'm going to go," I said. This drew his first notes of protest, finally.

"Why?" he said, hurt. "You don't have to. Why leave?"

"Because, this feels really hard for me, to sit here and tell you we can't do this any more, and still be sitting here," I said.

"Oh, and you don't think this is hard for me?" he demanded, becoming defensive.

I nodded as I pulled my shirt over my head. "Of course, I understand. I just feel awkward."

Slowly, silently, we dressed. He opened his blinds, slid his window shut. I checked my hair in his mirror, felt my pockets for keys and my phone. Bending over, I picked my watch up from the floor beside his bed.

As we reached is apartment door, I noticed he had his jacket in his hand.

"Going somewhere?" I asked.

"I want to walk," he said, putting on sunglasses and opening the door.

We moved in silence to the elevator, waited for it to come, and rode down. About halfway, he leaned his body into mine, and kissed me once more. I made sure this was our goodbye kiss.

"I'm sorry," I offered.

"No...no," he said, shaking his head.

By now we had reached the street. We stood there looking at each other, me wishing he was yelling and throwing things at me, him with his eyes hidden behind dark glasses.

"Can we hug?" he asked, moving his arm.

"Of course," I said, and pulled him in. "I'm sorry," I whispered again.

A moment later, we let go. My hand traveled down his arm, then grazed his palm, then fell away. I turned and, with a small wave, left him alone on the curb.

I'm still pretty surprised that it happened, but I felt so guilty sitting there, knowing that we had to have the conversation sooner or later. And it was more difficult to hear him say how happy he was with me, rather than have him turn on me in anger.

And so it goes, another failed relationship, at my hallmark one-month deathtrap. Another guy who, though no bad feelings were exchanged, has now been removed from my life. Another night where I sit here and realize that I am once again alone.

Pretty sad, for the guy who professes to genuinely want a long-term relationship, that he seems to be unable to ever have one. Not that I really felt Latin Boy was going to turn into Latin Boyfriend, but still, another slap in the face, a reminder that no matter what I do, I never seem to find the right guy that just makes me happy, that I finally just get to be with. That I get to ride off into the sunset with.

I can't help but wonder how long it will be until I actually find him.