And four weeks later...

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...

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...

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...

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)

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

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...

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.