Au natural/Illigally Blonde

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.

Foreign nationals...

I have a gorgeous Swiss boy in my shower.

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

And that was pretty much the conversation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Highlight of my day...

I've made changes these past few days.

The first occured last night. Nick, my musician friend, who I came out to rather shabbily on Halloween, was playing a gig in the city, and I went out to watch. I'm starting to wonder if he values our friendship as much as I do, because I think I was the only person he invited. Which feels pretty nice.

We went out afterwards to have a few drinks and grab food. He tossed around the idea of staying downtown, and I of course reiterated his standing invitation at my place. Around 2 a.m. we stumbled in, and got ready for sleep.

Standing in my bedroom, I wondered how things would play out. Would he motion for the couch, asking for a blanket? Or simply plop down in the living room until I grabbed him a pillow?

"Set the alarm for 6:30," he said, standing at the foot of my bed. I stood there for a minute and hesitated. I mean, a straight boy getting into bed with his gay friend? Uh...ok. I guess this means he really, really doesn't care.

Once we were settled in, and the little weirdness of the situation left my mind, I became very aware of the body lying beside me in bed. I mean, I sleep with my female friends all the time, because it's like sleeping with a non-sexual being. I've never slept with a straight guy like this before.

For a moment, it made me a little sad. I mean, here I was in bed again (finally) with a guy who's spending the night with me. But it's totally non-sexual (and I wouldn't want it not to be with him!). I don't get to cuddle with the boy next to me. It just served as a very real reminder of the fact I don't have what I want. The fact that there was a physical body lying beside me instead of the usual hypothetical/imagined body just added to the reminder. A tease, if you will.

Jeez...a cuddle tease? How sad am I...

---

Today I went to class, and decided to get a haircut afterward. There was an appointment available for the mid-afternoon, so I took it, and headed out.

I've always wondered about my hair colour, so I was surprised when the girl washing my hair asked me about it.

"You have really unique colour, is it natural?" she asked. I responded yes, indeed, it's that way all on it's own.

"I've never even coloured it before," I said. "But I've been thinking about it recently...I kinda want it lighter."

I put the question to my hair stylist, asking what colour/shade/whatever would suit me. "Well, lets just ask our colourist!" she said.

The next thing I knew, I'd had a three-minute meeting with the guy, who had wonderful purple hair, and was agreeing to getting highlights.

My stylist was a little surprised. "Are you sure you're ready to do that?" she said, knowing my usual caution with things like that. But the colourist had promised it would be natural and complimentary, and that he was really excited to do it.

What felt like a lifetime (and a million little foil wrappers) later, I was being led to have my hair rinsed out. The blue gunk that was making my hair turn light was ready to be rinsed, and the colourist ran water over each strand, getting it all out.

As he was working, he was talking. "Wow, I love it!" he said, "you're going to be happy you did this!"

His next statement was even more surprising. "So, how would you feel about being a hair model for me?" he said.

I tried not to fall over laughing, and I did a pretty good job. "Oh," I said. "Well..."

"See, we're doing this photo shoot, and I'd like to do a real contrast on you. Like, start with this that you've got now, then do something really dark...maybe black, but go a little crazy, do some funky colours in it. Nothing permanent," he said, laughing. "But I think it'd look really cool."

"Why not," I said. "Sounds like fun."

I still can't get over the fact that he thought I'd be a good fit. I mean...I just usually feel...unattractive. At the best of times, I'm never confident about how I look. I never know if I'm attractive. So the proposition was both a massive compliment and a huge surprise.

When we were all finished, the stylist did a few last snips, and I was ready to go. I looked in the mirror at the new shade, the new cut...and thought it looked pretty damn good. She too was impressed. So was the girl who walked by. And the girl at the desk. And the pretentious gay stylist.

"Well, look at you," he said. "Wow, it looks really good."

I realized they were all staring at me with that gaze people use when watching TV at a department store window during state funerals, etc.

"Woo, see, you're the centre of attention now," the gay stylist said. "Everyone's looking at you."

"Uh...yeah. OK, that's kinda weird," I said, and laughed.

I kinda wanted to ask if my new hair would get me laid tonight if I were to take it for a spin on Church St., but I decided to savour the compliments I'd gotten already.

Besides, I have to leave something to do later, right?

Come out and say it...

I got this in the mail yesterday:



It was tucked into the package mailed out by Holt Renfrew, their fall fashion catalogue/magazine. To my excitement there is now a separate magazine devoted exclusively to men's fashions, and I happily snagged it from the stack. This is a development, because had this been a year ago, I would have never been caught dead with something that 'gay'.

An insert fell from the magazine, bearing the likeness of the man in question and a sample for the new Narciso Rodriguez cologne. My mom picked it up, and studied the picture. She looked a little perturbed.

"What."

She paused. "Well, I don't really like it, he looks a little...young." She kept staring awkwardly at it, and for some reason I didn't buy the 'young' argument.

"Oh come on, he looks like he's in his 20's..." I said, defensively. After all, he's gorgeous, he needs some defending.

"I guess. I don't know, its just..." she went off again, setting the ad on the stove. I didn't get what she was talking about, so I pressed on.

"Just what!?"

"Well, he's so...hairless," she managed. I laughed aloud.

"What do you mean!?"

"Well, most men don't look like that. He's got to be waxing or something..." she trailed off again. This was beginning to make more sense.

"Oh, I see," I said, waiting for her to ask me why she may have found a bottle of Nair for Men that I had accidentally left in the bathroom.

She never asked. Something that she would have found hard not to a year ago.

See me, feel me...

I am a gay with an optical disadvantage.

When I was 16, just before getting my drivers license, I wisely went to the optician. After my examination was over, I was told I needed glasses. Nearsighted was my diagnosis, and I was fitted with a pair of (now hideous but then acceptable) glasses.

Over the years, my vision got marginally worse. I began to grudgingly accept that I needed to wear glasses on a near constant basis in order to function. I also began seeing that many of my friends needed some sort of eyesight aid as well. But the trick was, many used contacts.

I debated getting the little plastic discs for quite some time, instead opting for more fashionable frames. But as I've come to realize, people just look better without glasses. It's as if, while one is wearing them, a giant screen is thrust up in front of you, preventing jaws from slackening in appreciation of your god-like beauty...

Ok, maybe not that much, but when's the last time you've looked at a hot guy wearing glasses and found him as attractive as a similar, glasses free guy sitting next to him?

For example...

Versus...

This is actor Kristopher Turner (whom I had no idea existed until seconds ago, thanks to a Google images search). He's very doable with glasses, but maybe just a touch cuter without. Not that I would turn him away if he happened to leave his contacts at home...oh never mind.

With all of this in mind, I went for my annual optical checkup. My doctor is an amazingly friendly guy who actually gives you the time of day, and was more than happy to set me up for a contact trial.

"Why do you want contacts anyway?" he asked. Such a probing question.

"Well, there's this pair of Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses I'm in love with, but I can't get done in prescriptive..." My voice trailed off. Probably not the best answer.

"Hmm, well if it's just for that," he said, looking disapprovingly at the pivoting chair I was stationed in.

"Oh, no, no, not at all! Um, just, you know, to have options," I stuttered. Yeah, like the option of increasing my hotness factor when trying to get picked up by that hottie across the room...

So I rolled my eyes up, he counted to three and magically I had contacts in. I couldn't help but laugh out loud. "I can see!" I said. "Without glasses!" No shit.

As I sat there gleefully, we chatted about the basics, care, how long to wear them, on and on...until I started feeling weird.

I stopped him in mid-sentence. "Uh, I'm feeling kinda funky right now," I said on an exhale. He instantly looked concerned, telling me to lean forward and put my head between my knees.

After a moment, the sensation passed, and I sat back up. We continued talking and everything was normal. Until another moment went by and the same woozy feeling crept back into my system.

With my head between my knees for a second time, he suggested maybe taking them out. Seconds later, and I couldn't see again...Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!

As it turns out, some 'special' people like myself have a physiological knee-jerk reaction when it comes to contacts. I admitted that I wasn't even afraid of having them on, and felt no physical discomfort when wearing them, which is why he suspected that my body had simply started resisting having something on my eye, much to my conscious commands to do otherwise.

So I left the office with a pat on the back and a, "Lets try again in a few months and see!" from him. I was pretty disappointed, I must admit, because it would be really nice to not have to wear glasses every day of my life.

A couple weeks later I decided I needed new frames anyway, so I went shopping and wound up with a pretty nice pair:




I'm happy with them, and the sales girls who helped pick them out thought they were flattering. "Mmm, functional and attractive," the one cooed. Yeah, just like me! Flirting from the girls aside, I'm pleased I got them. Now if I can only mindfuck my body into letting me wear contacts, I could give those two (and mostly other guys) something to really appreciate.

Broadcasting signals...

I had the mixed fortune of passing through Huntsville yesterday evening.

As you might remember, it's our favorite vacation spot. I love the area and was glad to get to see it, even though we were literally just passing through (long story...). Through a set of circumstances, we ended up eating dinner at the Swiss Chalet just on the edge of town.

We were seated in the corner booth, but to get there we had to pass the waiters station. There stood the usual array of workers, mostly young girls with a few guys mixed in. One of the guys instantly caught my eye, he looked pretty cute, and he had the most amazing black-and-nearly-white-blond hair color. I've seen this done before, and it can look really good or really stupid, but on this guy, it fit.

I had a very good impression he was gay, bringing my total number of known homosexual youth in Huntsville to two. As we passed by, I heard him talking to one of the other waitresses. What can I say, but he had a 'gay voice'.

I mused over what it must be like to be that noticeably gay in such a small community, as I did with the guy from April. But a second thought struck me, the fact that he was noticeably gay. Not that he was wearing a pride flag or making out with a dude, but there was really no question about his orientation.

This lead to two thoughts. First, why do some people have these signals, and others don't? And second, what signals, if any, do I broadcast?

Though people may choose to embrace more gay stereotypes as they integrate themselves into the gay community, I had the feeling this guy was not playing up the gayness. It really felt like he was just being himself. What a wonderful thing, in a way, to have these more pronounced signals. Coming out would really not be a 'surprise' to family and friends, and it would make you obscenely noticeable to other gays.

Of course, there would be the inevitable downside to this trait. All through the intolerant young years of school one would probably feel more out of place than if they were simply a well-disguised closeted gay. But once you were a little older, and had a group of friends who were more mature, being yourself would be a lot less difficult.

So why is it that some people broadcast these signals so effortlessly? It goes beyond gaydar, as I have noticed by walking through the Village that many guys simply have an air about them that takes it beyond the flicker of gaydar and makes it nearly undisputed fact.

And of course, I look at myself and think, "Am I broadcasting?"

There have been comments before in previous posts when I wondered aloud if people understood my sexuality without me formally introducing it. It has been suggested that I likely had been 'figured out' by other gays. But I question, and worry, if that's the case.

I don't know how I would describe myself. I hate sports, know little about the traditional 'manly things' like plumbing and electrical wiring (though thanks to my Dad I can manage to do some things...), and don't live to tinker on my car. But I also don't read fashion magazines, wear skintight t-shirts and carry a miniature dog in a bag on my shoulder.

I do, however, use several different facial cosmetic soaps, am very particular about what shampoo and products I use, and order 136-step-non-fat-coffee-concoctions. I care about calories, would kill to actually be able to tan, and generally thoroughly enjoy the finer things in life.

So what does it all mean? Am I flying under the radar's of gays everywhere? Am I written off as too straight, dismissed because I don't fit a mould. It it not subtly obvious that I'm sleeping with guys? Or is it as clear as the Swiss Chalet waiter that I'm playing for the other team.

So this is college...

I went to Guelph yesterday evening. It's a city about an hour away from Toronto, and it's got the typical university/college feel to it.

My friends who go there aren't exactly what I would define the usual college people. But I can't really think of them as people 'from college' because I've known them since high school. It still intriuges me whenever I visit to see them interacting with people I don't know, and in situations I don't normally find myself in.

Last night was my first kegger (I think anyway...) and it was an interesting experience. I went with one friend and his roommate, showing up at 8:30 to make sure we got lots to drink before the crowds.

I really need to work on my conversation starters with people my age. I never really have much to say to people, to this group who I struggle to identify with. As was said at some point in the evening, everyone is different and that's what binds college students together, but it's hard to strike up a conversation with the jock in the corner, or the class clown doing a keg-stand, or the really, really hot guy wearing that tight tee...

Anyway we drank and I met several people who were nice but not very conversational. As I studied the crowd, it seemed that there were 3 groups of people. Group 1 would be the people there to drink. They came with 3-4 friends, sat around and pounded beer. Not the most social, because they're concentrating their energy on drinking, and besides, they're there with friends anyway.

Group 2 is the people who either know everyone, or come off like they know everyone. Running between groups, talking and laughing loudly, enjoying themselves and their high-energy back-and-forth between groups. Though they're social, it seems like they aren't spending time with their close friends, rather just enjoying the moment as it happens.

Finally, group 3, the people who showed up with 1-2 of their buddies and proceed to talk with each other and nervously look around the room. (I was in group 3 by the way...). They don't seem to move around much, but engage in conversation with people passing by, or other small groups who they know. Overall they seem like they're having a good time, but it's hard to tell...they don't engage in many random conversations but they do talk at length to the people they know.

Where am I going with this?...I have no idea. But I got my fill of the 'college experience' from the kegger for this month, and I've gotta say I just don't understand the attraction sometimes. I mean, hanging with a huge group of your friends and drinking all night is totally cool! But when the people all didn't know each other, and at times it was difficult to strike up conversations (especially when it's not about you coming on to someone, or talking about sports). Thankfully a Leafs (hockey) game was on, so that made for some conversation, and it was fun to have everyone watching as they won the game. I guess it depends on your personality type, weather you like to hang out with new people or are more happy talking with acquaintences you know already.

It was funny to see the mix of people there too. Lots of the 'average college guys & girls' there, and surprisingly enough not many people dressed to look really good. Me being me, I tried to look presentable (ironic because some days I look like crap and don't care). I did some shopping in the afternoon before leaving, and was pretty happy with how I looked. Hopefully people liked what they saw...it's so hard to know how you *really* look. In the mirror you may be happy, but to others it might look stupid. I know, it's all about you being comfortable...but not entirely. I wore a new pair of jeans, a green t-shirt with a great white collered shirt, one of those cloth belts that matched the colours of the T exactly (freaky, actually), and a green jacket that's very in right now. I topped it all off with a hat that matched the jacket (intentional but not even the same brand!) and a silver cross necklace.

I think I looked good, but the hat scared me. When I put it on, it looked to me to be stupid. But after I shifted it around (you know, finding that good angle and all), it looked alright (I hope). I debated weather or not to just go with my hot new haircut but the hat seemed to top things off nicely.

So why am I going on about what I wore? I don't really know. I've got really bad self-image issues, think I look stupid no matter what I'm wearing, and generally don't know if people find me attractive. It's something that I want to post about, but that'll be a future post. It just seemed to fit seeing as how I thought I actually was pretty put together for this kegger that nobody else was. Yet I keep forgetting that every straight college boy wears polos exclusively.

Otherwise it was fun to do the gaydar test since there was a ton of people there. I got vibes from a few guys, and was pretty sure because of the eye contact that I'd made with some of them that they indeed were correct vibes. The cutest guy was also the funniest situation, for me anyway. My friend and I had put my bag and his jacket in a bedroom, and went to grab them when we were leaving. The door closed behind us, and we got ready to go. Of course, when my friend opened the door and went out, he said something along the lines of, "That was great, man Steve's tight!" I laughed (oh if only he knew...) and as I looked at the guy who was standing nearest the door, I got the biggest vibes of the evening. He was really cute, and kinda smiled goofily at me, but didn't really express a lot of emotion. I made so crack back that my friend must not have a lot of stamina, and the guy stood there, making eye contact but not really doing much else. I'm sure he was gay, but I've never hit on a guy at a party before...oh well, it was fun.

At one point in the night we headed to a bar/club to find some of our friends. We didn't end up finding them, but got a couple shots and kinda walked around the dance floor. I'm realizing that I might actually like to dance...a frightening prospect, since I need to dance with people I know. I can't just get out there and start dancing with anyone and everyone (at least not right away, and certainly not sober). In some ways it makes me excited to actually try a gay club, since everyone there would be interested in the same sex, but I always feel stupid and that I look like a moron when I dance.

Overall a good night, ending with us crashing in front of the TV at about 5 a.m. It definately gave me my fill of college party antics for this month. Now back to another week...the second last of semester!

Why am I surprised...

I really need to resolve to be either a positive or negative person, and carry said outlook onto the rest of life.

Wednesday was a craaaaazy day for me. We had a big project presentation in a class that was lots of fun, but took up the entire afternoon. I also got a haircut in the morning that I absoloutely love, probably the happiest I've been with my hair, ever. It's shorter, but still got length, and when you put gunk (the not-so-fancy term for product) into it, I can make it do all sorts of interesting things that actually look quite good.

I was always really self-conscious of my hair covering my forhead, because I have a high forhead...now I'm not going bald, it's always been that way, and that's not even what bothers me. I have a scar left from when I had chicken pox, and I never really wanted anyone to see it.

But now with my amazing new haircut, I had some massive revalation that it doesn't matter, and I now look 10 times better than I have recently. Add to that a new spring jacket, some really great new jeans, new-ish shoes...I looked fucking hot. And the best part...I felt hot.

Today was much similar, only I had to style the hair by myself this morning...which went fine thankfully. I skampered off to class, which proved to be our last (the prof is giving us the last 2 weeks to work on assignments...weird, but whatever). We went out afterwards for a celebratory lunch, then I headed to more class.

I waited paitently by the phone at 8:30, waiting for Brian to call. We planned on dinner around then, whenever he got out of the gym. I was a little nervous about what would happen, but also really excited to see him. I haven't seen him since the day before things ended, and only talked to him once earlier this week online. I mean, going from seeing him once every couple days, and talking pretty much every day, to not speaking was strange, and I do miss him since we got along well.

I was still waiting at 9:15, as I walked the streets near where we were to meet. I called, and got no answer. I called again, and got no answer. I called Lisa and asked her what she thought. She didn't really have an answer...I guess she was trying to be optimistic. I ended up dragging my sorry ass to her place and eating dinner at 10:30 with her watching me. I got a text at 10:20 from him saying that he was just in the changeroom at the gym, and we'd have to reschedual.

My response was, of course, to assume the worst. He'd got cold feet, or he'd wanted to string me along, or maybe play some mind games with me...but no, this didn't sound like him at all. I was letting my disappointment cloud my judgement. But at the same time, I was legitimately pissed off. We'd talked again this afternoon online while I was still in class to confirm the fact we were having dinner at 9 and for him to call me. Then he texts me finally wayyyy later, when he could have easily phoned and said sorry.

When I got home now, I checked to see if he was online. Sure enough, he was, and his screen-name said that he'd gotten back from the gym with his roommate. That explained a little bit...and that was what always scared me when we were going out, his roommate was really phoney, friendly at first but really caloused behind people's backs. I'm afraid that he's influencing Brian to not bother talking to me, why I wouldn't know other than he just doesn't like many people and probably feels protective of him.

Anyway I just felt very small again, after really having a good 2 days, and feeling good, to have it all blow up in my face. All I wanted was to get us into some sort of friendship mode before I go home and don't see him until September, and right now I'm questioning if he's really as committed to it as he said he is.