The Summer of Letting Go

The summer is officially (almost) over. And I’m still standing. I’m more surprised than anyone.

At the beginning of July, I decided to brand this “The Summer of Letting Go” for multiple reasons, which I will list here.

* Letting go of a job I’ve had for nearly 4 years.

It was a perfectly timed ending to a long chapter of a very long book. Towards the end, it seemed as though I was living The Color Purple if it was set on the Titanic. Now that I’ve made it safely off the sinking ship, it’s onto a novel that hopefully will develop into something epic.

I’m about 2 months into my new gig and it’s going very well. There’s no doubt in my mind that I made the right decision. I feel very lucky to have stumbled upon this opportunity, and this is coming from a self-proclaimed unlucky guy.

* Letting go of a friendship that had expired.

I should have seen it coming back in November, and the better part of me did. At this point, the whole thing still seems like a blur. But luckily I have a great support system that acts as both my friends and family. I look forward to bigger and better things with them by my side, both figuratively and literally.

* Letting go of the possibility of (me) maintaining a healthy LTR in the near future.

Of course I say this now, not knowing whom I may meet around the next corner or on tomorrow’s train ride to work. But I’ve come to terms with the facts about my lack of emotional capacity where men are concerned. My next step is to work on better communicating that capacity, or lack thereof, with the men I come in close contact with.

But most importantly…

* Just letting go and having the best time of my life.

Speaking of, two week ago was Carnival week in Ptown and my virgin experience was amazing. The stories were in abundant supply.

Here are a few of my favorites:

• Indulging multiple couples looking for gay-cation threesomes in an effort to revive their fading relationships.
• Being locked out of 25 Winthrop twice and climbing through the window. Twice. Different window each time.
• Mama Fratelli wanting to fix everyone a sandwich in her sketchy motel room, when all we wanted was some pre-parade vodka.
• The tranny aftermath of tagging photos of friends that aren’t prepared for the rest of their world to discover what they were up to on Cape Cod.

And now it’s time for yours truly to turn another year wiser. Or at least a year older. Whatever. We’ll see how I feel tomorrow.

The fall means positive thoughts of cooler weather, negative thoughts of making it home to see the family and horrible thoughts of the dead cold that is to follow.

But for now, the impending birthday has me contemplating life, lust and the pursuit of a little peculiar thing called happiness.

How would I describe myself at 27?

* A jaded New Yorker, completely devoid of a sense of wonder. Is this what making it looks like? I didn't move the NYC over five years ago to make a name for myself, so why am I here? I wouldn’t know. I’ve become too lazy to care.

* A single, gay man who doesn’t run in packs and is ultimately better off alone. A huge (emotionally bankrupt) part of me has given up on love. On finding a match. A true, supernatural, unexplainable match. I'm over the whole idea of finding someone that holds my attention and also gets me.

Synopsis: I have a great job, a great apartment, but no steady man to call my own. I’ve become a firm believer that you can’t have it all. At least not all at once. But 2 out of 3 ain't half bad. It's 1/3 bad.

Tough love: I’ve become incredibly lazy, especially about my future. I need to start ACTING, and not in the bartend-on-the-side kind of way. I mean in the get-up-off-your-ass-and-do-something kind of way.

It’s funny how your mindset evolves over the years.

Right out of college, this was my favorite quote:

“If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with success unexpected in common hours.”

- Henry David Thoreau

At 27, this have become my new favorite:

“Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark. In the hopeless swamps of the not quite, the not yet, and the not at all, do not let the hero in your soul perish and leave only frustration for the life you deserved, but never have been able to reach. The world you desire can be won, it exists, it is real, it is possible, it is yours.”

- Ayn Rand in Atlas Shrugged

Some dreams have been realized, and them some are waiting for me in a world I haven’t reached yet. Meanwhile, the vodka will limit the frustration and my friends will light my fire.

It can only get better from here.

Cheers to 27!

Self-Awareness is a Gift & a Curse

Go here to take the personality test that gave me the results below. Not profound, but still interesting!

Disorder	Rating
Paranoid Disorder:	High
Schizoid Disorder:	Moderate
Schizotypal Disorder:	Moderate
Antisocial Disorder:	High
Borderline Disorder:	Low
Histrionic Disorder:	Low
Narcissistic Disorder:	High
Avoidant Disorder:	High
Dependent Disorder:	Low
Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder:	Moderate
-- Personality Disorder Test - Take It! -- -- Personality Disorders --

Another Anniversary Comes (Out) & Goes

I wrote this long, melodramatic monologue while I was down south last month. It’s taken me this long to put it all together. And I thought it was fitting to post something on April 2nd, which is my coming-out anniversary (yes, I must be big on anniversaries).

Here it goes…

The past few months (& years) have taken a lot out of me, and I’m just now realizing how big that lot has become.

I’ve discovered an overwhelming amount of negative programming due to trauma, caused by what I’m not exactly sure. No matter what the source, my head is a landfill filled to the brim with negative thoughts about myself as well as the world around me. And the negative aura I’m giving off is toxic. How the hell do I recover from this?

A mix of narcissism and self-loathing, I’m highly neurotic and disillusioned. I’ve become disenchanted with the image I see in the mirror and myself as a whole. I’ve lost my identity and have been self destructive for some time now.

Evolution is necessary and that necessary change requires action. Action is most often the only antidote for overcoming fear & doubt, burning through confusion, and changing habits.

In the words of James Morrison, you can’t play on broken string, and this past week was the beginning of my attempt to repair the strings I can fix and replace the ones I can’t.

So, what steps did I take to begin decompressing?

1. Reflect: Never let the world get too small – Being back in Bama, sorting through all my college & high school memorabilia (mostly in prep for my 10-year high school reunion next March), has allowed me the opportunity to reflect on how far I’ve come in the past 5 – 6 years, and more importantly, how far I have left to go.

2. Relax: You can only take so much before you turn into stone – Being away from Fantasy Island allowed me the chance to breathe some fresh air and decompress from the stoic state I had found myself in.

3. Release: We all have history we have to overcome – After taking the time to unwind, I believe I was able to release some of the negative energy & stress that had been keeping me from reaching my full potential in every arena of my life.

4. Repair/Replace/Reinvent: Change requires action – Some things are worth fixing; others are not and need to be replaced. Every action I take moving forward and every choice I make along the way will determine the levels of my happiness and my success.

Here are some realizations on career/location & love/lust that I had while I was away:

Career/Location – Maybe I’m having trouble coming up with something else to do and somewhere else to live because I’m doing what and living where I should be. This is quite possible. I do believe I need a change of venue/scenery as far as work is concerned, but I know that I’m not far from the mark in my career path. Could event planning be in my future? Maybe. Could some kind of content production be a good fit? Possibly. But for now, I feel as safe as one can feel in the current economic climate, and for that I’m thankful. My employment status could change tomorrow, but today I’m doing okay and okay will have to do for now.

Lust/Love – My ideal guy is most likely not out at a bar/club night after night. And I’ve finally accepted that my “going out to meet guys” days are over, at least for now. My lack of “luck” in the past few months makes perfect sense. I’m in a weird place as far as what I’m looking for in love/lust. I’m tired of random hookups, but have no interest in settling down with a life partner. This sucks for my sex life, but is best for my mental life. In the words of Cornfed, I’m sure my “bumper crop” will be worth the wait!

So there you have it!

I feel like I’m growing (up), or at least evolving in the best way possible. And that makes me excited about the future.

On an anniversary-related note, I need to post some pics of my 5-year NYC Anniversary Party I had at my place on the 21st of March. Stay tuned.

xoxo

5 Years & Counting

This past weekend (officially Monday, 3/23) I celebrated my 5-Year NYC Anniversary!

An excerpt from my latest NYC scrapbook, "DWM in NYC: Years 4 & 5":

What’s Next? / Why NYC?

Why do people move here? Some to escape, some to hide, some to blossom, some to dream, some to compete, some to succeed, and many to find love. My two main objectives were to escape from my conservative Southern roots and blossom as much as humanly possible. In the words of Brian Kinney, I moved here to become the best homosexual I can be. And by pursuing my dreams in this competitive landscape I feel as though I have in some ways succeeded.

Why do people stay? We stay because to not “succeed”, for the moment, is merely to lose the battle; to leave is to lose the war. And although I don’t believe the man of my dreams resides on this island, or even in this city of nearly 10 million (1 million of which are likely homosexual), I believe that he may some day in the future live here or be passing through and cross my path. And that’s something to look forward to.

Why do I want to be here right now? Because I don’t want to be there (Mobile) or anywhere else; because the air here is dense with both smothering smog and unrivaled electricity; because the people, no matter how fucked up they are, make me smile on a daily basis; because I can still not see myself living in another American city; because I’m not ready to leave the states, and I’m afraid that my next geographical move will have to involve crossing an ocean. In a way, I am hiding from some things that lie outside of this city, but I’ve found a home in NYC. And to hide in my own home is a privilege I believe I have earned.

Gotta Love The Leak

The old Kelly Clarkson is back, and the new album (All I Ever Wanted) is everything a hardcore KC fan could want or ask for.

Step 1:

Listen to my current favorite song on the album (Already Gone):



Step 2:

Go to VH1 to hear the whole thing before it's release on 3/10:

The Leak

New addictions like this are ones we can be proud of.

Sigh.

Lyrics to Already Gone below:

Remember all the things we wanted
Now all our memories, they're haunted
We were always meant to say goodbye
Even with our fists held high, yeah
Never would have worked out right, yeah
We were never meant for do or die

I didn't want us to burn out
I didn't come here to hurt you now
I can't stop

I want you to know
That it doesn't matter
Where we take this road
Someone's gotta go
And I want you to know
You couldn't have loved me better
But I want you to move on
So I'm already gone

Looking at you makes it harder
But I know that you'll find another
That doesn't always make you wanna cry
Started with a perfect kiss
Then we could feel the poison set in
Perfect couldn't keep this love alive
You know that I love you so
I love you enough to let you go

I want you to know
That it doesn't matter
Where we take this road
Someone's gotta go
And I want you to know
You couldn't have loved me better
But I want you to move on
So I'm already gone

I'm already gone
I'm already gone
You can't make it feel right
When you know that its wrong
I'm already gone
Already gone
There's no moving on
So I'm already gone

DLB Made Me Cry: And It's the Good Kind

The only personal consolation I've found during this strange time that I'm going through is my newly-found ability to cry.

This was a repeat offender (I had to rewind the DVR to watch it again just to make sure the first cry wasn't a fluke).

Dustin Lance Black's powerful Oscar acceptance speech:



"I heard the story of Harvey Milk and it gave me hope. It gave me the hope to live my life openly as who I am, and that one day I could even fall in love and get married.

I want to thank my mom, who has always loved me for who I am even when there was pressure not to.

But most of all, if Harvey had not been taken from us 30 years ago, (queue waterworks) I think he would want me to say to all of the gay and lesbian kids out there tonight who have been told that they are less than by their churches, or by the government, or by their families, that you are beautiful, wonderful creatures of value, and that no matter what anyone tells you, God does love you and that very soon I promise you, you will have equal rights federally across this great nation of ours.

Thank you and thank you God for giving us Harvey Milk."

Dustin Lance Black, will you marry me?! I love you for this.

My Dick Detox: The First 100 Days

I prefer the word detox to drought, seeing as detox makes it sound like I have some control over the matter, while drought makes it sound like something bigger than me is keeping the dick out of my mouth and ass for a reason unknown to me.

When it comes to frequency of sexual encounters, “normal” (according to SATC wisdom) is halfway between WHAT YOU WANT and WHAT YOU CAN GET. I can’t seem to get laid, and I don’t seem to want to, so I guess this drought, I mean detox, is normal. And the detox seems to be going well in terms of affording me time to tear down some of the wall I’ve built up over the years. I still have a great deal of work to do before the people of East Berlin are allowed over without being shot, but with my own Ronald Reagan’s help I will get there. I’m not sure who Mr. Gorbachev is in my case, but I desperately need him to TEAR DOWN THIS WALL!

I’m afraid the groundhog has peaked out of his burrow to be scared shitless by his lingering shadow, but that simply means the quiet growth will take a while longer to manifest itself. I must admit this winter of discontent is quite intense. Everything feels dead, and if it’s only sleeping I can’t seem to remember what alive feels like. It may take six more weeks or it may take six more months, but the new season and new life will eventually come. I have to believe that.

Since the beginning of November, I’ve been recovering from my second real romantic relationship and it’s turned into arguably the messiest thing I’ve ever tried to clean up. I’m also left asking myself a very difficult question. Why would I ever want to go through this again? Why would I ever welcome the excruciating pain that comes with hurting another human being that I deeply care for? The answer is easy, but not easy to come to terms with. Because without taking risks you go through life only experiencing what you know, which can become just as excruciatingly familiar and equally painful.

If I’m being honest with myself, these past three months have felt more like a drought than a detox. Equal parts insecurity and indifference; too much animosity and anger; not enough direction and focus.

Where the drought is concerned, is it that the universe finally “gets me” and it’s in my corner by keeping me out of commission, or is it that the universe is cruelly punishing me for years of poor choices? I do still believe there’s a reason for everything, but I hate the thought of that reason taking so long to reveal itself.

There’s a lot to be said for staying out of trouble. And in my case, even more to be said for keeping trouble out of me.

If it’s nothing else, these 100+ days are serving as a chance for me to refresh my sexual outlook and my attitude toward the same sex in general. My hope is that I will make smarter choices in the future, in my life and in my bed.

Cheers to the big D!

I Heart James Morrison!

Love, love, love. Add Nelly Furtado and I say THREESOME!

You can't play on broken strings
You can't feel anything that your heart don't want to feel
I can't tell you something that ain't real

A-MAZING.

Check it.

Obamanation ‘09

I had the incredible of opportunity to spend the greater part of last week in our nation's capital enjoying the big party that comes every 4 years.

However, the vast majority of Americans I was celebrating with hadn't partied like this since 1996, or possibly ever. So you can only imagine the brand of euphoric energy that was in abundance in the 202 area code. And it most likely will be lingering for many weeks to come.

The whole trip was definitely one of the most surreal (dare I say emotional/touching) experiences of my life thus far.

Since I'm not a huge (or even small) fan of the District during a normal week of mundane political drivel, this was the perfect chance to visit without being bored/annoyed to tears. It seems like 9 or 10 lifetimes ago since I walked the hallowed halls of the Capitol building as a Republican page for the House. Oh, how far I’ve come!

This time JK and I stayed will a lovely older gay couple, one of the two being JK’s godfather. They generously opened their basement to us and they could not have been more hospitable. Meanwhile, you could definitely feel the welcome arms of a city that has been awaiting a new resident at 1600 Pennsylvania for some time now.

Cheers to Obama and his first one hundred days. May they be as productive and successful as my attempt to make this year better than 2008.

True Love Waits…

…for no man! It’s ironic then that so many people spend so much time waiting around for love.

On New Year's Eve I accompanied MJ to the wedding ceremony and reception of one of his dearest friends from back in his Emerson glory days, and was reminded of something as I looked down the aisle of a beautiful church in Hoboken.

True love may be hard to find, but it is never hard to see. I can’t remember the last wedding I attended, understandably due to my diminishing number of straight friends. And I can’t say most straight people amuse me any more than watching paint dry. But I do know true love when I see it, and Keith and Kim are the real deal; the authentic agape. That’s why I’m not ashamed to say I teared up during the “giving consent” portion of the ceremony. This was also my first traditional catholic wedding, so that I was touched amongst the confusion and ups and downs is truly remarkable.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been quite as easy to feel the passion that was radiating from the happy couple if I hadn’t had the opportunity to hang out with them a couple times, but I would find it hard to believe that any random parishioner in that church couldn’t feel it as well. Even if it didn’t move them like it did this cold-hearted bastard.

On to the reception, while battling temperatures in the teens and both a wind chill factor and blood alcohol level of zero. The Chart House is quite a charmer. I’d say it was the perfect place to celebrate the nuptials, and even better on the most celebratory night of the year. The view across the Hudson was mesmerizing even to this jaded queen. However, the circus of dancing breeders had me briefly missing the gay ole times that were being had back in Chelsea. I must say the commotion on that dance floor briefly had me consdiering standing behind the passage of Prop 8! But then I got to thinking that a reception full of mo’s would leave nothing to be desired, and certainly nothing to the imagination. So I say take it back; the proposition that is.



But alas, I must wait for true love to find me because I’m sure as hell not going looking for it any time soon. And I won’t be exactly waiting for it when it comes, so I guess there’s always a chance it could pass me by.

But if my theory is true and true love is in fact impossible to miss, I shouldn’t have any problem lassoing the guy who makes me look at him like Keith looks at his lovely bride Kim.

Cheers to love. I may feel slightly incapable of some forms of it, but I know with all my heart that a transcendent love does exist in this fucked up world we’re living in.

2008 to 2009: The State of the Union

Do you ever feel like you’re hiding out? That’s how I often feel about my tenure here on this island. The purpose of me being here seems to have escaped me, and I’m left with little more than a somewhat interesting story.

Why do I feel like my story has already ended and been told by someone other than myself? Why does the history book on the shelf seem to keep repeating itself?

Growing older has to mean something more than aging. If I’m not getting better and wiser, what is the point of all this, right?

I’ve decided I have to change the way I look at things entirely. I’m not talking about changing my way of life (at least not at first), but rather the way I do things.

A change has to come, but contrary to popular belief it is not inevitable. That’s where I must come in. What am I waiting for? I don’t know, but I have an idea the answer is nothing at all.

My current state leaves me confused by my decisions and unsatisfied with my condition. I maintain a decent existence, keep a bearable perspective and possess an unforeseeable future. I’m somewhere between being lost and being found.

I’m in need of something unexpected. Unfortunately not much surprises me these days.

Before I talk about things I CAN change, there are some things that are more than likely to stay the same.

For instance, my commitment issues and single status aren’t going anywhere in my current state of reality. Another year of unrequited love as a confirmed bachelor was not a surprise for me. And now I’m convinced of the need to have a “Do Not Enter Winter” (my newest phrase). But how long before the absence of the weight of a man is more crushing than the weight itself? The truth is I’ve lost faith in the exhausting process, in the volatile game that most gay men play. The library card in my pants is worn out and I feel the need for a sticker that says “Burn Before Reading”.

Another example of something that I can NOT change is my current path at work. The story of the agency I work at in relation to the brand I work on is far more interesting than the relationship between me and the agency. They are both deep stories of evolution, but my perspective has been compromised beyond recognition. I have got to move on before I begin to experience the law of diminishing returns. I have given much of myself, and I must take the education somewhere else in hopes of getting the compensation and reciprocation of respect and loyalty that I deserve. My absence would currently still be felt, and they need to start feeling it soon.

Now for the good stuff.

Things I CAN change (aka things I want for myself) in 2009:

* I want a new job where I make at least half the salary I think I deserve, so I can begin to build the full life that I can still only imagine.
* I want to get in shape physically, so I will be healthier and have more energy to do things I’ve never done before.
* I want to back away from the mirror, whose reflection I have fallen in love with; meanwhile reinvent myself so that the next time I look into that mirror the reflection will be more worthy of my love and affection.

Basically, I want to take better care of myself overall, while taking advantage of the perks that living in the greatest city in the world affords me. I must continue to acknowledge that my destiny may lie far beyond these city limits. But for now, I know that I haven’t used this city like it has used me. And it has not seen the last of me yet.

The mediocrity within me that I’ve been tolerating has been silent, yet toxic. I feel like I’m still standing strong, but I’m afraid I might be slowing sinking.

Here’s to another year, but to a different story; one that not even I could write or fathom at this moment in time.

To 2009. May it bring a hell of a curve ball that I am prepared to get under. Balls to the wall!

Cheers.

DWM

Best of Craigslist > New York

Click here to laugh your ass off.

Here is one of my favorites:

Fingered on the RED line - Columbia University - w4m

Hi!

We were on the RED local line, I got on at 14th Street, you were already on the train. I got off at Columbia University 116th. Around 5PM. It was very crowded and you were behind me. We talked awkardly while you were still behind my back, pushed into each other. I told you I hate being an undergrad, we connected. You ended up fingering me while no one else was noticing. I didn't get your full e-mail. If you see this, let me know. I hope you do! I miss you.

I didn't get you FULL email. Brilliant! :)

We Call It Straight-ar!

Love is Love, and I LOVE this short film. Brilliant!

I'm Thankful For...

…friends who are present when I need them to be, and absent when I want them to be. And for the forgiving cocktails that so quickly and effortlessly erase the time we spend apart.

…a family that attempts to love (the real) me in spite of my (homo) sexual orientation and (“alternative”) lifestyle choices, which go against their entire (religious) belief system. The incapability of certain kinds of love and failure to acknowledge what I do not believe in is something I’m grossly familiar with.

…NYC for being the setting for this so-called life I lead.

…a universe that helped me develop my dream (which included living here) and saw fit to make this dream come true. At least the powers that be got the location right! The more ideal plot line will hopefully follow.

…an apartment that allows me to keep living in the only city I could imagine living in at this point in my life.

…my job for not being completely unbearable in a time when finding a new one seems impossible.

…my cynicism and sarcasm for getting me through the hard times, and my brutal candor for keeping the good times real.

I feel like my life can only get better from here on out.

In the words of one of the "History Boys,"

"I’m not happy, but I’m not unhappy about it. "

...and for THAT I'm extremely thankful!

Agree & Commit.

Negotiations take time. Trust is not built in a day, a week, or even a month. Sometimes it takes nine months; nine long months to prepare yourself for the most important verbal agreement you’ve ever made in your relational life. Or at least it seems that important due to the intense complications that have accompanied the relationship from its conception.

Let’s go back almost 11 months to Thanksgiving 2007. Mercury was in retrograde and I was in for a huge surprise. Most people had escaped for the long weekend, but I had stayed behind to spend some much-needed quality time with the City. Thanksgiving night found me at Splash, meeting up with friends for a fun-filled night of holiday mayhem. I found myself leaning up against the bar. A gentleman with dark features walked confidently across the empty dance floor in a red leather jacket, apparently a guest of my friend JMS. I didn’t think much of the guy due to his guest status, and apparent unavailability.

The night (and the group’s need for adventure) led us to Escuelita, the gay club in Manhattan catering to the Latino (read: ethnic) set. JMS & I were so busy being our drunk selves and trying to pawn his roommate off on the “new guy” that I didn’t realize what a doll this guy really was until weeks later.

The next 9 months are a blur of drinking, debauchery and random hookups with the “new guy” that became less random and more perpetual as time went on. I, being the hard ass/heart guy that I am, thought very little into the emotional relationship that was forming between me and the guy that I was originally introduced to as having a 5-day internship with Conde Nast (before securing a permanent position at a children’s publishing company). Before either of us knew it, we were the best of friends and spending insane amounts of time together, especially considering our status as (geographic) New Yorkers.

Perhaps our geographic location was the factor working most in our favor. After living across the Hudson with his ex-boyfriend for the first several months of his tenure in the big city, he found a nice little studio in the heart of the LES (a 5 to 10 minute walk from my place). After securing his new digs in late January, a question came to my mind – where relationships are concerned, how does geographic proximity relate to the level of emotional closeness (and remoteness)? I was seeing MJ at least two or three times a week, a gluttonous amount by even suburban standards.

Many of my previous big city relationships have come to an end over (not much more than) me not wanting to take the same subway ride on a regular basis. Public transportation and relationships are not a good mix, at least not in my experience. So MJ and I had the close proximity, the great small talk and the stellar sex (yes I’m leaving those details out for now), so what was standing in our way from having something official?

Well, sometimes greatness needs a nudge. The same goes for great relationships. Unfortunately, the nudge that I needed didn’t come until it was almost too late.

Mine and MJ’s friendship was going really well when I met RC in April. I obviously felt the need to separate the friendship MJ & I were developing from the sexual life I was trying to maintain away from my friends. The RC romance started with a Manhunt one-night stand and ended up lasting 2 short months (my all-too-familiar one-month-in-one-month-out routine).

Then the summer happened. Pride happened. Montreal happened. The family vacation happened. A lot of things and nothing at all happened from June to August. I was still a content resident of Singles World at the end of summer, and MJ was seemingly still struggling with our friends-with-benefits status. I decided to forego a planned (plane ticket purchased) late-August trip to Chicago in order to give our rocky relationship time to breathe. He went alone and I was left alone to figure out my shit.

Meanwhile all the veiled drama was going on between the two of us, MJ was courageously trying to start a new love/lust endeavor with a younger guy named V. Brooklyn V was young and sweet, while at the same time being edgy and intriguing. He commanded attention, and had MJ’s (divided as it might have been). Things were going so well between the two of them, that going into Chicago I thought MJ had move on, or at least was ready to. I was left thinking –

“I had my chance. I made my choice. I’m apparently no longer so damn irresistible! I said no. He moved on. As he should have.”

I was feeling like MJ had stolen my mojo, but he was actually only holding on to it for me until I knew what to do with it. And it’s probably more fair to say I gave it to him in the first place.

Skip to post-Chicago, and I’m suddenly ready to take the plunge. What changed? Why the change of heart? I’m not sure at what point it clicked, but it did, and with that click came a peace of mind and confidence that cannot be explained.

On September 9 it became official. I have a boyfriend. The ball and chain is on, but for some reason I don’t mind. Maybe because it doesn’t feel like a weight at all. And if there is a chain, it’s light and loose enough to allow my skin to breath.

Here’s what I’ve concluded so far. I prefer camaraderie to commitment. Always have. But somehow the mix of camaraderie and commitment works with MJ and me, probably because the camaraderie was strong first, and then the commitment followed. Fortunately the commitment doesn’t feel like obligation and the camaraderie has always been slightly outside of the box. Our relationship allows us to be our own people and respect each other’s time, space and personalities. It requires an open line of communication and doesn’t accept the bullshit that so often creeps in on relationships. And let’s be honest, it’s easy to stay faithful when the thought of hurting the other person is unbearable.

Semper Fidelis.

That’s Latin for “always faithful”. The Marines use it and so do I. It helps me remember that this relationship is bigger than me, and it’s bigger than us. There’s a bigger picture, and I’m glad MJ and I are part of the same one.

I Am Not That Young Anymore

There comes a time when the intrigue falls away & all you are left with is a recurring character in a life that you’ve made for yourself. My current recurring character is the city of New York, and the time has come for me to CONSIDER options other than this overpaid (and sometimes slightly overrated) actor. I’ve realized that by removing other options from my short list I’ve limited myself.

The cruel truth is that I’ve been falling out of love with the City for the past couple of years now, but I haven’t yet admitted that it might soon be time for a progressive migration (read: exodus). A wise man (last name Camus) once said, “One recognizes one’s course by discovering the paths that stray away from it.”

Question to self:

Could this whole New York “phase” now be considered little more than a distraction from the life I’m meant to have?

As much as I can’t see myself anywhere else, I’m day by day growing more and more doubtful that I can see myself here for much longer.

Magnetism can be powerful…and tricky. I was drawn here out of a n intense desperation, and from the beginning I got wrapped up in the romance of it all. I was overpowered by the false promises the city made me, but realistically couldn’t keep. And eventually I fell into a self-destructive pattern that will continue to repeat itself if I don’t work to break it.

Part of me feels defeated, but this is not a story of defeat. It’s a story about reaching that pivotal moment when the fantasy life I once imagined for myself in New York no longer seems attainable or attractive, or simply no longer seems worth the exhausting chase. This is the story of a person, not pulled to one city or another by familial obligation or job relocation, but rather by some grander idea of who they are and where they might best fit.

I’ve asked myself if maybe I’ve over-stayed my welcome. Maybe the city is tired of investing in me and seeing limited ROI. And just like I’ve never believed in the One in love, I no longer believe in the One in life. New York can’t satisfy me for life and maybe we’re both needing more.

When I take a step back and I look at the City, I realize that I was never meant to be the center of the universe. That makes it easier to shift my global position without feeling like there are deeper implications than there truly are. I’ve tested myself against the stresses of this city and I may be stretched to my limit.

The problem is you can’t just leave New York. You have to QUIT New York. You have to admit to yourself and proclaim to the world that you’re packing it up, calling it a day, turning out the lights.


Enough about me. Let’s hear from someone else. The following is an edited excerpt of Joan Didion’s “Goodbye to All That”, an essay about her decision to leave New York:

It is easy to see the beginnings of things, and harder to see the ends. I can remember now, with a clarity that makes the nerves in the back of my neck constrict, when New York began for me, but I cannot lay my finger upon the moment it ended, can never cut through the ambiguities and second starts and broken resolves to the exact place on the page where the heroine is no longer as optimistic as she once was.

In retrospect it seems to me that those days before I knew the names of all the bridges were happier than the ones that came later, but perhaps you will see that as we go along. Part of what I want to tell you is what it is like to be young in New York, how six months can become eight years with the deceptive ease of a film dissolve, for that is how those years appear to me now, in a long sequence of sentimental dissolves and old-fashioned trick shots.

I knew that it would cost something sooner or later—because I did not belong there, did not come from there—but when you are twenty-two or twenty-three, you figure that later you will have a high emotional balance, and be able to pay whatever it costs. I still believed in possibilities then, still had the sense, so peculiar to New York, that something extraordinary would happen any minute, any day, any month.

Nothing was irrevocable; everything was within reach. Just around every corner lay something curious and interesting, something I had never before seen or done or known about. I could make promises to myself and to other people and there would be all the time in the world to keep them. I could stay up all night and make mistakes, and none of them would count.

Quite simply, I was in love with New York. I do not mean “love” in any colloquial way, I mean that I was in love with the city, the way you love the first person who ever touches you and you never love anyone quite that way again.

I had come out of the West and reached the mirage.

I never told my father that I needed money because then he would have sent it, and I would never know if I could do it by myself. At that time making a living seemed a game to me, with arbitrary but quite inflexible rules. I never felt poor; I had the feeling that if I needed money I could always get it.

You see I was in a curious position in New York: it never occurred to me that I was living a real life there. In my imagination I was always there for just another few months, just until Christmas or Easter or the first warm day in May. For that reason I was most comfortable with the company of Southerners. They seemed to be in New York as I was, on some indefinitely extended leave from wherever they belonged, disciplined to consider the future, temporary exiles who always knew when the flights left for New Orleans or Memphis or Richmond or, in my case, California.

We were colonials in a far country.

I am not sure that it is possible for anyone brought up in the East to appreciate entirely what New York, the idea of New York, means to those of us who came out of the West and the South. But to those of us who came from places where no one had heard of Lester Lanin and Grand Central Station was a Saturday radio program, where Wall Street and Fifth Avenue and Madison Avenue were not places at all but abstractions, New York was no mere city. It was instead an infinitely romantic notion, the mysterious nexus of all love and money and power, the shining and perishable dream itself. To think of “living” there was to reduce the miraculous to the mundane; one does not “live” at Xanadu.

Some years passed, but I still did not lose that sense of wonder about New York. I began to cherish the loneliness of it, the sense that at any given time no one need know where I was or what I was doing.

That was the year, my twenty-eight, when I was discovering that not all of the promises would be kept, that some things are in fact irrevocable and that it had counted after all, every evasion and ever procrastination, every word, all of it.

You will have perceived by now that I was not one to profit by the experience of others, that it was a very long time indeed before I stopped believing in new faces and began to understand the lesson in that story, which was that it is distinctly possible to stay too long at the Fair.

I could not tell you when I began to understand that. All I know is that it was very bad when I was twenty-eight. Everything that was said to me I seemed to have heard before, and I could no longer listen.

I no longer had any interest in hearing about the advances other people had received from their publishers, about plays which were having second-act trouble in Philadelphia, or about people I would like very much if only I would come out and meet them. I had already met them, always.

All I mean is that I was very young in New York, and that at some point the golden rhythm was broken, and I am not that young anymore.

Leaving New York - REM

Here's the Proof.

Rewind. This has been a great few weeks, mainly because most of it has been spent in the absence of reality. Let's work backwards.

The brilliant sunset on my flight back from Knoxville.

***Summer in the Smokies w/ the Fam***

Gorgeous foilage in the Great Smoky Mountain National Park.

Cherokee People. Cherokee Tribe. Shout out to Mikey D!

The bitch had wings.

The Trail of Tears bear.

Yes, he had a huge wigwam.

***Montreal w/ the Boston Bestie & Danny Boi***

Anorexia Petrova & Davita Deluxe

Le House Boy Bed & Breakfast

In the Cuzzi.

Gay Mural. Sleepy Fag.

Crazy Fag.

Le Douche

Spider Tranny

Cute Baby

Beginner Class: Twink Strippers

Advanced Class: Stud Strippers

Master Class: Bath House

***NYC Pride Weekend***

2nd Annual @ Pieces

So there you have it. It really happenned. I didn't make it all up.

I'm Baaaack...

Written during the 24 hours leading up to my return to civilization:

It's a sad day when I would rather stay in the mountains of Pigeon Forge, Tennessee with the fam than to face the impending reality that awaits me on Fantasy Island. I feel I have nothing to go back to, except things that I would be better off without.

Unrealistically tight deadlines, way too many loose ends, unreturned calls & a full inbox; the reality of unpaid bills & ridiculous rent; missed connections, misplaced dreams, comatose hopes, nothing at all worth salvaging.

I am a mess. A mess with a very dim future! Nothing is waiting for me & nothing is left.
End quote.

Yes, I exaggerate in the most dramatic way possible. And I've been in one of my moods lately. But that's my right as a chemically unstable human homo. I've been misplaced from reality just long enough to hate what I see when I look back at it. Not that the suspended reality i've been floating along in is really any better, but at least it doesn't take itself so seriously.

Sitting in the Knoxville airport:

My holiday is over.
The angst is back.
I could rhyme here, but that would be both ambitious and pathetic. So I'll leave it at that...I'm making myself miserable and I'm not sure why. Yes, I understand I still owe the world pics from both Montreal and Tennessee. I'm working on it.

Young & restless,

DWM

C'est Mon Vie*

Bonjour mon amies!

If you're wondering, Montreal was tres incredible! Nothing too crazy or ultimately life altering. Just lots of pure gay fun and deliciously impure implications. I'll jump right in like I usually do (pun intended for later). Wednesday night I hopped on the Megabus for my inagural voyage on the newish bus service. Megabus and percocets are totally the way to travel around the northeast! Fuck greyhound.

After a good night's sleep at Danny's pad, the BOS/NY trifecta were heading north, across the border, and checking into Le House Boy bed & bfast in the heart of Montreal's gay village. We were located a block away from rue du St Catherine, where the fags roam freely...and what unbelievably gorgeous fags they are!

They don't grow them the same in Quebec, and it definitely shows. Albeit, the majority of the drop dead gorgeous specimen seem to be strippers in one of the two well known butcher shops, Campus (for both the boy next door & twink connesieur) & Stock (for size queens and/or those of us with daddy issues), but that's just a minor detail. Beauty is beauty, no matter how ultimately inaccessible it is.

Thursday night was dinner at Saloon, where the servers are required to have asses that make even the most powerful of bottoms want to eat them out! The food was delicious too! After the strip club rounds, we called it an early first night.

Friday was amusement park day. La Ronde is a Six Flags park and was a great way to feed our need for thrills while keeping our clothes on. After a dip in the jacuzzi St our place and a nice nap, it was off to a forgetable dinner. We were having a difficult time getting motivated to go out, but once we were off the stories wrote themselves!

$20 gets you the man of your choice for one song, in a booth, where no one but the lap and the meat really knows how far the Queen Elizabeth was stretched! I picked Marco at Stock, who smelled like man, sex and heaven all wrapped in a 4 minute symphony. He heard I was a virgin to the booth, so he took it easy on me, but he was just hard (and smooth) enough to make that the best $20 spent on the trip. I really do love beautiful men.

Sufficiently horned up, we headed out to collect handstamps from Campus, Unity, and Parking, before quickly discovering it was 3am and time to head to the bathhouse. Oasis wasn't very crowded, which made it perfect for my debut! Before I knew it I was strattling a stallion in the jacuzzi, sticking my tongue down his throat, and following his tall, CHAUD ass into the sling chamber (one of the perks of being too cheap/pessimistic to rent a room for the extra $5). The voyeurs had a fieldday with us, from the sling, to the steam room, to the corner by the sofa machines, where we finally go our rocks off. Ironically, the stud cock was supposedly from NYC. A brief exchange on the way in between our two groups made him think I was from Boston. I didn't correct him and made the smart decision not to ask for his number. I mean, where does the relationship have to go when the majority of your first date was spent on a sling?! I'll settle for a hot hour and multiple encores in my fantasy life!

So that was the climax of my trip. I spent the resolution of my story trying not to spoil the whole thing. I have a great fear of the back-to-back disappointment. Saloon did a great job of satisfying both times, as did the gourmet pizza place on the corner next to Campus. I never have the same luck with men or clubs!

Things that aren't attractive about Montreal: the taxes, the taxes, the taxes! That's about it. Everything else makes me want to go back as soon as possible. I would stay at a different b&b, to keep it fresh, but I wouldn't change a thing otherwise.

Although reality is slowly creeping back into my system, it has little chance of surviving due to the impending family reunion (read:non-vacay) that begins in approx 48 hours. There's no doubt that work will be an extreme bitch every minute that I'm there this week, but looking toward Wednesday night is definitely going to help me through it.

This coming weekend will obviously be a beautiful juxtaposition to the one that has just ended. My Montreal mini-vacation was the perfect mix of relaxation and anonymous sex. Pigeon Forge will be an imperfect mix of sobriety and familial obligation. Isn't it fucked up that I'm looking forward to it? The home cooking and water park have a great deal to do with that. Not to mention the absence of a certain pre-adolecent bitch with red pigtails!

It may be the percocets I'm using to write this, but I really do love my life/vie! Now let me post this before I change my mind. Au revoir. Or until I get back from visiting Dolly. Xo

*Visual reference to come tomorrow.

When History Repeats Itself

History unfortunately doesn’t age gracefully. The more times it is repeated, the lamer it grows to be and the more I hate myself for being a part of it. But shit happens, feeling take over, and you don’t know what else to do but to embrace the truth as you know it. Even if that truth is annoyingly familiar.

By now you can probably guess this is a post about my romantic life, or rather my inability to have one for an extended period of time. Nothing new here, so move along if you have better things to do and read.

Fact or Fiction? As a relationship develops and evolves, there’s not much you can do to curb the impending steam that comes when cold meets hot and passion meets companionship.

I have learned, and am continuing to learn, that I need the sizzle, the heat, the exhilarating newness and honest quality that does not come into a person’s life (or at least mine) very often.

It took over a year to bridge the gap between my first BF ever and my most recent (de facto) BF. Where men are concerned, I am a man of extremes; one-night stand for nothing or two-month fall for everything.

I would like to believe I grew a great deal in those many months I was on hiatus, where I didn’t have to worry about the next date or the talk that I may (or may not) need to have regarding taking (or not taking) the relationship to the next level (or last leg).

I wrote the following during the mental struggle that was the beginning of last week:
“I find myself here again, about to hurt someone whose only flaw is that they like me more that I like them. It sucks when the only problem is me.”

I obviously cared (and quite possibly still care) about this guy. If I didn’t care, it would have been a helluva lot easier than it was to do what I did. But if I'm being brutally honest, he didn't really have a chance. He was always on his way out. That sounds so much more horrible that I mean it to.

And it sounds like such a cop-out, but I can’t seem to change how I’m built. It's like I have some deadly, incurable disease I don't want to tell anyone about until I have them (read: him) under my spell and infected with my bullshit. It all sounds very sick, and is even more disturbing in my head.

But don’t I have the right to explore what feels right, even if those feelings are likely seasonal?

Am I at fault because I am not alone when the feelings originate?

Should I quarantine myself from the dating pool just because my actions might have a negative impact on the feelings of another person?

Don’t I have the right to rent what I cannot afford to buy? In the words of Dido, “I haven’t ever really found a place that I call home. I never stick around quite long enough to make it.” Maybe that’s the problem? Am I an inpatient dater? Do I bail at the very first hint of boredom? It’s possible.

I don’t like to think of myself as giving off a confusing first (or second) impression, but I’m sure I do. I don’t want “something more” until I do, and I want “something more” until I don’t anymore. I’m not an open book and I don’t think that’s a bad thing. But it doesn’t help when you’re trying to get to know someone better. Somewhere along the way, while my beau and I were trying to keep it simple and casual, it got complicated and confusing. He was trying not to scare me away, but it’s probably good to scare me away as soon as you think I’m worth scaring, and suffer the consequences sooner rather than latter.

Blah blah blah. So much for romance. Enough about serious stuff.

I’m getting ready for a blast of summer fun and a much needed escape from Fantasy Island.

This weekend is Gay Pride here in the city. Should be a blast, but I’m way more excited for…

7/3 – 7/7: An American Holiday in Canada

Montreal here I come. I’m a virgin, I probably won’t ever want to leave, and I’m tres looking forward to it.

7/10 – 7/14: Summer in the Smokies

Dolly’s Splash Country is calling my name. Water parks are a love of mine and it will be a great chance to see the fam in a neutral location (where Dolly is on my side)!

Hopefully the island can function without me while I’m away. I’m sure I’ll come back to a shitshow at work…that is if I come back at all.

Can’t wait to make stories and share them here. Stay tuned for that.

F.I.N.E.

When asked on Jay Leno this week how her father was doing, Liv Tyler replied that her rocker father always says that he’s F.I.N.E. She said it stands for fucked up, insecure, neurotic and emotional. I never knew Steven Tyler and I had so much in common!

F(ucked Up)
I(nsecure)
N(eurotic)
E(motional)

Story of my life.

Speaking of my life, here’s a professional life update…

So, I finally got a legitimate promotion worth talking about. Last week I was officially promoted to “Project Manager” at my agency. All that really means is I keep doing what I’ve been doing, while getting a much-needed 15% raise and a few more vacay days a year (the later due to my approaching 3-year anniversary with the concentration camp that allows me to have health insurance).

I’ve been thinking of leaving for a while, and the time is definitely drawing closer by the day. But I’d be an idiot to leave before finishing out the summer and taking the vacay days I’ve earned. From Montreal, to Tennessee, to Chicago…it’s going to be a fun summer with lost of stories to tell.

But before I go foreign, I have some local trouble to get into. This weekend is Mikey J’s show on Friday night (side note: BWC is in town from DC) and a Gay Pizza Party/Boozefest at my place on Saturday night (TWC is predicting temperatures 90+ degrees). And Pride is 3 weekends away. Can’t fucking wait.

On an unrelated note, here’s some stuff we’re watching:

Cheyenne Jackson topless. Need I say more?


The worst office freak out EVER!


Estelle - American Boy ft. Kanye West (Video)

Homeostasis is a Bitch

Carrie B once said on SATC (yes, I’m anxiously awaiting the premiere) that in NYC (and in life in general), you’re always looking for at least one of the following: a job, an apartment, or a boyfriend.

With both the same apartment and job intact for about 3 years now, could it be that the universe has decided to shake it up a bit where the different arenas in my life are concerned?

Does this mean I can’t have it all?

Now I’m NOT saying I have a boyfriend, or even am CLOSE to having one (officially), but I would like to ask this question….

Why is it that once I’m seemingly doing better in the romantic arena (and possibly even happy with my current situation), my job seems to suck more than it has in quite some time.

In the words of my boy MJ, “it’s very premature for me to say that I’m happy in my romantic life. I will say that – at the moment - I feel like my life has a sudden sense of energy that it lacked.”

And I’ve been very restless at work this week. My days off made it extra difficult to wake up the past two days and commute to the place that unapologetically owns my soul. I am always at the mercies of the gods above me. And it doesn't help that these gods lack my respect due to (what seems like) a lifetime of ill-repute. I just wish I had the energy and mental stamina to look for something else right now. My annual review is coming up the end of this month, so we’ll see how I feel after they give me a pathetic raise and no incentive to stay.

Can I have it all? I certainly never have. I’m under the impression that I can…but it’s not easy. The more I am given, the more I have to work to maintain it; the more that is expected of me. For now I’ll maintain my job, and my apartment, and wait to see if the trifecta is, in fact, attainable.

My hopes, as always, are not up. But I’m strangely optimistic.

I Am Legend

Not me, the movie. I finally saw it yesterday (lame, I know) On Demand. It was well worth the $5 I put into the slot machine. The whole theme of the movie was quite appropriate for the weekend I was wrapping up. I took Thursday and Friday off work (personal days) to do absolutely nothing, and it was amazing. I hibernated on Thursday, and then caught a movie (Smart People with SJP) and a museum (the New Museum on Bowery) solo on Friday. My much-needed time alone was nothing in comparison to Robert Neville’s (Will Smith) three years alone in Legend, but it (the film and my weekend) served to remind me of how important human interaction is in my (and everyone’s) life.

The basic plot (which obviously intrigues me or I wouldn’t be sharing with you):

After the spread of a lethal virus, Will Smith’s character (a U.S. Army virologist Lieutenant Colonel) is left (three years after the outbreak) fearing he may be the last healthy human in not only New York City, but possibly the entire world.

By the end of the first year following the infection, more than 90% of the planet's human population died; over 9% were infected, but did not die. The remaining 1% (around 6.7 million), were immune to the virus, but were hunted and killed by the infected, killed by fellow survivors or committed suicide due to isolation.

The isolation Neville experiences is broken only by the companionship of his dog Sam, interaction with mannequins he has set up as patrons of a video store, and recordings of old news and entertainment broadcasts. His attempts to facilitate the human interaction and reaction that he desperately missed and longed for (and fundamentally needed) struck a chord with me.

No matter how good you get at being alone, it will never make you feel as good as being part of a real human connection. As you might have gathered from my last sentence, my recent/current attempt to feel my feelings has been mildly successful. And I’ve learned that when you don’t allow yourself to feel for a while, it’s quite difficult to discern what you’re feeling when an emotion seeps through the cracks of the wall you have created. Needless to say, I haven’t been feeling like myself lately.

I must say it feels good to feel again. I just wonder how long this phase is going to last. Surely it’s not permanent. As always, we shall see.

For the record…

Commentary on Smart People – SJP wasn’t very believable as the love interest of Dennis Quaid (who is looking ROUGH), but Ellen Page saved it with her great one-liners and portrayal of a Young Republican/over-achiever in suburban Pittsburgh. I guess Page, and Ashton Holmes, who plays her (cute, in the suburban kind of way) brother, was worth the $12.

Commentary on the New Museum – Amateurish. That’s all I got. It felt like parents night at my elementary school, without the HDs (hot dads). That $12 was ill-spent. Oh well, they tried. Well, at least I did.

What a Difference a Month Makes, Right?!

What was to be a weekend in the city with my best friend in the world, has now turned into a long weekend of self-reflection due to a change in MSD’s plans. I’ve known for a few weeks, but couldn’t bring myself to give back the personal days off from work I had already secured. It seemed like a great chance to spend some quality time with myself, with the city, and away from the capitalist sandbox which takes so much out of me every week.

There have been quite a few developments since my last post. Never could I have predicted what good luck would be awaiting me around the dark and cynical corner. I’ve met someone...but I shall leave it at that. This blog has a history of getting me in trouble with people with which I am romantically involved. Not that it’s not good for an object of my affection to know exactly what I’m thinking; but it does hinder a relationship if the object learns about my feelings online before I have a chance to bring him up to speed. What I will say is that the past four weeks have been very pleasurable due to the current object of my (rarely-exhibited) affection. And just in time for summer!

It’s been quite some time (approximately 18 months) since I’ve felt the need to give in to my emotions. I’ve become known amongst my friends as being a hard-ass, with little interest for anything more that meaningless sex and one-to-two-night stands. But it doesn’t take long, once you start getting to know me, to realize that DWM is not impossible to crack. It just takes the right person(s) to crack me. And like anything else that gets cracked, it’s not long before the crack turns into a crevice, and the crevice turns the original entity into something else entirely.

I’m at a very exciting time in my life, or at least it seems like I am. I have a great apartment, an abundance of interesting friends, a new relationship that shows promise, an approaching three-year anniversary with my agency, not to mention that I still live in the greatest city in the world (no matter what Madonna might say)…

What a difference a month makes, right? It just shows you what a fresh human connection can do for the spirit of a human being. Oh, and the nicer weather helps! Don’t get used to this upbeat tone. I’ll probably be back down in the dumps before Memorial Day. Just sayin’ :)

Nope, That’s Not It!

Welcome back, Anonymous! Still not showing your face (or name), but I get that. You’re afraid I might focus my negative energy toward just you instead of all the mother fuckers who think the same way as you. Way to play it!

My favorite quotes from the latest comments:

“He don't want you living the way you are living and will do what he has to do to bring you back home to Him.”

At least I know it’s not my sister, the English teacher/grammar Nazi.

“You need to get on your knees and ask God to forgive you for the way you have been living and the shame and grief you have put your parents through and you need to put Jesus back in the last chapters of your life because if alcohol and drugs don't get you THE DISEASE WILL. Where do you think you'll be after that big boy.......?”

Did you just tell me to get on my knees, scream at me and then call me big boy? I love foreplay!

Enough about all that…back to important things. Me, me…and me!

For a while now, I’ve been down on my job. The agency, the people, the process...all of it. But I’m beginning to realize that it’s not my job that’s the real problem. It’s what I’m doing outside of my job that’s really fucked up and out of sync. Don’t get me wrong, I probably would be better suited working somewhere else. But for now, I’m still not sure where that somewhere else is.

In my personal life, I seem to be at a loss for a first date (much less a second one). I used to joke about being better off alone, but more and more lately I’m feeling like it’s my destiny. I’ve seemed to have lost faith in the process, in the game, in the exhausting ways of the gay life I have chosen to lead. Yes, I say chosen because there are many levels of gay. I could have made the choice to stand right outside the closet with the door still ajar, but rather I have chosen to embrace the full extent of my intrinsic gayness and slam the closet door shut on my way to the head of the pride parade.

In regards to success and wealth, I’m not nearly the person I had hoped to be at twenty-five. Sadly I think that puts me in the majority, but that comforting ratio can't comfort me forever.

In regards to who the hell DWM is, I’ve come farther then most (including myself) could ever have predicted. And that means a lot.

Before the highlights, a tribute to Anonymous (captured by MJ in Hells Kitchen)...

Sorry, I rather do this instead...

Other highlights since I’ve last posted:

I had sex, multiple times (to make up for the drought)!

(insert mental pictures here)

I went home for my cousin’s wedding reception (yes, the Cha Cha slide was involved).

I got a new phone (Pearl), dropped it on the subway tracks and recovered it all in the same day.

BWC came into the city for Easter weekend (and before that MJ & I went to DC for Mardi Gras).

MJ & I took an overnight trip to AC (Atlantic City) to see Miss America 1984 Vanessa Williams in concert at Harrah's (we even stayed in the VW suite at the Sheraton)! ;)

And did I mention KBH is coming back? 4/12 baby! :)

That's it for now. I'm gonna go back to sipping on my Bartles & Jaymes and puffing on my Marlboro Lights. You're thinking, "Seriously?"...don't judge!

I Haven’t Had Sex In Some Time Now...

…or posted anything on this damn thing. A text from a member of my past regarding the latter has forced me to further contemplate the former. The thoughts on these subjects have definitely been there, but absent has been the courage to compile them.

In life, I seem to be at a boiling point. The same people, places and things have been in the same pot for way too long, and it’s only a matter of days and weeks before they all overflow and drown me. I can keep trying to stir it, but it will never taste as good, smell as sweet, or look at promising as it used to.

I guess this drowning feeling comes with getting older. I’m only 25, but I feel like I’ve aged quite a bit over the past four years. I’ve managed to mature without growing up, and learn many things without putting most the lessons to good use.

Where sex is concerned, there was a time when it was easy. I was easy. The idea of getting into someone’s pants/bed used to not be accompanied by the thoughts of the impending consequences. Things like the possibility of an emotional connection, the need for a second impression, not to mention the latest strand of a disease that may or may not make its way into my bloodstream. It’s become more complicated in my mind. It’s more complicated altogether. I used to take it for granted, disrespect it, and do it to make myself feel better. The rules have changed in my head and I’m currently trying to beat the learning curve.

I’m ready for something new, dare I say something more. A distraction from my professional hell. A new infectious personality that will eventually be my demise. In writer terminology, I need a new chapter before my editor lets me go.

But in order to write that chapter, I need something or someone to shake me to my core. To make me think, act, and live differently. Maybe that’s the new job that awaits me, or maybe (just maybe) it’s the great guy I’ve yet to meet. I hope I find one or the other soon, because they obviously aren’t looking for me. I’ve been here a while now, and this island’s not that big.

May the sex withdrawals make me stronger, and the pending possibility tear me down.

At What Point...

…did I turn into an emotionally shutdown, overly sarcastic, deeply disturbed human being? Did I mention immensely flawed and selfish?!

I’m not sure how all this came about, but I’m pretty sure I’m not a huge fan of this cold, cynical, blocked-off man that I’m seemingly evolving into. I could blame my self-diagnosis on nearly four years living in both the greatest and most emotionally trying city on the planet, but (per usual) I think it’s more about me (than the place I choose to call home).

The sarcasm is obviously me deflecting, diverting attention away from any real feelings that might seep out of my body, leaving me even the least bit vulnerable to reality. The Great Wall of China that I’ve successfully built around me is only going to serve to hurt me in the long run. Until I learn to manage both men and emotions, the title of “romantically challenged” (read: slut) will have to suffice.

The selfish party is probably the best part of my diagnosis, but that too could even survive a cutback.

My cynicism is only natural for a New Yorker, but it doesn’t allow time for much else. And it’s becoming increasingly difficult to mix my cynicism with a healthy romantic relationship with someone of the same sex.

Speaking of sex, I can’t remember the last time I had it sober. And that slightly disturbs me. On one hand, this means I haven’t had an online hookup in almost a year (a good thing). On the other, it scares me to think how much great sex I haven’t been able to remember due to my inebriation getting in the way.

Are meaningful sex and romance two things I’m just not incapable of? Nonsense, I know. But that’s what it feels like. It also feels like if I don’t have some of this romantic, meaningful sex soon, I might give up on it altogether.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not ready to start making babies and get married (or is it vice versa?!), but someone to care about romantically could be good for my outlook on other aspects of this so-called life I’m trying my best to get in (and keep in) order.

I just have to keep in mind that the world isn’t out to get me, and neither is every guy that I have met or will meet in the future. Someone in that mix is destined to make their way into my bed AFTER they make their way into my heart.

At least here’s to hoping (for the first time in a while)…

Mikey’s D’s End-of-Year Visit to the Concrete Island I Call Home

After a full week in a cabin with three Southern Baptists and only my flask to numb the pain, I was excited to be immediately submerged in a visit from my best-friend-in-the-world Michael (from P’cola, FL). He actually beat me into Laguardia by about four hours; just long enough for him to get a nice buzz going at Phoenix, while he waited for my sober ass to throw down my bags and take a short cab ride up to 13th & Ave A.

After a few cocktails, served up by the dyke bartender and her friends, the pre-party moved to Splash (don’t judge)! Of course the night wouldn’t have been complete without us running into two of my favorite C’s, Carlo & Carter (not to mention Mr. Shay who I MIGHT have made-out with on the dancefloor).

The Friday morning sun came way too soon, but we were able to conjure up the energy to trek to TKTS to get our hands on two Spring Awakening tickets for the 8pm performance. After securing the goods for $64/per, we headed south to another madhouse, Century 21. MSD picked up a scarf, I drooled over some Kenneth Cole slip-ons, and we headed back to my place just in time to chill for two seconds, freshen up, inhale some Chinese delivery, and do some tattoo research on our way to the theatre.

About Spring Awakening – can I just say that nothing since Aida has changed my world from the stage like this incredible piece of work. WERK! I have the soundtrack on constant replay and I can’t wait to see is (and that guy’s ass) again!

After taking in “The Bitch of Living”, we headed down the street to Therapy where we met up with CW before heading to the Ritz for some dirty dancing with some other locals that enjoy sweating on each other in confined spaces.

Saturday called for brunch at Sidewalk Café and a set of tattoos! Inkstop on Ave A is where we decided to put our money where our mouths were. No minimum. We walked right in. Oh, and the tattoo artist (which happened to be the owner of the place) was hot in a tatted up/dangerous kind of way.

After the painful damage was done (not before me needing Oreos to revive my hungover ass), we wandered around the EV & Soho (see pic below) until the time came when we needed to go home and change for the night’s festivities. Dinner was at Lips, an experience that is arguably not worth the money (the check for 3 ppl was $200), but was definitely a great time. Thanks for All Beef Patty for the great service!

After wrapping up dinner with Mikey D and the resident Mess (who’s should be on suicide watch), we headed to Posh, Therapy and (I think) Barrage to meet CW. I faintly remember paying $3 for a cocktail, so it might have been just a dream.

Sunday brunch proved to be quite telling, in that a 3pm reservation (organized by Carlo of course, and pictured below) turned into a 6-hour-plus booze fest that moved from the dark caverns of the Sunburnt Cow…to the slutty serenity of my apartment…to my old home at Verlaine. Sorry, Gary (the bartender), for the inappropriate display of genitalia. Don’t ask, ‘cause I don’t remember a thing. :)

The extended Sunday booze-fest with Carlo, Abe & the Nazis (featured above) proved to be detrimental to my Monday, seeing as I had to work the Project Management skeleton shift at the office until 3pm (on New Years Eve…crazy, I know!). I had the mega-shakes for most of the day, but MSD stopped by for lunch at Peep so that helped a bit.

NYE was reserved for a quiet dinner on Ave A and dancing with Tom & EJ at Rush (pics below), the seemingly revolutionized space previously preoccupied by Heaven and the twink set. I had a total blast celebratory-grinding with my bestie and one of my favorite couples in the world. I ended up taking home a loner and waking up with a splitting headache. Happy Fucking New Year!

I spent the first half of New Years Day wanting to die and the second half trying to get my life together. After Mikey D left for the airport (around 3), I was able to finally start cleaning up the mess that had been there since before I left for TN (you might here more on my trip down South later).

Overall, a NYC visit for the record books (or at least my next scrapbook)! Love you, Mikey D. Come back soon. XOXO