Laments for the Living

Remember how I told you about the boy I kinda liked who put up a Dorothy Parker poem as an away message?

Well, he just asked me out to the Sleater-Kinney concert next Friday.


And I totally jumped at the chance.

I'm really glad I don't audioblog, because I am totally giggling like a schoolgirl.


I shudder at the thought of men....
I'm doomed to fall in love again

I thought about a joke involving the word "homonym" but decided against it

You know what sucks? Having two papers due this week. I mean, it's still September. C'mon. I've been spending so much time working on those damn papers I've barely had a chance to log on gay.com to determine whether my new pics improved my dating karma or not.

Anyways, I was chatting with 'the good ex' last night on AIM. He read yesterdays post, and mentioned that Jack Klaff once played a scientist with his name in some bad movie from the early nineties. Well, it's the Russian version of his name, I think, so there are some extra consonants and a few near misses (a C instead of a K, two A's instead of one) but it's still his name.

Two years ago, if I would have noticed that there would have been this huge post about how it was a sign or something, that a guy thought I looked like King David and in some movie that I've never seen or heard of before King David had a slave lover who later played a guy who had the same name as my first love.

A quick perusal of the first few months of this blog proves that yes, I am was that neurotic. I wouldn't recommend reading those first couple of months.

Fortunately I think I've outgrown that part of my life. It's all just a coincidence.

Then again, I did write this post about it, and the paper that's due this afternoon has a couple of paragraphs on Freud, so maybe this is all representative of my subconscious desire to get back together with him or something.

I doubt that's the case.
Or at any rate, I really hope that's not the case.

Another gay.com conversation.

HIM: like face
ME: huh?
HIM: your cute
HIM: look like a cute jewish boy
HIM: are you jewish
ME: nope
HIM: when I picture King David when he was young, I picture u
ME: um, thanks?

For those of you online the other night, you may have realized that I was freaking out about my new gay.com profile pics. And this conversation helped me decide that maybe it was time for the new pictures.

Then again, as Simon pointed out: That means you have some kind of Richard Gere thing going on. He was David. And hey David had Jonathan to shack up with so there you go.

So I guess all I need is to find myself a Jack Klass lookalike.

But first that requires watching the movie, since I have no idea what Jack Klass looks like.

Woof

This weekend, I watched the football game. Not only did I watch Wisconsin beat Michigan, I actually got into it. Not only that, but I was like, understanding what was going on. And, to top it all off, I was drinking beer when I was watching it. That’s right. Beer.

Sure, it was a microbrewed Honey Weiss Bier, but it was still a beer and I was drinking it while watching a sporting event. I am now 37.2% more butch than anyone else you know.

Even though I was acting all butch on Saturday, I still haven’t grown a set and broken things off with Billy. Through his work schedule and my internet’s shaky relationship, I’ve talked to him only once or twice since I made up my mind that things were cut off.

Saturday he called me, but it didn’t feel like the right time to do it. He had a flat tire, and called me while waiting for one of his lesbian friends to come over and fix it. And, while I really wanted to say “A flat tire? Man, that sucks. Do you know what else sucks? The way you’ve been treating me. Goodbye” I didn’t. I guess, at heart, I’m just not that mean of a person. But I wanted to.

At least I scheduled a date with someone else for tonight. I feel kinda guilty setting up a date without going over things with Billy, but he made it very clear last weekend that we were not a couple, so whatever. This new guy may be almost ten years older than I am, but…

Actually, I have no idea how to finish that sentence.

The End of Billy

Yeah, you can all rejoice or feel sorry for me or whatever, but I just can't be strung along like yesterday's meat anymore.

Billy and I and a couple of his friends went out tonight. (Classes on Fridays are for losers.) I'm beyond the point where getting shitfaced on really cheap vodka and walking around downtown is fun, but we live in a democracy and majority rules.

We went to a bar/restaurant sort of thing where one of his friends works, making fun of sorority girls and looking cute in our hats (at some point during the night we all donned hats.)

A woman was selling roses to raise money for hurricane victims. She came to our table, trying to whore out her crappy looking flowers. She made eye contact with Billy and he replied, in all seriousness:

"Well, I would, but I don't have anyone special to give it to."


I don't know what strike that is, but it's a hell of a lot more than three, and he is out of here.



Now all I have to do is tell him.

Part Two

This is a continuation of yesterday's post. I don't want you guys thinking that everything is copasetic for this ridiculously raw youth.

Billy's phone rang at 8:30 the next morning.

We were still in bed, of course, though he had rolled out of the nook by this point and had sort of flopped, belly-up, on the other side of the bed. His arm stretched out, covering me; his hand dancing precariously around my good parts. A couple of times during the night, in the midst of his snoring and drunken murmurings (mamdmfmm...Bob. Club five hjmmmmammm) he grabbed and teased and I politely batted away.

With things so up in the air between us, I'm not going to take advantage of a drunk boy. He once mentioned how one of his biggest fears is getting drunk and getting taken advantage of by some stranger. While I hardly count as a stranger, I was more worried about him trying too hard and losing his lunch on me. As it was, I put the garbage can on his side of the bed.

Besides, more than once he didn't recognize his own strength when drunk and passed out, pulling things in directions that they shouldn't go and spasming in ways that made my boys sad.

On the second ring, he opened his eyes, and leaned up across me to the dresser, and answered the phone. It was a friend of his whom he hadn't seen for like, the entire summer ohmygod! They proceeded to chat for about a half hour, him still in bed next to me, though he sat up after a while while I closed my eyes, cocooned myself in the blankets and faced the other way, cursing the fact that I forgot to close his blinds six hours earlier.

After he chatted, he made some pleasant talk with me, mostly about how drunk he was last night and how he couldn't remember anything after getting to the club. He then got out of bed, put on some shorts, and logged online to chat with people on AIM, mostly talking about how drunk he was the night before, piecing together his night as people awoke.

All this as I lay in his bed, naked with a morning hardon. After I half-sleep, half-help him piece together his night for another hour or so, he walks over and pulls the blankets off of me, reminding me that I've got class in an hour and it's time for him to drive me home.



To borrow a bit from Bill Maher, here is my new rule.

If you're too drunk to stand by youself and so the guy you've been stringing along in a sort of half-dating/taking it slow sort of thing drives you home, makes sure you take your medicine, and politely refuses your drunken advances, if you wake him up at 8:30 the next morning it had better be because his dick is in your mouth. All of it. Sure, some pancakes and scrambled eggs would be nice, but first take care of his sausage before you head to the kitchen.

Otherwise he will be very, very bitter.

The Nook

Billy slept in my nook last night.

I don't think that's ever happened before. I'm usually the one to find the nook. Usually, that's my head nustled where his shoulder meets his armpit, that's my hand cradling his upper chest, my leg curled around his, my hair invariably finding its way up his nose.

It was weird. Nice, but weird. Just being in that position gave me this feeling of, I don't want to say power, but it definitely made me feel in control.

Billy had a little bit too much to drink last night at the gay club (Tuesday nights are 'chicken' nights, though poorly enforced) and I drove him home. I undressed him, and undressed myself, and by the time I knew what was going on, he was in my nook, fast asleep. I even had to remind him for my goodnight kiss.

(I am, in fact, a stickler for some things, and one thing is that if we're two guys who are kinda sorta seeing each other or something and we're sleeping naked in the same bed [he went commando, and drunkenly slurred that if he was nakey, I had to be nakey too] I at least get a kiss goodnight.)

I don't know. Maybe it's because I was in control at the time, and he was very vulnerable (by the time we left, he wasn't able to stand on his own). But it was still nice; a role reversal, even.

I was chatting with Peter (aka the good ex) online the other night, and he actually said the thing that I was thinking but thought it was too dumb to say: I'm gaying it forward.

It's my nook he finds, I'm the older and wiser (though not more experienced; I wouldn't be surprised if Billy has slept with 50 times as many people has I have), I'm the alpha.

Unfortunately, my drink of choice is Red Bull and Vodka, and I while I was more than sober enough to drive the RedBull kept me up for a while, and there's really not much movement to be done when someone's in your nook.

Cheeky!

Remember my roommate who likes to show up at 2AM and play video games in his boxers?

Well, Billy was over here this weekend and definitely got some homovibes from him. Of course, after he mentioned that, I regaled him with stories about how I really am allowed to violate his personal space.

Take, for example, yesterday when he had a rash on his hip and had to fold under the elastic band of his boxers to show me.

His girlfriend was in the room, but whatever. I still saw cheek.

And, considering that he now knows I'm gay, that was surprising. (Billy, as cute as he is, made it pretty evident that we were sorta kinda maybe seeing each other or something, maybe.)

However, shirtless boy is a member of the following groups on the facebook:

--60 Million Votes Is How He Got Reelected
--Move To Canada Like You Promised
--College Republicans

And to think, if he didn't have such a huge nose and a girlfriend whom I went to camp with I would consider getting shirtless boy drunk and taking advantage of him.

I doubt I would actually go through with it, but I would still consider it.

Did I mention Billy's 18?

Because I kinda felt like his babysitter tonight.



God, I hope I wasn't like that when I was dating Peter (aka the good ex).

I'm not a playa I just crush a lot.

(Not me, by the way. Just something I found doing a google image search for 'player.' I do have a pair of glasses like that, though.)

I feel like such a player. At least for me.

See, the other day, when I was feeling down and poopy about the whole Billy situation, I went back online and made a sorta-kinda date for tonight.

It's with a guy I actually did a coffee-sorta date with last year, and we had a good time, but I met Heart a few days later, and one of his friends got put in jail which sort of put him through a loop, so nothing became of it.

I saw him at the big gay dance on-campus the other week, and he IMed me, saying Hi, asking about my summer and all that.

I say sorta-kinda date because I was totally upfront about my situation (which is actually going better, by the way), and he's in a stupid situation as well. See, he broke up with his last boyfriend because he was going to transfer to a different school and didn't want to do a long-distance sort of thing. The transfer fell through, and so now there's this weird 'are they dating or are they not?' thing.

So, in a burst of self-confidence, I suggested that we hang out this weekend and complain about how much boys suck. I still haven't done a good venting, in person, about Heart.

It wasn't going to be a date, because we're both in situations that are up in the air, but he then mentioned that if things go well, he might be tempted to make out with me, because I'm so cute and stuff. (Awww, I know. That's why I think he was tipsy.)

And so we're hanging out tomorrow afternoon. It's not a date, and I'll definitely politely decline to make out with him afterwards (any and all drama with Billy seems to have disappeared when we had watermelon martinis, watched some breakdancers at the union, and then made out for a bit back at my place).

And I didn't tell Billy. He'll be at work at the time, and even though we kissed a bit last night nothing was said specifically about whether we're dating or taking it slow or whatever.

I still feel like a player though. Usually there's like, months and months of celibacy and alone time inbetween boys, but now it looks like I might have two at the same time.

Heh. Two at the same time. I could like, double the number I've slept with in one shot.


Anyways, I feel really weird about the non-sorta-kinda date thing, but I think I'm gonna do it anyway. Unless, of course, enough people leave comments or IM me and convince me to put it off.

"Poor Southerners are HILARIOUS!"

His name is Billy.

I'm not giving him a pseudonym because A) I have absolutely no idea what's going on between us and B) if we ever started dating, we would be Billy-Bob, and, in the words of Jerri Blank, "Poor Southerners are HILARIOUS!" I think the possible jokes are reason enough to date me, but he doesn't see it like that. Not yet, at least.

He took me to the local gay club last night. He took me back to my place about an hour later. Turns out, there wasn't dancing last night. It was lube wrestling.

And we came just in time for the lesbians.

I threw up in my mouth a couple of times, I'll admit.

After I got back to my room (alone, mind you) I decided to go back in the closet until I was seventy, because gay people are icky and I hate you all. Then he called and talked me out of it, but I'm still not heading out to the clubs anytime soon.

BOOOOOO

He called me, half in tears.

His ex just called him, and now he's not sure if he's completely over him. He likes me, he likes me a lot, he's just not sure if he's over his ex yet, and doesn't want me to be a rebound. He wants me to be a real boyfriend.

We got coffee on Sunday, and he cooked me dinner on Monday, and I spent the night, and now we're on a break.

And while I understand completely (I didn't get over my first boyfriend for at least six months), it does suck.

Oh, and to make things more complicated, my dad's been in the hospital for the past few days. In the hubub that comes from his hospitalization, they forgot to pay the cell phone bill, and when I tried to call another friend of mine to vent, I found out that my phone service is now cut off.

BOOOOO.

And now I don't know if I'm on a break or if we're taking it slow, or what. I left a message on his away message saying that my phone is out of service now, which means that if we did break up or however it'd be defined, my track record of getting dumped via AIM is still set.


BOOOOO

Infer!

Hey Bob, where were you last night?

I mean, you didn't answer your phone and I think you're wearing the same outfit as you did yesterday. Your bottle of vodka was missing, but you seem like you're in a really good mood. And who was that who dropped you off in front of the building this morning?

What did you do last night?

Giggle giggle.

say my name, say my name

In contrast to my English 171 lament, the boys outnumber the girls 2 to 1 in my creative writing class.

However, the rest of the boys in the class seem like the kind who write poetry: sullen, quiet, and not very attractive. Booooo.

Anyway, since it's a creative writing class, the teacher (who said he was married but spent far too much time making eye contact with me) had us write a quatrain about our name, and then read it aloud to the class and then we could all guess each other's names. To make things complicated, we were to include a food and a color in our stanza.

I think mine kicked ass, at least for a 5 minute freewrite. It was better than everyone else's at least. They got it on the first guess, the only poem to sucessfully get the name across without referencing a celebrity or a blatant rhyme scheme.

we scuba blindly, gagging for apples
mouths open, eyes closed, wrists behind backs
little boys cheer red delicious, girls granny smith
up and down we search, we demand satisfaction

Yeah, it's good to be writing again.

In Memoriam

I think one the most beautiful sentences written about this day comes from Sarah Vowell's Assassination Vacation. She's in the middle of a tangent about going back in time and trying to talk to a deceased relative who was a member of a pro-slavery guerilla warrior tribe who helped in the massacre at Lawrence, Kansas.

If I were to travel back in time and confront my great-great grandfather the terrorist, what would we say to each other? Remember that in the grandfather paradox, before I kill him, we get into an argument first. Would he defend his motives, tell me some chilling story about the Jawhawker who ruined his life, perhaps enumerate Quantrill's overlooked good qualities? And how might I rebut? Recite "I have a dream?" Sing a few bars of "The KKK Took My Baby Away?" Or maybe I could tell him about the morning in September idealistic young men not unlike himself flew into the city where I live and taught me the meaning of the word crushed.

Also, in what is probably the most inconsiderate, inappropriate, and dare I say French tangent of the day, it is also Peter's (aka the good ex, aka my first love) birthday today.


(via bgay.net)

I've spent far too much time talking about how cool he is in the past; hell, practically the first six months of this blog is pining over him. I found it too difficult to write something about what a great guy he is without making it sound like I was still head over heels with him.

So anyway, if you're in the Indiana area and spy a cutie who you think I might have had lots and lots of hot hot sex with, you should wish him a happy birthday. You could also offer him a blowjob or something; I'm pretty sure he'd politely decline, but it's the thought that counts.

And I am Marie of Romania.

It's a good sign when the boy you kinda sorta like puts up a Dorothy Parker poem for an away message.

A very good sign, indeed.

English 171 Lament

There is something intrinsically beautiful about having no classes on Fridays. Additionally, there is something wonderful about never having class before 11.

However, again, I am the only boy in one of my discussion sections. And again, it is a discussion section about lesbians.

Well, it shouldn't be completely about lesbians, but it is. English 171: Literature, Gender and Sexuality. In addition to Brokeback Mountain and a book about a drag queen, the other five books we have to read in the class are either about horny lesbians, horny girls in third world countries, or horny lesbians in third world countries. I was not pleased when I saw the syllabus.

I would drop the class except there are a lot of really hot guys in the lecture. The only problem is finding out when all those hot guys have their discussion section.

I hope it's not on Friays, or before 11.

What can I say? Like blogfather, like son.

Yum.

I've oft mentioned how much I enjoy guys faces on the brink of orgasm.

Now, I have something else to add to the list:

guys playing video games.

Man, they get so into it, it's like, reminiscent of the hunt or something. It's pure primal and emotional, their faces contort in joy, and when their guys get killed they scream out, face gets red from all the blood, jumping up and down.

And, when they hang out in my room in their boxers, exposing their tan twink bodies (like one of my roommates did until 2 AM last night), it can be very yummy.

Very yummy indeed.

More gay.com stuff.

Seriously, if you've never heard of Jon Stewart, don't even bother to pvt me.

I'd put it in my profile, but no one ever reads that anyway.

From the gay.com chatroom, just now.

Selections from the gay.com public chatroom, names changed, all irrelevant posts and bots removed.

Heart: my phone is ringing! someone cares....
Heart: oh fuck that 'tard calling me.
Heart: and i don't mean [my screenname] either.

I knew that he was talking about me online.

You know all that stuff I said about being over him, not really blaming him and wishing him well in an attempt to improve my dating karma?

Maybe not so much anymore.

3 Points

1. Classes start today. Well, classes start for those losers who have classes on Fridays, but for the select few who were able to secure a four-day week and 3 day weekend, we don't start classes until Tuesday. Tuesday afternoon, even. Hahahaha.

2. Heart has updated his gay.com profile. He now considers himself bisexual. I find this amusing.

3. Wyclef Jean's "Perfect Gentleman" (mp3) has been in my head for the past few days. It is a most awesome song.

Phallic!

Speaking of coming out and whatever, I still haven't come out to my roommates. Well, suitemates. I've got a roommate from last year who knows I'm a homo, but the new guys in the other room have no idea. Whatever.

However, I bought a poster this afternoon, and I think after I find some poster puddy, coming out will be redundant.



Oh, Andy.