Dear_____

You are beautiful.

I always loved you.

I always will.

Forgive me.

My love,

Clem

Up with People

I mean he is really cute. But, so is his boyfriend and so is the guy across from us at the table. So is the singer they all came to see. So is the entire staff of my employees who schlep the drinks to the table.

So, why did this happen to me? Tonight? I feel like a 12 year old boy. All, pitched tents and camp sleeping bags. You show me yours and I'll show you mine.

I am his friend. He is mine. I love his boyfriend. We are friends. I have never made an advance on him nor him on me.

But, tonight, I sat there next to him and he put his hand on my thigh. "Oh my..." As he began to caress it,(non-sexually) I began to grow and swell with excitement and desire. At first, I thought it could be ignored and it would dissipate. But, as he continued the friendly fondling with no expectations on his end, my manhood stood up for itself. I began to fear being discovered not only by my friend's hand, but by the surrounding customers. Or, better yet, by my staff. Because, of course, right now would be the exact time a dire emergency would require my attention. While I was standing at attention.

Wet puppies. Baseball. Newborn babies. RATS. Anything to discourage my hormones. But, no such luck. The libido speaks louder than the words in my mind.

I began to sweat. I could feel the lights searching for my shiny skin as the beads of sweat created a new texture to my face. Do I tell him to stop and embarrass him and me? Do I make a joke like I am being aroused but pretend I am actually not? That would probably force me to get up...from the table that is. And, the truth is, I can't. (I should have never bought these jeans in a 30)

So, I act fast. I grab his hand. I pat it the way a mother would when she's telling her son/daughter it will all be okay. I plaster a huge toothy grin on my face and say, "You can't do that right now. " (insert a tiny forced hee-hee) I continue, "Just stop...and don't ask, and turn away because I getting up (argh!) to leave now."

As I did rise (oy!) to leave the table, I caught him catch a glimpse. He wanted to know if he really had done this thing to me. He had. I wanted to go pat him on the back, because that looked like what he wanted. He looked so proud of his achievement. Instead, I shamefully hustled to the nearest employees only and burst into laughter that steadily became tears.

Is that chemistry? Or was I just extra-extra horny? Or is it both? Or could it have been anyone in that moment, if they touched me just right?

Who knew one of my G spots was the inside of my right thigh through a too-tight pair of Lucky Jeans.

Check Lists

This is the first time I have ever written drunk. intoxicated with alcohol but intoxicated with fear and loathing.

I can't quite understand what is happening in my world right now. I give. Or so I think. I think. Or so I feel. I feel or so I wished.

But, ultimately, the dealer is tossing out the worst hand.

People warned me of this. Of turning 30. Of realizing your truths. Of actualizing your reality. And, I recently was asked by a reader, if I was happy.

He said he follows my blog and wants to know if I am sad. I guess I lied. I told him I am happy. Because, I don't have much to not be happy about. I have friends, and a great job, and a great family and tons of other wonderful things happening in my life. But, I seem to be missing reality. Reality seems to be passing me by and I have no idea. Reality seems to be knocking on my door and I stay in bed fearing it is a creditor or my landlord. Reality is....

that I am not attractive.

that I am not doing what I came here to do.

that I am sadder than I ever realized.

that I am older than I ever intended to be.

that life is not a passing fancy.

that my friends are not always my FRIENDS.

that truth takes some digging.

that I have not learned enough to move on.

that I will always fuck up.

that I don't know how to live and let live.

that I make mistakes.

that he did love me.

that he still does.

that he lied. that they will lie. that i will too.

I am drunk. i am sad. I am publishing this post no matter what.

Reality check.

Job-Check
Money-Check
Friends-Check
Family-Check
Love------?
Truth-----?

What does it take to receive the check marks I deserve.

Tactile

The sadness of it all is actually wearing off and I am beginning to see the humor in it.

The anger is still on the surface, but I find myself giggling a little inside when I think of telling my girlfriend on the phone about the kisses. I called them sloppy, sappy, sorry smooches. This is kind of comical in a cute sort of way.

The disgust element is lingering but the laughter seems to be winning by just a nose.

Ultimately, I ask you, how do you feel about unrequited affection? Or better yet, affection that is reciprocated but with an apologetic tone and a placating impact.

He says he is a tactile person. How scientific. Such a scholarly way to put it.

It's touchy feely, sweet thang. And you all touchy and no feely.

I wished my writing were stronger. My descriptives more detailed.

Forgetful and Regretful

I can't believe it. The elephant walk happened this year on March 27th. One week ago. I can't believe I missed it.

Every year about this time. Usually between St. Patrick's Day and March 30th, I watch my all-time favorite movie Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind. This is how I learned of the Elephant Parade that happens yearly (about the same time) when the circus is in town.

The scary part is that I watched Eternal Sunshine, on March 26th (which was really after midnight, so therefore March 27th). Cosmic timing is everything in my life. I won't miss next year's. Not for the world. Even if I don't live in the city, I will come back for this.

The quote goes..."How happy is the blameless Vestal's lot! The world forgetting, by the world forgot: Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each prayer accepted, and each wish resigned." Alexander Pope

IF

If I left would people notice? Would they miss me? Would they move on quickly?

If I said I love you would you run?

If I never changed jobs would you judge me?

If I moved would I survive?

If I went bald would I still be attractive?

If I asked for the truth would it still sound like a lie?

If I order another drink....?

If I lie about my day do I start to believe it?

So Help Me God

I couldn't really tell you the truth. Even though I am known for speaking my mind. It's still not the whole truth. Although, I know you see through my in-genuine smiles and half-hearted hugs. So, you are, at least, aware of my truth existing. You just don't know what it says.

Here lies the truth.

The truth is, he is not smart enough for you and I can't be around you when he is around.

The truth is, I want you to want to see me-not hope that I am around when you drop by.

The truth is, I respect you too much to be witness or accomplice to your poor choices.

The truth is, I get jealous of your free time. The amount of it. The way you utilize and misuse it.

The truth is, I get tired sooner/quicker than ever.

The truth is, I hate when you don't text promptly.

The truth is, I need to be touched no matter how much I recoil.

The truth is, I am not always looking for something more/better.

The truth is, I can be so happy being unhappy.

The truth is, I don't pay enough attention to my happy.

The truth is, I probably need you more than I should.

The truth is, I probably love you more than you do me.

The truth is, I am loving myself...for the first time in a long time.

Don't be Sad Get GLADD

I happened to be lucky enough to attend the Gladd Media awards on Monday night at the Mariott Ballroom in Times Square. Sitting with my boss, his partner, and various other successful GLBT business persons and creative types.

I bumped elbows with Tom Ford, smiled and shared a joke with Julianne Moore, shook hands with Kate Clinton, thanked Cynthia Nixon for her generous donation, made google eyes at Robert Gant and tried to remind Heather Matarazzo of our fleeting but fun friendship back in '01.

I listened to Whoopi Goldberg crack us all up with her straight forward quips and loving acceptance of a community that has kept her afloat. I listened to Cynthia Nixon find a sense of humor about her late blooming. I soaked up Rosie O' Donell's politics mixed with genuine thanks and humbleness at the success of her family cruise line and the documentary that I had no idea existed about it. I was warmed by John Water's confident manner and truthful approach toward the audience.

Then came the montage of video footage and media coverage in the last year. The good, the bad, the ugly and the beautiful.

I cried.

Nothing too intense just small, sniffly tears.

My visibility as a gay man is more powerful than I will ever know. Each person who takes a stride in public to be recognized, accepted, themselves, etc., is making crucial steps and huge advances in the way we are perceived, portrayed, treated and ultimately understood.

Everything has to do with everything. From Ann Coulter to Rosie O' Donell. From coming out to killings.

It has only been 40 years since the movement really became a movement.

Progress is evident.

I felt empowered, inspired, accepted and safe Monday night.

That doesn't happen very often.

Thank you for being GLADD.

This Just In...

It's been awhile. I know.

It is also very rare that I journal within my blog. Lately, over the past year I have only eluded to my life or written from various perspectives. Sometimes, I have even tried my hand at fiction. But, mostly I have tried to keep a "James Frey" approach to my writing. A fine line between reality and fiction. True emotion or assignment of such. I write in vague metaphors which some "writers" can not stand, other's relish. I stretch myself as a thinker. I give you only a taste of what I might be going through with little to no explanation. Or I rely on a funny story from my past that is guaranteed to garner comments.

This blog exists solely for my own needs. It scratches an itch I have. The itch to try all the uncharted areas of my creativity. The itch to express myself. The itch to gossip safely and anonymously (sort of). The itch or urge rather to be read and understood. The desire to find commonalities among other thinkers and evolving human beings out there.

The blog stems from the creativity and thoughts of other's. Specifically, it's beginnings come from Joely's company. One of my best friend's blogs. This blog has been many things. It's been a bitch fest, a vent system, a piece of art, a lesson in loneliness, an exercise in storytelling, etc. Through her thoughts I found other thinkers. Too many to name here. Some are linked other's are not...yet. But, there are so many people out there with so much to say. Your blogs and your comments often stir my thoughts enough to provoke me to write. Thank you.

I never want to be a Stephanie Klien or a Joe.My.God. or a Perez Hilton. (Or maybe the longing is so deep it hasn't penetrated me yet.) I just want to write when I feel like it and when I have the time.

Lately, things are going well for me. I am surviving work. I am learning to live by myself more and more each day. I am trying to relax my thoughts and my reactions. I am looking at myself in the mirror again and content with what is reflected back at me. I am deepening my personal relationships. I am making goals. I am taking the baby steps needed to reach them. I am working on my tolerance. I am focusing on my future (one tiny fragment at a time). And I am not feeling guilty for much of anything anymore. That is the biggest step. I have been sad and lonely because I feel guilty for silly things, unimportant things, and things that have passed and there's nothing more that could be done.

I have a lot more to say than this. I just wanted to post an update.

This just in.

Life just IS right now. Nothing too fabulous or tragic to report.

I am Being.

Emergency Contact

It was most definitely an emergency. It came with sirens in the form of moans and screams, lights in the speed of my movements, and urgency in my anxious gut throwing me on an airplane in a two week spontaneous decision. Hell, it practically came from a megaphone that was magically attached to my shower head while I sang my heart out.

At least that's how my mind would describe it.

I needed contact with another. Physical, emotional, genuine, tangible contact. I needed to feel flesh. I needed to smell skin. I needed to hear another's heartbeat. I wanted fingers intertwined and legs draped. I wanted tongues to touch and run. I wanted breath to breathe life into me. I needed to know I was real. That my body still had feeling. That my soul still had energy and connection. It felt like an emergency.

Emergency Contact.

Over the course of the past few months, I have had to brave my doctor and then a dentist and soon the dermatologist.
With these visits comes a lot of paperwork. Forms with check lists and redundant information that is located on my driver's license, my insurance forms, my medical records, etc. Questions about my sexual activity, my allergies, my family history, my habits.

Then there is always the emergency contact section.

I always pause when I reach this point in the forms. My pen or number 2 pencil hovers over the blank space.

I don't have anyone to put on the emergency contact.

I certainly can't put the beautiful man who, only recently, satisfied my longing and craving for emergency contact.

I guess the emergency is over. But, I still need the contact.

You know, in case of an emergency.