Life never stops for anything. A sad embrace of losing something, yet turning around and finding something better. In the evolution of the species, they had to leave the former habitat that he was once familiar with to enter a new one. Like the previous reference with butterflies. They change from using the element of earth to transforming into using their wings to use the element of air to travel. Leaving the world they once grown accustomed to, and finding a new way to move. A new way to be. Fine, I know, that's not evolution, but the point was still there.
The embers slowly began to fade, as did Rob's conciousness, as well as my own. We began to make our way to his bedroom. When we entered inside it, I suddenly felt really nervous. Everything is going great, but I remembered how the last one ended. And walking to the bed, I felt like I was walking into an iron maiden. Once he laid down on the bed, and we began watching The Big Gay Sketch Show, I began to realize that I, just as the butterfly, was starting to lose one element to gain another.
Realizing that if I keep holding onto something that has long ago died, I will be the only one left feeling sorry for myself. And with that, I moved my hand to Rob's back and begin to touch. And with that I felt like I had finally learned to let go. Once I did, I felt like my own body was coming back to life. Like someone gave my aching body a percocet and I was finally able to feel again. Then once we got under the covers together and began to hold each other. I felt like I was not going to be the same person that I was when I woke up the morning before. Yet waking up to someone that wants you to be there and won't give up on you?
I woke up to see him sleeping. At peace. I smirked a bit as I laid back down in the bed. The next morning was welcomed with chattering, a text message from Scott offering some chocolate creme pie and irish creme coffee in bed for two. Can we not be anymore desperate? I feel like I am a celebrity in the house, his roommate will stop at nothing to get me. Yvonne made her appearance in our room while we were cuddling talking about the morning. Can my life be any more different now?
While Rob was making some breakfast--shirtless---his roommate decided to just poke around. Rob was telling me to take off my shirt to show Yvonne my bod, but I knew that there would be no way I would give his roommate pleasure in any way. But while sitting on the patio, watching the neighborhood wake up. Watching the gay doctor drive off in his new Audi because he is making bank and seeing people walking their dogs down the Wisteria Lane-like lane.
I then began to realize that I had finally crossed over, like a ghost crossing over after haunting his house for a year. Waking up in another town, having a different feeling, feeling excitement of what my new chapter in my life is offering.
Evolution, in order for mankind to be better. Experiences release to become a more advanced species. Because if we stay in the same point, while the rest of humanity is advanced, we will be caught up in the past, like homeschooled children with no interaction with the outside world. Attempting to catch up with an ever accelerating society.
to be continued...
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Evolution: Habitat (part 2)
It's interesting to watch a new animal in an new environment. Most of the time that they are pushed there, they spend time observing the other species around them, categorizing them in the friend/foe arenas. Yet at the same time, they are also observing their environment, finding the pleasureable spots as well as the emergency exits in case something should go wrong. I think I just strayed from talking National Geographic and turning it into a day of the life of a gay man. I am not comparing us to animals that work on instinct...well in a way, I am...but I am mainly talking about environment.
As a writer, I observe. I watch people's interactions to understand humanity. Finding out what makes them tick and what makes them get ticked off. I may be a silent person at first, but once I am familiar with the environment, it's hard to shut me up. Another thing with being a writer, I crave different experiences and want to hear people's stories.
Upon driving Rob home. I realized how tired I was, and how fucked I am for the next morning as I have to work at eight o'clock in the morning to do paperwork for camp. I really wanted to stay, but I didn't want to stay and leave like a hooker in the morning. After getting in my car and driving down the highway back to my hostile habitat, I realized that I wanted to go back. Something new. A new habitat.
I go to my work habitat, shelving paperwork and writing names for the camps schedule for the following monday. I get an invite from Rob to come back to his house for barbecue with his friends. Something new. I accepted. I was excited. Something new.
I arrive at his house. He was at the store. I spent time reading the latest GLT magazine to pass time. For some reason, I was nervous. Nervous about me being courageous and taking a step forward from where I had been the previous week. Feeling that my life is slowly going to start evolving again. Then he arrives with his neighbor, named Yvonne.
One thing that you discover about your new habitat is the new people you meet. They have insider's info of the person that you are hanging out with. I found out, while carrying some of Yvonne's groceries, that Rob went to culinary school. So dinner sounded so much better now.
When I returned to Rob's house, I met another person in Rob's habitat: his roommate Scott. I smile and introduce myself as Rob was putting groceries. I could tell from their subliminal interactions that they really didn't like each other. Or that Rob didn't just like Scott. I wanted to say it was comical to watch, until we sat at the table eating dinner with Yvonne, Scott, Rob and I. Sipping our margaritas. Scott gets up and walks back inside, because we were outside in the backyard. As soon as he steps inside, Rob and Yvonne start laughing. Being oblivious to what is going on...I had to ask.
"okay, I don't think I have ever seen him like that!" Rob said to Yvonne who was laughing. "He has a big time crush on you Pablo."
Okay. One thing about a habitat, is you get those weird people that don't really fit in the foe category. But they sure as hell don't fit in the friend category....but find themselves in that gray matter. Where other mysteries lie. Like the Bermuda Triangle, and X-Files.
One thing that I did notice is that when I am in the room, his roommate takes a sudden interest in where ever I am. For example, the night that I took Rob home. I noticed a series of gaudy clothes. Obvious proof of entering drag queen territory. I was praying it wasn't Rob that was into that. Today, when I arrived, he began to put them away, walking by the kitchen and internally pleading for me to exchange glances with him.
Dinner was still going on. And let me tell you, damn! Rob is a great cook. If there is anything that is a good dealmaker, it's a guy that knows how to cook. I am not talking about sticking a Kraft mac n' cheese in the microwave either. I am talking about making stuff from scratch, like marinade, complimenting other courses to the meal. Great aphrodesiacs let me tell you.
Scott returns to the table, turns on some Michael Buble, and offers me chocolate with alcohol in it. As he was explaining each of the chocolates and what types of alcohol that was in them, Yvonne starts talking. My attention was diverted to her, a woman's voice never sounded so pleasant than saving me from hearing Scott make the moves on me.
I felt uncomfortable having this guy try to get up on my business when I am busy trying to get in someone else's. I mean. He couldn't take a hint that I was not interested and continued going on.
After dinner, we created a little campfire and just sat by it. Smoking and talking. Well, I wasn't talking, I suddenly turned into observation mode and watched Rob and Yvonne talk. Several thoughts begin to ravel in my head.
As a writer, I begin to find a connection with incorporating this into my own script or series that I would be working on. Watching their interactions with each other while ignoring someone else's. Yet also at the same time, I was also watching their reactions. Gay men and girls are meant to be in perfect harmony. They didn't create Will and Grace for no reason. Watching how they were talking about meeting Yvonne's boyfriend and their descriptions of him, it got me thinking about my own little magnets (the nicer term for fag-hag). Lindsay and I talk about so much stuff. Observing the two, I pictured Lindsay and I talking for that long and if we lived next door to each other, this is how we would act. I almost became envious of what they have.
Eventually, Rob and I were left alone. Making little conversation but both taking a incredible fascination to the dying flames of the fires. I couldn't help but look at Rob while he was zoning out. Something about him, I can't put my finger on it yet....but I can tell that there is something that I find just so intriguing about him. maybe it's because he can cook. Or maybe it's because his habitat is so different, so friendly, so inviting, that I just don't want to turn away from it.
His friends, his house, his neighbor, his backyard, all different elements that are so new. Time was going smoothly as we were just sitting there, as I was observing my world changing once again. I hate change, but maybe I can allow this possible new habitat to have a chance...maybe...not making plans though...because if there's one thing that I learn from the last run, is to never make plans. The moment you do is when you lose something. Life never grants promises. Humanity can never guarantee someone happiness all day and all night. If they do, that's called valium. But the habitat that I found myself in has slowly become something that I am enjoying...
to be continued...
As a writer, I observe. I watch people's interactions to understand humanity. Finding out what makes them tick and what makes them get ticked off. I may be a silent person at first, but once I am familiar with the environment, it's hard to shut me up. Another thing with being a writer, I crave different experiences and want to hear people's stories.
Upon driving Rob home. I realized how tired I was, and how fucked I am for the next morning as I have to work at eight o'clock in the morning to do paperwork for camp. I really wanted to stay, but I didn't want to stay and leave like a hooker in the morning. After getting in my car and driving down the highway back to my hostile habitat, I realized that I wanted to go back. Something new. A new habitat.
I go to my work habitat, shelving paperwork and writing names for the camps schedule for the following monday. I get an invite from Rob to come back to his house for barbecue with his friends. Something new. I accepted. I was excited. Something new.
I arrive at his house. He was at the store. I spent time reading the latest GLT magazine to pass time. For some reason, I was nervous. Nervous about me being courageous and taking a step forward from where I had been the previous week. Feeling that my life is slowly going to start evolving again. Then he arrives with his neighbor, named Yvonne.
One thing that you discover about your new habitat is the new people you meet. They have insider's info of the person that you are hanging out with. I found out, while carrying some of Yvonne's groceries, that Rob went to culinary school. So dinner sounded so much better now.
When I returned to Rob's house, I met another person in Rob's habitat: his roommate Scott. I smile and introduce myself as Rob was putting groceries. I could tell from their subliminal interactions that they really didn't like each other. Or that Rob didn't just like Scott. I wanted to say it was comical to watch, until we sat at the table eating dinner with Yvonne, Scott, Rob and I. Sipping our margaritas. Scott gets up and walks back inside, because we were outside in the backyard. As soon as he steps inside, Rob and Yvonne start laughing. Being oblivious to what is going on...I had to ask.
"okay, I don't think I have ever seen him like that!" Rob said to Yvonne who was laughing. "He has a big time crush on you Pablo."
Okay. One thing about a habitat, is you get those weird people that don't really fit in the foe category. But they sure as hell don't fit in the friend category....but find themselves in that gray matter. Where other mysteries lie. Like the Bermuda Triangle, and X-Files.
One thing that I did notice is that when I am in the room, his roommate takes a sudden interest in where ever I am. For example, the night that I took Rob home. I noticed a series of gaudy clothes. Obvious proof of entering drag queen territory. I was praying it wasn't Rob that was into that. Today, when I arrived, he began to put them away, walking by the kitchen and internally pleading for me to exchange glances with him.
Dinner was still going on. And let me tell you, damn! Rob is a great cook. If there is anything that is a good dealmaker, it's a guy that knows how to cook. I am not talking about sticking a Kraft mac n' cheese in the microwave either. I am talking about making stuff from scratch, like marinade, complimenting other courses to the meal. Great aphrodesiacs let me tell you.
Scott returns to the table, turns on some Michael Buble, and offers me chocolate with alcohol in it. As he was explaining each of the chocolates and what types of alcohol that was in them, Yvonne starts talking. My attention was diverted to her, a woman's voice never sounded so pleasant than saving me from hearing Scott make the moves on me.
I felt uncomfortable having this guy try to get up on my business when I am busy trying to get in someone else's. I mean. He couldn't take a hint that I was not interested and continued going on.
After dinner, we created a little campfire and just sat by it. Smoking and talking. Well, I wasn't talking, I suddenly turned into observation mode and watched Rob and Yvonne talk. Several thoughts begin to ravel in my head.
As a writer, I begin to find a connection with incorporating this into my own script or series that I would be working on. Watching their interactions with each other while ignoring someone else's. Yet also at the same time, I was also watching their reactions. Gay men and girls are meant to be in perfect harmony. They didn't create Will and Grace for no reason. Watching how they were talking about meeting Yvonne's boyfriend and their descriptions of him, it got me thinking about my own little magnets (the nicer term for fag-hag). Lindsay and I talk about so much stuff. Observing the two, I pictured Lindsay and I talking for that long and if we lived next door to each other, this is how we would act. I almost became envious of what they have.
Eventually, Rob and I were left alone. Making little conversation but both taking a incredible fascination to the dying flames of the fires. I couldn't help but look at Rob while he was zoning out. Something about him, I can't put my finger on it yet....but I can tell that there is something that I find just so intriguing about him. maybe it's because he can cook. Or maybe it's because his habitat is so different, so friendly, so inviting, that I just don't want to turn away from it.
His friends, his house, his neighbor, his backyard, all different elements that are so new. Time was going smoothly as we were just sitting there, as I was observing my world changing once again. I hate change, but maybe I can allow this possible new habitat to have a chance...maybe...not making plans though...because if there's one thing that I learn from the last run, is to never make plans. The moment you do is when you lose something. Life never grants promises. Humanity can never guarantee someone happiness all day and all night. If they do, that's called valium. But the habitat that I found myself in has slowly become something that I am enjoying...
to be continued...
Evolution: The Double Take (part 1)
Evolution. The way something changes by way of pain and time. A tadpole moves from being a sperm with a dark tan into becoming a frog. Some can be cute and cuddly; others can be just ugly...like men that go to Bear Night at Rich's:fat, hairy, wearing the leather to reveal their dominance over their insecurities...well a handful that go there is cute.
But sometimes evolutions allow us to change at such a dramatic rate that the change can at first seem uncomfortable, but the results make us do a double-take to help us realize that we are not imagining anything. I looked in the mirror this morning and saw a different person. Someone that will always have pain, but will always give life a second, third, fourth, fourteenth chance. I am changing. Changing into a person that learns from his pain and finds a way to make it better. Like this past weekend. But before talking about that, I must go to a prologue...to the weekend before, when Mister Big was there and ruined my night.
Back Room. Numbers. 11 pm. Dancing with my friend Michael. I felt the urge to get up on one of the podiums and dance my ass off. It's kind of funny how one audition has turned into an addiction for attention...that and the incredible endorphin rush that comes with it...another drug I love and will discuss on another blog. While I was up there, behind the pedestal dividing us, I saw two guys staring at me. I couldn't tell if it was disgust or pleasure, but I continued dancing.
Twenty minutes later, I go back into the room. And see the two guys dancing in between the two podiums. They caught my glance and one of them, whom I now know as Gabe, pointed to me, then to the podium following the words: "You. Podium. Now!" And feeling the love/lust, I resume my spot on the podium, kicking the other guy off.
Gabe turns around as I get down on my knees and feel his body. Then he pushes his other friend at me. He was shy, but I made sure that it didn't last. I reach for the bottom of his shirt, and pull it off. Creating a wardrobe malfunction and revealing his muscles underneath. I get off the podium to dance with the two guys. Gabe pushes the shy guy at me. I started dancing with him while hearing Gabe scream in my ear: "He needs to take you home tonight!"
Suddenly, everything turned Cinderella on me, forcing me to leave the fun I was having someone decided to be a jackass. He goes by the name of Mister Big. Yeah that one.
One week passes by, angry where my life is going and how I can't wait to get out of this hell that I am in. I texted Mister Big to tell him that I am going to Rich's and to stay away because I want to have fun without any drama.
Dirty Pop night. A night where things finally took a turn. The first hour was dedicated to fighting off drunk Australian girls and trying to have me get hooked up with their ugly drunk Aussie gay friend. They would get up on the podium and dance...needless to say, it got annoying really fast.
Suddenly, the sea of girls in flashy dresses parted, bringing a whole new meaning to parting the Red Sea, and I seen that guy from Numbers.
In my two years of being an out-of-the-closet gay male, I have never run into the same person more than once at a club. Well besides the ugly people that can't dance, but they don't count. When I saw him, I began to make my way over to him. I approach him and say "Your name is Rob?" He nods his head, smiling and trying to hide other emotions. Gabe looks to see that it's "that guy from Numbers." He comes up to me and says: "He has been looking for you all week. We looked around the club that night searching for you!"
I am going to skip the other details that happened at the club because they aren't relevant. Let's go to the end.
1:30 a.m. They begin to leave the club, I follow them. The steam and fog from inside the club seeps out of the door and into the warm summer night. Gabe reaches in Rob's pants to pull out his cell phone. He walks up to me and says: "what's your number?"
"What are you doing?" Rob asks taking the phone back and looks at me. "What's your number?"
I give it to him. His friends were trying to hook us up like Yentyl the Jewish Matchmaker in Fiddler on the Roof. Asking me where I parked my car. "The Center?" I reply.
"Okay cool. Well can you walk him to the Center and we will pick him up?"
Then in a flash, Gabe, his boyfriend John, and their friend Glenn take off, leaving Rob and I together, alone. Obviously we were talking and making time pass by as we were walking to the Center. By the time we get there, his friends show up again to ask me something else: "Pablo sweetie, can you take him home? He doesn't live too far."
Not leaving time for an acceptance or refusal, they took off. I didn't mind taking him home. I just began to realize the evolution of my own life.
Did man ever realize, according to theory of course, upon entering his evolution...did he realize...wow, I don't have quite as much hair as I used to. Wow. I actually look attractive without that extreme underbite. When did man realize that he was changing; and if they did, were they enjoying the change? And if they did, am I really ready to transform again? Am I ready to become the stronger species that won't be gobbled up. I mean, I am already facing pain and feeling the change happening. But will I become the survivor of the fittest, or find another vein of pain? What does this all mean for me?
To be continued...
But sometimes evolutions allow us to change at such a dramatic rate that the change can at first seem uncomfortable, but the results make us do a double-take to help us realize that we are not imagining anything. I looked in the mirror this morning and saw a different person. Someone that will always have pain, but will always give life a second, third, fourth, fourteenth chance. I am changing. Changing into a person that learns from his pain and finds a way to make it better. Like this past weekend. But before talking about that, I must go to a prologue...to the weekend before, when Mister Big was there and ruined my night.
Back Room. Numbers. 11 pm. Dancing with my friend Michael. I felt the urge to get up on one of the podiums and dance my ass off. It's kind of funny how one audition has turned into an addiction for attention...that and the incredible endorphin rush that comes with it...another drug I love and will discuss on another blog. While I was up there, behind the pedestal dividing us, I saw two guys staring at me. I couldn't tell if it was disgust or pleasure, but I continued dancing.
Twenty minutes later, I go back into the room. And see the two guys dancing in between the two podiums. They caught my glance and one of them, whom I now know as Gabe, pointed to me, then to the podium following the words: "You. Podium. Now!" And feeling the love/lust, I resume my spot on the podium, kicking the other guy off.
Gabe turns around as I get down on my knees and feel his body. Then he pushes his other friend at me. He was shy, but I made sure that it didn't last. I reach for the bottom of his shirt, and pull it off. Creating a wardrobe malfunction and revealing his muscles underneath. I get off the podium to dance with the two guys. Gabe pushes the shy guy at me. I started dancing with him while hearing Gabe scream in my ear: "He needs to take you home tonight!"
Suddenly, everything turned Cinderella on me, forcing me to leave the fun I was having someone decided to be a jackass. He goes by the name of Mister Big. Yeah that one.
One week passes by, angry where my life is going and how I can't wait to get out of this hell that I am in. I texted Mister Big to tell him that I am going to Rich's and to stay away because I want to have fun without any drama.
Dirty Pop night. A night where things finally took a turn. The first hour was dedicated to fighting off drunk Australian girls and trying to have me get hooked up with their ugly drunk Aussie gay friend. They would get up on the podium and dance...needless to say, it got annoying really fast.
Suddenly, the sea of girls in flashy dresses parted, bringing a whole new meaning to parting the Red Sea, and I seen that guy from Numbers.
In my two years of being an out-of-the-closet gay male, I have never run into the same person more than once at a club. Well besides the ugly people that can't dance, but they don't count. When I saw him, I began to make my way over to him. I approach him and say "Your name is Rob?" He nods his head, smiling and trying to hide other emotions. Gabe looks to see that it's "that guy from Numbers." He comes up to me and says: "He has been looking for you all week. We looked around the club that night searching for you!"
I am going to skip the other details that happened at the club because they aren't relevant. Let's go to the end.
1:30 a.m. They begin to leave the club, I follow them. The steam and fog from inside the club seeps out of the door and into the warm summer night. Gabe reaches in Rob's pants to pull out his cell phone. He walks up to me and says: "what's your number?"
"What are you doing?" Rob asks taking the phone back and looks at me. "What's your number?"
I give it to him. His friends were trying to hook us up like Yentyl the Jewish Matchmaker in Fiddler on the Roof. Asking me where I parked my car. "The Center?" I reply.
"Okay cool. Well can you walk him to the Center and we will pick him up?"
Then in a flash, Gabe, his boyfriend John, and their friend Glenn take off, leaving Rob and I together, alone. Obviously we were talking and making time pass by as we were walking to the Center. By the time we get there, his friends show up again to ask me something else: "Pablo sweetie, can you take him home? He doesn't live too far."
Not leaving time for an acceptance or refusal, they took off. I didn't mind taking him home. I just began to realize the evolution of my own life.
Did man ever realize, according to theory of course, upon entering his evolution...did he realize...wow, I don't have quite as much hair as I used to. Wow. I actually look attractive without that extreme underbite. When did man realize that he was changing; and if they did, were they enjoying the change? And if they did, am I really ready to transform again? Am I ready to become the stronger species that won't be gobbled up. I mean, I am already facing pain and feeling the change happening. But will I become the survivor of the fittest, or find another vein of pain? What does this all mean for me?
To be continued...
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Pain is the Writer's pen...and scapel
Earlier tonight, I vented my frustrations of the things that are bothering me in my life to a dear friend that had the patience listen to me bitch for over an hour on the phone hearing my cries of frustration and longing for happiness.
I am starting to become something that is fearful of making a mistake; fearful of what he might become; fearful that in a couple months, he is going to have to make a really big decision that will effect his future. The very thought of making a mistake wakes me up at night, almost praying to God for it to not happen. That I might the right decision and learn to grow in it, without any second thoughts...yet they haunt me.
The downside to being who I am...there is not enough space on this blog to even begin. But basically: I am a forgiving, always loving, self-sacrificing, gay male that wants to be happy. I know that sounds like everyone's ambition. But when you were raised in this same environment, maybe you would understand.
I don't mean to look for pity. I am basically just letting out my frustrations. This is my version of cutting myself. Writing has become a form of release. My own blood becomes the ink to my own pen, writing the pain in my life. Yet although it has become a tool to warn others, it has also become the scapel to cut me open. Exposing my insides and really discovering the anatomy to my own foreign body. Yes, it's painful and it will get messy; a writer's life is never blood free. I feel like my heart is being operated on while I am still awake.Watching them callouse some parts and softening up others for emergencies.
Yet, sometimes, I feel like I am hardening up and becoming afraid to open myself up to people. I will soon be the statue of David. Hard as marble (my heart that is, not my hard-on), and although I may look pleasing to the eye, I am not willing to budge or change for fear of yet another person breaking my heart.
I am starting to become something that is fearful of making a mistake; fearful of what he might become; fearful that in a couple months, he is going to have to make a really big decision that will effect his future. The very thought of making a mistake wakes me up at night, almost praying to God for it to not happen. That I might the right decision and learn to grow in it, without any second thoughts...yet they haunt me.
The downside to being who I am...there is not enough space on this blog to even begin. But basically: I am a forgiving, always loving, self-sacrificing, gay male that wants to be happy. I know that sounds like everyone's ambition. But when you were raised in this same environment, maybe you would understand.
I don't mean to look for pity. I am basically just letting out my frustrations. This is my version of cutting myself. Writing has become a form of release. My own blood becomes the ink to my own pen, writing the pain in my life. Yet although it has become a tool to warn others, it has also become the scapel to cut me open. Exposing my insides and really discovering the anatomy to my own foreign body. Yes, it's painful and it will get messy; a writer's life is never blood free. I feel like my heart is being operated on while I am still awake.Watching them callouse some parts and softening up others for emergencies.
Yet, sometimes, I feel like I am hardening up and becoming afraid to open myself up to people. I will soon be the statue of David. Hard as marble (my heart that is, not my hard-on), and although I may look pleasing to the eye, I am not willing to budge or change for fear of yet another person breaking my heart.
Monday, June 16, 2008
The Greater Good?
War is man's fallen nature where good and evil are blurred by each other's biased opinion. Beginning with the old Biblical wars to the pointless "War on Terror," it will always be man's way of solving a problem. Instead of discussing peace, we resort to hatred and war to solve a problem.
We see this in our media. We have shows resorting to tracking a man within a day's span of stopping terrorists from blowing up yet another car or killing yet another stuntman. News screaming of death and destruction because some President lied to us of the "enemy" having weapons of mass destruction, killing a leader just because he hated him, and let the real answer to the problem get away to hide and ridicule us via VCR tapes. We even enjoy watching humans get in a fight, not only in boxing matches, but also in shows where we find out just who is the man that is sleeping with a girls-ex-husband's-drag-queen-bestializing-best-friends-lover and enjoy each other duking it out as the bouncers pretend to hold back the fight.
Yet sometimes in our culture, we begin to understand that really, if two different cultures view the other as an enemy, what is really doing the greater good? If one culture is disagreeing with the other, what defines a person's moral behavior to be just and to be "doing the right thing"?
This is how I feel like in my own personal life. I am watching two of my emotions in a constant battle over one another. Trying to move on from someone I love so much, but also is notorious for breaking my heart so often in my life. I begin to wonder if I stay in situations like this because I am a massochist, or if it's because I am always used to being let down from my male influences that it just seems to be the human behavior that I surround myself with, or could it be possibly I still wait and hope that one day, he is going to come to terms with himself and realize that I am the best thing that happened to him and that he needs to come to me.
Yet my emotions just fight over one another, almost like an alcoholic begging for the drink, but knows he must remain sober to uphold his agreement to the Serenity's Prayer. I know it's going to make me feel worse in the long run, but as long as I have something there to let out stress of my family hating me for being gay, or dealing with two bimbo bosses that don't think all the way., or frustrated with how everyone is moving on with their lives and careers, yet I am choosing to stay in the same place for one guy?
One side to me begs me to leave this place, move to Hollywood and start over. Allowing myself to become dedicated to my writing to get me by in life and make me into a successful person that I always dreamed of; or constantly waiting for someone and blaming him down the long line of years into the future because I gave up my life to be the most loved person that I always dreamed of. Sometimes I don't even make sense.
Very much in similarities, it is just like war. What side is doing the greater good to benefit my life? Am I doing the right thing in being selfish, something that I am not used to being; or am I doing the right thing to fight for the one person I really love? Sometimes doing all these things in my head, I wonder, what is the greater good in my life? What will make me the most happiest. And the scary thing is, I have been hurt by either side, I really have no idea who is winning this war...
We see this in our media. We have shows resorting to tracking a man within a day's span of stopping terrorists from blowing up yet another car or killing yet another stuntman. News screaming of death and destruction because some President lied to us of the "enemy" having weapons of mass destruction, killing a leader just because he hated him, and let the real answer to the problem get away to hide and ridicule us via VCR tapes. We even enjoy watching humans get in a fight, not only in boxing matches, but also in shows where we find out just who is the man that is sleeping with a girls-ex-husband's-drag-queen-bestializing-best-friends-lover and enjoy each other duking it out as the bouncers pretend to hold back the fight.
Yet sometimes in our culture, we begin to understand that really, if two different cultures view the other as an enemy, what is really doing the greater good? If one culture is disagreeing with the other, what defines a person's moral behavior to be just and to be "doing the right thing"?
This is how I feel like in my own personal life. I am watching two of my emotions in a constant battle over one another. Trying to move on from someone I love so much, but also is notorious for breaking my heart so often in my life. I begin to wonder if I stay in situations like this because I am a massochist, or if it's because I am always used to being let down from my male influences that it just seems to be the human behavior that I surround myself with, or could it be possibly I still wait and hope that one day, he is going to come to terms with himself and realize that I am the best thing that happened to him and that he needs to come to me.
Yet my emotions just fight over one another, almost like an alcoholic begging for the drink, but knows he must remain sober to uphold his agreement to the Serenity's Prayer. I know it's going to make me feel worse in the long run, but as long as I have something there to let out stress of my family hating me for being gay, or dealing with two bimbo bosses that don't think all the way., or frustrated with how everyone is moving on with their lives and careers, yet I am choosing to stay in the same place for one guy?
One side to me begs me to leave this place, move to Hollywood and start over. Allowing myself to become dedicated to my writing to get me by in life and make me into a successful person that I always dreamed of; or constantly waiting for someone and blaming him down the long line of years into the future because I gave up my life to be the most loved person that I always dreamed of. Sometimes I don't even make sense.
Very much in similarities, it is just like war. What side is doing the greater good to benefit my life? Am I doing the right thing in being selfish, something that I am not used to being; or am I doing the right thing to fight for the one person I really love? Sometimes doing all these things in my head, I wonder, what is the greater good in my life? What will make me the most happiest. And the scary thing is, I have been hurt by either side, I really have no idea who is winning this war...
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Carrie
I am going through an identity crisis. I don't know if my name is Pablo or if it's Carrie Bradshaw, my life is starting to be too much like hers...except I am not a chain smoker like her.
Let's begin with the basics: she is a writer. A woman that exposes her life into the narrow columns that is printed on thin newspaper with the utmost honesty. I am a writer because it has become something that allows me to deal with my life's problems. I weave my personal experiences and the stories of the people I come across with into my world of fiction. She is also a person that is really into shoes. My cousins buy shoes, wear them once, and then never wear them again. My parents go to Vegas on occassion, take the really nice shoes, and give them to me. She also has friends that openly talk about their sex life....let's see...I am gay and almost every gay man I know talks about their latest hookups.
Something else that she and I have in common? We both share a Mister Big in our lives. Some big asshole that annoys us up the wall with their antics as well as make us weak whenever we hear the bastard's voice.
Don't think like I am going back to that guy, holding onto the hope that we could get back together, he blew it with some of the words that he said a week ago. Do I really want to stoop down to his level and make him think like I can be at his side after that? I don't think so. I want someone to work just as hard as I am in a relationship. Not pretend to do work while I am carrying it through the entire time. I don't have enough energy to hold us both together while juggling a busy life.
Madonna says in her new CD: "When I'm gone / you realize / that I'm the best thing to happen to you." I was going to stay around here and wait until the end of the year before I can move up to Hollywood, but I think so far, I am going to move out as soon as summer is over. Start my life over in a new direction and light. I think that once I do that, Jeff will either realize that he is on my terms now, or he will realize how much he takes advantage of me.
I am sick of crying over him. Why feel like I am wasting my tears believing in my own fantasies? My own pieces of fiction in my head to keep me going on in life. Feeling like I was making progress in something when in reality, he is the only one that is trying to move on with his life while I stay here feeling sorry for myself. Time to move on.
Maybe I should write Carrie that
Let's begin with the basics: she is a writer. A woman that exposes her life into the narrow columns that is printed on thin newspaper with the utmost honesty. I am a writer because it has become something that allows me to deal with my life's problems. I weave my personal experiences and the stories of the people I come across with into my world of fiction. She is also a person that is really into shoes. My cousins buy shoes, wear them once, and then never wear them again. My parents go to Vegas on occassion, take the really nice shoes, and give them to me. She also has friends that openly talk about their sex life....let's see...I am gay and almost every gay man I know talks about their latest hookups.
Something else that she and I have in common? We both share a Mister Big in our lives. Some big asshole that annoys us up the wall with their antics as well as make us weak whenever we hear the bastard's voice.
Don't think like I am going back to that guy, holding onto the hope that we could get back together, he blew it with some of the words that he said a week ago. Do I really want to stoop down to his level and make him think like I can be at his side after that? I don't think so. I want someone to work just as hard as I am in a relationship. Not pretend to do work while I am carrying it through the entire time. I don't have enough energy to hold us both together while juggling a busy life.
Madonna says in her new CD: "When I'm gone / you realize / that I'm the best thing to happen to you." I was going to stay around here and wait until the end of the year before I can move up to Hollywood, but I think so far, I am going to move out as soon as summer is over. Start my life over in a new direction and light. I think that once I do that, Jeff will either realize that he is on my terms now, or he will realize how much he takes advantage of me.
I am sick of crying over him. Why feel like I am wasting my tears believing in my own fantasies? My own pieces of fiction in my head to keep me going on in life. Feeling like I was making progress in something when in reality, he is the only one that is trying to move on with his life while I stay here feeling sorry for myself. Time to move on.
Maybe I should write Carrie that
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Placebo
Suddenly today, my heart hurt and felt like I was dying. Like someone was pulling that ritual they did in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom and pulled it out showing me my slowly decelerating heart. Dripping blood slowly down to the world below. Something had suddenly come over me. It was the pain of giving up. Of someone giving up on you.
It took one sentence, and this made the very existence of time put into question. A conversation that seemed to seem harmless, suddenly took a turn for the worst. It was my own curiosity that led it to that one sentence.
Asking an ex why you broke up is one of the hardest moments in a person's life, besides putting your dog down, even if you two as a couple (the ex and you) seemed like the cutest couple. They are honest, something that they fear to use in a relationship.
What really makes up a relationship? Is a relationship established on a lie that you tell each other so that you can keep your insecurity down? Is it like a placebo pill you take to supposedly make you feel better when in reality, it does nothing?
I know I need to move on. My feelings should be shot, too numb to feel pain. But why does my heart bleed so much for him? Am I always doomed to love in a swinger generation?
Having someone tell you that they gave up on you before they even met you, hearing that he knew that we weren't going to last because he didn't want it to, knowing that I was clingy, just made him not want to try to let me into his heart. I felt like a person that was being put off life-support because my only person told the doctors to pull the plug because he gave up hoping for a miracle.
My entire life has been stricken with this: Of people constantly letting me down when I needed them the most, always being told with the utmost subtlety they can muster. Why do I even rely on humanity to help me through pain when they are a faulted being? I mean, after all the pain that I heal in other's life, when is someone going to even help me that won't give up on me?
Guess it's another lie that my mom told me when growing up to keep me wishing each year, like Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, or Mickey Mouse. There is no Santa Clause, Mickey Mouse, Tooth Fairy, nor a loving being. All placebos to help us deal with ourselves.
It took one sentence, and this made the very existence of time put into question. A conversation that seemed to seem harmless, suddenly took a turn for the worst. It was my own curiosity that led it to that one sentence.
Asking an ex why you broke up is one of the hardest moments in a person's life, besides putting your dog down, even if you two as a couple (the ex and you) seemed like the cutest couple. They are honest, something that they fear to use in a relationship.
What really makes up a relationship? Is a relationship established on a lie that you tell each other so that you can keep your insecurity down? Is it like a placebo pill you take to supposedly make you feel better when in reality, it does nothing?
I know I need to move on. My feelings should be shot, too numb to feel pain. But why does my heart bleed so much for him? Am I always doomed to love in a swinger generation?
Having someone tell you that they gave up on you before they even met you, hearing that he knew that we weren't going to last because he didn't want it to, knowing that I was clingy, just made him not want to try to let me into his heart. I felt like a person that was being put off life-support because my only person told the doctors to pull the plug because he gave up hoping for a miracle.
My entire life has been stricken with this: Of people constantly letting me down when I needed them the most, always being told with the utmost subtlety they can muster. Why do I even rely on humanity to help me through pain when they are a faulted being? I mean, after all the pain that I heal in other's life, when is someone going to even help me that won't give up on me?
Guess it's another lie that my mom told me when growing up to keep me wishing each year, like Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, or Mickey Mouse. There is no Santa Clause, Mickey Mouse, Tooth Fairy, nor a loving being. All placebos to help us deal with ourselves.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Be
Almost two days since the go-go dancing audition. They haven't called. I obviously didn't get it. However, I really don't care. It would have been nice to have the money; however, this is something that I think would be too much for me to deal with. I am still feeling the side effects in which I have no idea if it's the idea of having power or if it's the joy of feeling noticed. But in spite of attention nonetheless, I have come to terms with furthering myself for the better of it all.
I mean it's only obvious that I learned how brave I can actually be to better myself and let myself have a fun time! I have never had a better time in a club besides the times that I dated my ex-boyfriend. Every time I went to the club, I would be reminded of how fun those times were and get all nostalgic to something I once had.
After the amazing aftershocks and having a copy of DJ Nikno's cd, I was able to face a different facet to truth. I have work to do to my body while I have a summer of just work and having an incredibly active job. I can lose weight quicker. My job allows me to spend alot of time with myself; allowing myself to think about who I am while watching the water for drowning kids. And thinking about my experiences alot today helped me realize that although I am going to the gym religiously, I am always breaking even and making slow progress to better my body's image. So today, I have been eating healthier foods and not really allowing myself to cheat. If I want to get a really nice body, I have to be committed to my diet. No more slacking off, until saturdays or sundays when I can be as nasty as I want.
The final thing that I found out about myself is just about more personal. I am realizing the power of letting go. Letting things be and not feel like I always have to be in control to make things work. Things aren't always my fault and I won't be put to blame if someone else caused it. The more controlling I am with certain people and certain things in my life, the more I feel like I am losing control of things if flaws start showing up. I realized I am addicted to trying to be perfect when everything in my life is not perfect at all. Then when I become depressed or extremely tired and depressed, I become very self-pitied of the things that I might have (not) messed up on. Majority of the time things aren't my fault but I make myself become more determined to make it my fault. Find a reason for a flaw and beat myself up about it.
It's like underwear. If you wear briefs, you start to feel bunched up and uptight. Well maybe that's because I hate wearing briefs. The looser my clothing is, the happier I get. Same thing goes for my life. The more I hold everything in, the more claustrophobic I become. However if I let things swing free (you have to laugh at that), the more I can allow myself room for improvement. I will move to the next paragraph before taking this too far.
To be is to let things take place on their own without having control in anyway. Be is a very powerful word and sounds like the letter B. B is a powerful letter for it has the word Bitch, my favorite word to use in the English dictionary. This word is so powerful, it was separated into two verbs in the Spanish language. The spanish verb ser is used to display something that will always be there; whereas, the verb estar is used to have something temporary or have a temporary action being done. How I wish the one thing in my life that I hope for may be aser and not an estar. The Beatles encourage their listeners to let it be, the greatest words of wisdom. How I need to practice what I preach.
It was once said that if you let something go, and if it returns to you, it is meant to be with you forever. However, hold something in and it will find a way to escape. I need to remind myself that sometimes if I really want something, I have to give it up to someone that has more power to make things be. I am not my own god; therefore, I have to give it to the one that can make things possible.
I mean it's only obvious that I learned how brave I can actually be to better myself and let myself have a fun time! I have never had a better time in a club besides the times that I dated my ex-boyfriend. Every time I went to the club, I would be reminded of how fun those times were and get all nostalgic to something I once had.
After the amazing aftershocks and having a copy of DJ Nikno's cd, I was able to face a different facet to truth. I have work to do to my body while I have a summer of just work and having an incredibly active job. I can lose weight quicker. My job allows me to spend alot of time with myself; allowing myself to think about who I am while watching the water for drowning kids. And thinking about my experiences alot today helped me realize that although I am going to the gym religiously, I am always breaking even and making slow progress to better my body's image. So today, I have been eating healthier foods and not really allowing myself to cheat. If I want to get a really nice body, I have to be committed to my diet. No more slacking off, until saturdays or sundays when I can be as nasty as I want.
The final thing that I found out about myself is just about more personal. I am realizing the power of letting go. Letting things be and not feel like I always have to be in control to make things work. Things aren't always my fault and I won't be put to blame if someone else caused it. The more controlling I am with certain people and certain things in my life, the more I feel like I am losing control of things if flaws start showing up. I realized I am addicted to trying to be perfect when everything in my life is not perfect at all. Then when I become depressed or extremely tired and depressed, I become very self-pitied of the things that I might have (not) messed up on. Majority of the time things aren't my fault but I make myself become more determined to make it my fault. Find a reason for a flaw and beat myself up about it.
It's like underwear. If you wear briefs, you start to feel bunched up and uptight. Well maybe that's because I hate wearing briefs. The looser my clothing is, the happier I get. Same thing goes for my life. The more I hold everything in, the more claustrophobic I become. However if I let things swing free (you have to laugh at that), the more I can allow myself room for improvement. I will move to the next paragraph before taking this too far.
To be is to let things take place on their own without having control in anyway. Be is a very powerful word and sounds like the letter B. B is a powerful letter for it has the word Bitch, my favorite word to use in the English dictionary. This word is so powerful, it was separated into two verbs in the Spanish language. The spanish verb ser is used to display something that will always be there; whereas, the verb estar is used to have something temporary or have a temporary action being done. How I wish the one thing in my life that I hope for may be aser and not an estar. The Beatles encourage their listeners to let it be, the greatest words of wisdom. How I need to practice what I preach.
It was once said that if you let something go, and if it returns to you, it is meant to be with you forever. However, hold something in and it will find a way to escape. I need to remind myself that sometimes if I really want something, I have to give it up to someone that has more power to make things be. I am not my own god; therefore, I have to give it to the one that can make things possible.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
The Realm
I am pretty sure we all like doing things that are out of the ordinary. A gift from God that gives more spice to our life, giving us a challenge that may not help us in our career, but improves our emotional outlook in life. Valeting is a good example of this, you get to drive really expensive cars and occasionally see celebrities. Being a bartender could be someone's dream. Mine was thrown at me this past weekend and I never realized how much I really wanted this, yet at the same time was never so intimidated of this realm of the gay community until now. The realm I am talking about lies not in the gym, nor is it in the gay pride parade, but in the clubs...in the go-go dancer realm.
If you are picked to be a go-go dancer, not only does it mean that you are way hot, and have some really hot dance moves, but it also shows you are what people want. You are what people pay 4.15 a gallon at the gas pumps from various parts of San Diego County to see.
On Thursday, I was asked to audition to be a go-go dancer. He left me his phone number and told me to call him back. I called him on Friday and he didn't pick up his phone. So I figured: It was at least worth a shot.
That night, one of my best friends went to that club that night and was picked to be a dancer. He had a private audition and within minutes he was up on the podium. He was the club's new go-go dancer. He told me this as soon as he found out.
This made me want to do it even more. Because it would show that I would have some support. So I called the guy one more time, and he arranged for me to audition last night. When I confirmed this audition, I started blasting DJ Nikno's mix and was dancing around the house with it. As I was driving up there, I don't think I have ever been that nervous in my life. I mean this nervous feeling I was having was worse than my anxiety I had at graduation. When I get to the club, I begin looking for my contact. When I finally found him, he shook hands with me and took me to the back room. On the way there, I see my best friend dancing. He looked really good dancing up as the different hues of colors were outlining every muscle on his body.
We entered the back room. And entered one of the rooms. He told me to take off my pants and show him the underwear I was wearing. Now mind you, I don't wear briefs and hate the feeling of having some part of my body feel like its being plastered to the rest of my body.
Well he had me change into something else more pleasing. And nothing says pleasing like a jock strap and a super tight ass speedo. He gave me a necklace with skull and cross bones and began walking me back to the floor. He has me stand up on the podium and leaves me with an assignment: "you have two songs. Get to work." I begin dancing. My body starts cramping up, I was so nervous. DJ Nikno is mixing Eurythmics. I try to psych myself up. Looking down at the people below me. Suddenly I realize something that still haunts me now.
A go-go dancer is in competition with the others. Trying to do that special dance that will give him more tips. Hoping that the people in the club are feeling hormonal enough to touch my legs having it slide up to my abs as they push that dollar bill into my speedo. A dancer also knows that if you aren't showing the energy, no one else will. So I would have to be dancing to my full potential for four hours. Maybe it was the overabundance of adrenalin flowing, or the nervous feeling I was having, but I was getting overwhelmed and exhausted.
But as a person that has a hard time struggling with who I am still, I would have to be fighting to keep my body up to pleasure material with the other guys. When I walked backstage, I really didn't feel comfortable nor welcomed there. Because in their eyes, they see me as yet another threat to not get enough tips. So they have to outwit me into getting more tips than I. If I fought for four years trying to prove something to Biola, do I really want to work overtime with my wit to get 20 bucks in tips?
The go-go boy grabbed me and took me back to dressing rooms. I was done, didn't recieve any tips. My best friend was back there getting dressed into something else. Seeing him I felt welcomed to even be there. When they kicked me out of the dressing room and back onto the dance floor, a bunch of people were coming up to me telling me how hot I was up there but they didn't want to tip me because they were nervous. Well their dollar bills could have given me a job.
I watched my best friend dancing up on the stage. Maybe it was the lights flashing and the fog diffusing the laser lights, or maybe it was because he just has the hottest body in the world, but he looked so hot dancing. I admit it, I have a major crush on this guy. Watching every muscle in his body contract with every motion of his body. It's in times like these that make me want a camera so I can film what I see.
As much as I want to be a dancer for this club, I know that it is not the right thing to be in. When I was up on the dance podium. I felt so self-conscious. Like every piece of fat that I had on me was jiggling to my disadvantage. The adrenalin made me up and excited, but it left me with no dance moves to seduce the crowd. This realm is dangerous because it could lead to me doing whatever it takes to get that body that will have people wanting more. There is alot of pressure and vanity to being a gay man.
I am proud of one thing though. I am proud that I had the guts to call this guy, actually drive over to San Diego in my parent's beat up Volvo and get my ass on the podium wearing only shoes and a speedo and have 7 minutes of fame. It felt good, and the feelings/emotions/endorphins rushing through my body was intensely addicting.
If you are picked to be a go-go dancer, not only does it mean that you are way hot, and have some really hot dance moves, but it also shows you are what people want. You are what people pay 4.15 a gallon at the gas pumps from various parts of San Diego County to see.
On Thursday, I was asked to audition to be a go-go dancer. He left me his phone number and told me to call him back. I called him on Friday and he didn't pick up his phone. So I figured: It was at least worth a shot.
That night, one of my best friends went to that club that night and was picked to be a dancer. He had a private audition and within minutes he was up on the podium. He was the club's new go-go dancer. He told me this as soon as he found out.
This made me want to do it even more. Because it would show that I would have some support. So I called the guy one more time, and he arranged for me to audition last night. When I confirmed this audition, I started blasting DJ Nikno's mix and was dancing around the house with it. As I was driving up there, I don't think I have ever been that nervous in my life. I mean this nervous feeling I was having was worse than my anxiety I had at graduation. When I get to the club, I begin looking for my contact. When I finally found him, he shook hands with me and took me to the back room. On the way there, I see my best friend dancing. He looked really good dancing up as the different hues of colors were outlining every muscle on his body.
We entered the back room. And entered one of the rooms. He told me to take off my pants and show him the underwear I was wearing. Now mind you, I don't wear briefs and hate the feeling of having some part of my body feel like its being plastered to the rest of my body.
Well he had me change into something else more pleasing. And nothing says pleasing like a jock strap and a super tight ass speedo. He gave me a necklace with skull and cross bones and began walking me back to the floor. He has me stand up on the podium and leaves me with an assignment: "you have two songs. Get to work." I begin dancing. My body starts cramping up, I was so nervous. DJ Nikno is mixing Eurythmics. I try to psych myself up. Looking down at the people below me. Suddenly I realize something that still haunts me now.
A go-go dancer is in competition with the others. Trying to do that special dance that will give him more tips. Hoping that the people in the club are feeling hormonal enough to touch my legs having it slide up to my abs as they push that dollar bill into my speedo. A dancer also knows that if you aren't showing the energy, no one else will. So I would have to be dancing to my full potential for four hours. Maybe it was the overabundance of adrenalin flowing, or the nervous feeling I was having, but I was getting overwhelmed and exhausted.
But as a person that has a hard time struggling with who I am still, I would have to be fighting to keep my body up to pleasure material with the other guys. When I walked backstage, I really didn't feel comfortable nor welcomed there. Because in their eyes, they see me as yet another threat to not get enough tips. So they have to outwit me into getting more tips than I. If I fought for four years trying to prove something to Biola, do I really want to work overtime with my wit to get 20 bucks in tips?
The go-go boy grabbed me and took me back to dressing rooms. I was done, didn't recieve any tips. My best friend was back there getting dressed into something else. Seeing him I felt welcomed to even be there. When they kicked me out of the dressing room and back onto the dance floor, a bunch of people were coming up to me telling me how hot I was up there but they didn't want to tip me because they were nervous. Well their dollar bills could have given me a job.
I watched my best friend dancing up on the stage. Maybe it was the lights flashing and the fog diffusing the laser lights, or maybe it was because he just has the hottest body in the world, but he looked so hot dancing. I admit it, I have a major crush on this guy. Watching every muscle in his body contract with every motion of his body. It's in times like these that make me want a camera so I can film what I see.
As much as I want to be a dancer for this club, I know that it is not the right thing to be in. When I was up on the dance podium. I felt so self-conscious. Like every piece of fat that I had on me was jiggling to my disadvantage. The adrenalin made me up and excited, but it left me with no dance moves to seduce the crowd. This realm is dangerous because it could lead to me doing whatever it takes to get that body that will have people wanting more. There is alot of pressure and vanity to being a gay man.
I am proud of one thing though. I am proud that I had the guts to call this guy, actually drive over to San Diego in my parent's beat up Volvo and get my ass on the podium wearing only shoes and a speedo and have 7 minutes of fame. It felt good, and the feelings/emotions/endorphins rushing through my body was intensely addicting.
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