An encounter of the drag queen kind.. seriously though.. they are truly amazing..

Here I am again, faced with the dating scene dilemma again.  I’ve recently made a friend, who performs as a drag queen at a local bar where I live.  This individual is very charming, and makes me laugh constantly.  Throughout the course of our new friendship this person has always dropped the occasional statement filled with sexual or even relationship implications.  Being that the entire relationship has been pretty humorous in nature I have never considered the passes to be that, passes.  I’ve always played along and assumed they were just friendly jokes I suppose.  Tonight however, I was faced with the actual truth behind these passes.  My new drag queen friend made the statement that I was “Making it very hard to have a crush on”.  Being that I was completely oblivious to the true feelings of this said individual I was truly taken off guard.  Please keep in mind, when this person is not in drag, they really aren’t bad looking.  They have not had cosmetic surgery, they still have all of their boy parts, and they have no desire to be a female.  The female clothing is strictly for entertainment purposes, and they have a legitimate job with a very successful corporation that designs luxury apartment complexes.  I have to be completely honest though, the idea of dating a drag queen isn’t really something that peaks my interest.  I’ve got a preference for men, who are rough around the edges and actually masculine.  This friend, isn’t masculine.  They are in fact very well groomed, with a petite and tall physique.  I am not even remotely interested in them on a sexual or emotional level.  I am strictly interested in friendship and nothing more.  Anyhow, tonight was the night that everything was put out in the open and I had to do something that I hate having to do.  Something I do more often than I feel other people have to.  I had to tell them that I was not interested, nor would I become interested.  Mind you this conversation took place over the phone because we were hanging out at a bar that had closed, and I wasn’t going to continue the conversation at the place of residence for myself or this individual.  When I spoke my thoughts of having been completely oblivious to the fact that these implications were sincere, I felt as if I was doing something terrible.  I hate feeling like I am hurting someone.  I truly enjoy knowing them, and I want to continue the friendship, as I also told them.  Throughout the talk they just listened and didn’t have much of anything to say back.  They did ask me why it was I didn’t date though.  How was I going to answer that though? I don’t even know the answer.  The only truth I could muster up was, I had not yet encountered any men that peaked my interest in a way that I would consider dating, or cuddling with.  That was the best I could do.  Now, here I sit at home at this ungodly hour feeling like an asshole.  It never fails though; I always attract the attentions of people I am not interested in.  Like I have said before, it isn’t hard for me to get attention from the guys around me but for the ones I want the attention from to acknowledge me, I’m fucked.  These guys are attractive, they are good people, but my heart and mind just isn’t interested.  So what next? Will the one I want come along eventually?  Or am I pushing all of my opportunities away because I have become so closed off? I can only hope that life wouldn’t be so lonely for me in the future.  I can only hope that I can find love, while I am still young.  I want young love.  I don’t want to wait around until I am middle aged. 

Men and my thoughts about them.

So I have brought my attentions to the idea of men and dating over the last couple of weeks...  I have always been one to follow the road less traveled and truly fly solo over having allowed myself to venture out and become engulfed in the idea of getting involved in the lives of other individuals who might interfere with my life of solitude.  I have found it to be the only option I really have without compromising the actual truth behind myself.  It is truly a more simplistic way of life, far less complex by far.  I don’t deliberately go out of my way to sabotage the potential relationships that come my way, however, I don’t go out of my way to feel an array of emotions that I don’t have, which I must say is a lot easier than one might assume.   I have not come to be a loving person in that area, open affection is not my forte.  I don’t find it one of my humanistic desires to bond with every eligible bachelor that comes my way, regardless of that individual’s ability to live a successful life.  Is it so hard to believe that perhaps, I am not the one who is being closed minded, but actually listening to that voice anyhow?  The very one who helps us to differentiate between right and wrong, or even something a little more on the simple side such as hot and cold?  I don’t have an agenda with the men in my life, I only hope that I can see them for what they are and distinguish whether or not I truly enjoy them.  Suffice to say it is in fact a two way street in these situations, some men I find myself enjoying only to realize that I wasn’t in fact, good enough for them.  Those men must too, enjoy you enough to care enough.  I have a strong belief in the human species ability to distinguish ones feelings based off of the animal response in us all.  That rise in your pulse that sends this feeling that is close to the euphoric feelings that drugs send pulsating throughout bodies, hearts, and even souls.  However another humanistic trait that I have come to realize has been that of jealousy or disappointment.  There have been the occasional male that I have denied my attentions that I have found myself grieving over once they have come to enjoy the attention of another man.  Something so low as sexual activity that I would never partake in gets at me with this strange level or heart break and jealousy that might be linked with me feeling envious.  Perhaps the reality of these situations is that I refrain from these said acts of promiscuity or flirtation based on my pride, and only become discontented by these said events because I have decided not to partake, and those who did had no real judgment passed.  Or what if perhaps I had allowed myself to partake, instead of dismissing these men based on the advance, would I have then seen a side of them that I enjoyed?  Could that perhaps mean that I am only concerned with something other than pride, but perhaps something relating to my own avoidance of judgment by others? We all, every individual has some level of complexities that shadow us in our every situation.  Perhaps the key to this troublesome train of thought, is to hold on to the choices you’ve made to stay strong and respectable to not only others, but ultimately yourself? Who makes these values matter more anyhow? Is it you, or the people surrounding you?  I can only hope that the answer to that question is our own perception of us as individuals. I will admit though, that even when I have made all of my past mistakes, I was able to leave some of those sorrows behind and move forward.  So maybe it isn’t always so bad, to be bad?

                Lately I have found myself making an effort to open up and have some assortment of feelings towards my fellow homosexuals.  I have even allowed myself to go so far as to make a decent little group of homosexual friends that I will meet up with and spend my time with.  Sending out random messages as a friend seeking the company of these men to hang out and socialize within the night life. Yet, I have also been meeting up with a few of them in hopes of meeting someone that is by my definition something.  Nothing amazing or extraordinary.   Don’t need a god; I just need someone I can care about at all. 

                So, moving forward, I have encountered 5 different men via the internet and further on to real person situations.  Physically, only 2 of them have really done anything, granted I can honestly say that isn’t a priority, but it is nice.  The others were nothing to get “wood” over, but they were handsome, hands down.  Keep in mind, my vote is always on handsome… there is just something grand about a man you can look at and feel like you are staring at an actual man.  May I remind you also, that this is not a trait that I have been able to enjoy too often in the homosexual dating scene.  Out of the 5, I went on to and kissed open mouthed, 3 or those, the other 2 weren’t that in depth. 

                The kissers, I will elaborate on at this point.  One of these men being a black man who I can’t honestly rate, because I don't feel that the cuddling position is the best one for intimate kissing.  He had an amazing masculine smell though.  His scent was enough to slow my heart and make me feel a level of calm I have not felt in many years, 2 to 3 to be exact.  Keep in mind please, those 2-3 yrs. is a long time for an individual such as me who is only 25.  The scale of years has greater or lesser value depending on the individual and in some cases the said individual’s age.  Please don’t take it upon yourself to ramble on about how being 60 makes 3 years equal to nothing, unless you are honestly just sharing a mutual story or perhaps trying to relate. Anyhow, we did get a little naked, but I wasn’t feeling it since it has been over 2 yrs. since my last sexual endeavor.  I got naked, he got naked, we did some touching, and that was all.  No sexual activity by any definition.  Honestly I was just truly happy to be able to lie across his chest and enjoy the sound of his heart beating on my very own bed, another thing I never got to enjoy, laying in my own bed with no concern for the people outside the door.  Even his incredibly loud snores were terrible and obnoxious.  I honestly loved the sound of them.  The other make out session was with a Hispanic gentleman who was somewhat simple, yet still handsome in his appearance.  He didn’t have stunning eyes or anything like that.  However, he did have broad shoulders, good bone structure, a dorky type of mannerisms, as well as a very simplistic style of dress.  I was out of his league, depending on who you ask I guess, but that made no difference to me.  He wasn’t much of a talker at all.  Even now the most I know about him is; terrible last relationship, attempting nursing, and well frankly... that’s about it.  I will say that I believe he might have been interested in having sex with me with his advances throughout the night and his having attempted to bring me home with him.  As for the 3^rd and finale make out session, well that one was just horrible.  He was a well-dressed and well-mannered Hispanic, who had come to find out had too much to drink.  There is something about a slow make out session that involves long and slow kissing and sucking of the lips that just were not any good for me.  Hell, I didn’t even want to do it.  The only one I wanted to kiss was the black man, and he was the first one out of all 5 of these guys that I encountered, and those moments were ruined by bad angles.  This guy though, seemed to have some kind of lip treatment on, even though he wasn’t the femme type whatsoever.  It was all over my mouth, nose, and chin {including the chin hair}.  He was shorter than I so he was having a really hard time getting his footing in my truck to push himself into me, with his arms locked around me as if we were in some romantic embrace.  FUCKING HORID.  Needless to say I won’t be going out of my way to keep in touch with this individual. 

                The other two, both being medical students are a different variety of interesting I suppose.  The first on a encountered was a very attractive Hispanic who insisted I come over to his place to play video games.  Granted this was really very intriguing to me simply because he was at least somewhat original.  The general encounter was occupied by relatively decent conversation about a variety of reality television shows I barely watch as I find those shows to be an example of how the morals of America are crumbling on the screens in front of us, as well as sharing our life goals and ambitions.  He went so far as to remark on my eyes being attractive, as well as, for some reason my arms and the hair on them being sexy.  Have you the hair on my arms is light blonde and moderate.  I allowed myself to take it in stride, and we also went on to rub our hands up and down the backs of one another’s necks to feel the hair growing.  He remarked on how soft my hair way and that was about it.  He made what I would assume to be some ill thought out complements, and I just thanked him for his attempts.  Honestly I was very much attracted to him but wasn’t going to invest any of my life in pursuing him, or so I thought.   As for the other male encounter, he was just a bore from the start.  All it took was me flashing a few smiles and the pleasantly plump little medical student was hooked.  Only one day after having met him out in a public place he was attempting to ask me out on a date.  I hate to break it to the masses, but just being a medical student doesn’t give your some increased amount of points on whatever point systems some of you might be going by.  I could not give any less of a damn about medical student status, so long as you’re not lacking some legitimate level of ambition I am able to deal.  So, yea, I denied to idea of allowing him to take me on a dinner date if it wasn’t strictly as friends.  I haven’t heard much from him since.

                So in it all, I will still continue to look for mister right in hopes of finding that one or perhaps two that will provide me with some level of satisfaction.  I don’t need a success story, but I would like to think I deserve something more than yesterday’s rejects to society.  Until the next time I decide to go on a rant, good night, good morning, and good whatever. 

Here is a shinny bug to catch your eye..

Something I wrote in Sept. 2010

This is an old journal entry from September 2010, I thought it would be nice to share it. I was struggling with my choice to stay sober, and my mind was going all over the place. Here goes nothing..  hope you enjoy the read (please excuse typos)---->

I wish that feeling good was one of those feelings that would stick around.  I wish that feeling good wasn’t so drug induced…  Substance induced for that matter.  This empty and deep feeling inside of me has so many definitions.  There is no singular emotion in the entire lot of them.  I have this piss poor attitude that seems to encroach on my positive outlook.  That isn’t saying much though.  I am not a very positive person.  I like to tell people that I am a realistic person...  That I see things for what they are instead of allowing myself to get over involved in false apprehensions.  I let my weakness get the best of me and now I am suffering the consequences of my lifestyle choices.  Regardless of my efforts I will always revert back to this deep and dark state of mind.  This is my place.  Deep and dark.  Should I continue?  Shall I continue to exist in this state of “misfortune”?  I’m not so bad off am I? I’m sure that a lot of people look at me and think negatively upon me.  They allow themselves to become accustomed to my aversion to positive interaction.  Then again I give good face.  I can socialize my way into just about any standard individual’s life.  I can do that without ever telling the truth.  Perhaps even my close friends feel a certain degree of resentment towards me for some reason or another.  Isn’t that human nature?  We see the people around us and become angry for whatever reason we can conjure up?  What the Hell do I know about human nature though? They can have their studies and I will stick to my outlook.  People are people.  They can either be predicted and put inside of a little box…  or they are so intense that they are erratic and spread out.  I bet I am just feeling sorry for myself?  I don’t fucking see it.  I feel angry.  I feel resentment towards so many people and so many things.  When an individual has so much disgust for themselves how can anyone else come to love them?  How can security, hope, harmony…  Well how can any of those emotions come to exist within this pile of shit?  I am an addict plan and simple.  Hatred.  That is a strong emotion that I can’t seem to shake.  It consumes me for every angle from the inside out.  Are people going to continue to put up with this?  It’s no wonder some people can go crazy.  It is truly not a surprise to me at all.  Is that my life?  Will I always feel so angry?  I’d rather be dead.  I would rather drown in my sorrows and cease to exist any longer.  Just stop breathing and never feel anything ever again.  I have never said that before.  I have never been so angry or overwhelmed that I wanted for the end.  I have always had a strong preference for life.  I have always pushed away the thought of surrender and grasped tightly onto my fear.  Fear of the loss of life…  I don’t even think I care anymore.  I only breathe because my body tells me to.  My mother, my grandmother, my family…  what the Hell should I say?  If the only reason I care to be alive is to prevent hurting those around me I think that counts for something.  Who can live like this though?  How if the fuck can I continue to wake up every day with all of this negativity inside?  They can medicate and treat a person all they want.  You can cut out the pieces that make them hurt if you want.  Nothing you do will ever fix that void.  You can shine light in something that dark and expect everything to become translucent and clear.  I can’t even love myself anymore.  Maybe I used to love myself.  I honestly don’t know.  How will I ever be one of those people who can become involved in someone else?  Ech!!  The thought makes me cringe from the inside out.  I am suffering from some type of disorder.  Which one will it be?  Will it be one simple term or a combination of different ones?  Perhaps I should just check myself in now.  Maybe then I can get some peace.  I wonder if those places are able to find peace for the people like me?  Some place cold and quite where I could be alone.  No windows and no lights.  That would be so ideal.  When I am there I wonder what part of me I will tell them about.  I wonder if I will tell them the whole story or perhaps omit certain truths in order to keep from sounding too mentally disturbed.  I can’t be consistent in my emotions for anyone.  I have not consistency to give.  I can’t talk to anyone about the way that I am feeling without losing my place.  I jump from one side to the next with no regard for the person who may be listening.  Good luck figuring me out.  Perhaps I should start off with the good bits and move into the dark bits.  Maybe I can set them up for a wild ride.  Give me the right concoction and I will tell you all kinds of truth.  Can the things that you hide away on the inside consume you from the inside out?  If I keep so much to myself will the secrets consume me all over again?  Is it true?  It that all I have?  I fucking hate myself and I fucking hate you for giving me this shit.  This insanity.  What in the fuck am I supposed to do with this?  Write angry letters to myself for the rest of my life?  Letters that no one will ever read?  I have no desire to share this with anyone.  Yet I still watch for proper spelling.  I still watch for my style of sentence structure.  Maybe I hope that someone will read this.  Maybe I hope that someone will find this and make me help myself.  I doubt it.  I don’t even care about that creative thinking.  The thought of being saved is so false.  It is actually disturbing to some degree.   What if what we are is all that we will ever be?  What if we are condemned to be ourselves forever?  Even after treatment or death?  Agh…  What a bitch that would be.  I wonder if some people are only here to fill in the spaces, as if they were created by some generic mechanism to fill in the homes and jobs that would otherwise be vacant.  Do all people have a thought process or are they just auto tuned to live?  How complex is life itself?  I can’t imagine that anyone will ever answer any of my questions.  They are too complicated.  They are not relevant to the idea of sustaining life as we know it.  My mother; is she my friend or is she my foe?  I can’t blame anyone but myself.  I created this monster within the depths of my mind..  Could you imagine what a monster like that would look like?  Prehistoric if you ask me.  Something so large that there is no shadow that follows.  Can my mind even be that deep?  Or is my self created monster drowning with me?  He helped, they helped, and everything helped in this creation.  Is this all that I will ever be?  Is this out of my control?  It doesn’t matter how loud you play the music, you are still going to have to face the reality.  I have a love for my prehistoric monster though.  I bet he is so…  There isn’t even a word in my mind for him.   Yes, him. 

My introduction..

Please excuse any typos; I am all too good at them.

To blog or not to blog..  I have to decide whether or not I am fully prepared to write out all of the things I’ve been processing through my mind that I don’t have the courage to speak out loud.  In all reality I keep a lot of myself, to myself for fear of causing damage to the people around me.  However, I have a tendency to lash out and say some pretty armful things after holding so many thoughts in.  I really don’t even know where to begin.  I guess I could attempt some play on words, or perhaps tell some sad sob story to draw in the readers…  Or perhaps I will just ramble on about everything that comes to mind.  Once upon a time I was passionate about writing the events of my everyday life down on paper.  That was back when high school mattered and I was in love for the first time.  After the short lived love affair wore off I died a little bit inside and left all of those words behind.  I stopped opening the book and sharing my thoughts with my journals because I was so tired of having them.  As far as I was concerned I had nothing else to say anymore.  To think it was only high school.  I allowed myself to get so over involved in some man that I literally had nothing left to give.  I am not implying that I was some sad little lost soul or anything, shit happens.  I will say this though, after what happened, the way it all fell apart, I became a wee bit jaded to the world around me.  To this day with all of the shitty days and months life has passed my way (granted we all have our fair share) I am overly prepared for negative occurrences.  I might bitch from time to time about the things that occur, but I still hit the ground running with my shin up.  Keep this is mind please, my high school romance wasn’t some earth shattering event..  I get that.  I was young, I know.  I think people fail to understand the reality of every ones individualism.  For me, the man I lost my everything to was what set me off into my self destructive rampage over the following years up into my 25^th year.  I left high school behind.  I was shy, insecure, and completely over that shit.  I had cried enough for a life time and I was ready to get going with my life.  However, my ambition was short lived.  Dreams are a funny thing, they might seem pretty nice, but we somehow always manage to forget them.  I tried the college thing, but I also found that focusing on sex, drugs, and alcohol was far more incredible.  I dropped out of college twice, that fall and the following fall.  Working full time and spending all of my money and my own entertainment.  I always got by with the thought that I would take care of college in my 30’s.  I dabbled in retail, waiting tables, tanning salon management, nuclear power (seriously), leasing, as well as public relations.  I was good at everything, I was good at people.  I spent a lot of time stealing my mother’s pain medication and drinking handles of vodka, keeping it to myself as best as one could while the stumbled around slurring about hating themselves.  My mother really never tried all that hard to stop me, I know she loved me, I know she cared, but if you knew me you’d know better than to interrupt my ritual.  All of the drugs and alcohol led to a lot of random hook ups as well.  Have you I wasn’t on all fours taking it..  I was more of a tug or oral fixation kind of hoe.  I somehow lacked the desire to be that intimate with people.  I rarely kissed a man, and if I did I don’t remember it.  Hell, there is a lot I don’t remember.  I was your stereotypical homosexual have you?  The kind that makes you cringe.  But you know what; somehow no one knew I was so loose with my sexual favors.  If they knew, they didn’t blink an eye.  I was discreet for the most part.  To this day people have responded to my plight with my favorite response, “I had no idea it was that bad”.  Guess what? That was the fucking point.  I wasn’t going to advertise to all of my new friends that I was a complete wreck when they weren’t looking.  I managed to dodge to title of druggie or alcoholic for a few good years.  I was the one who was always down to party, always ready to work, and always in the mood to laugh it off.  I had shame in my game, but I didn’t.  I even had my own little sex tape scandal, having released it to a few people on my own.  I am going to blame that decision on the drugs I was consuming all day every day.  None the less I had my hay day.  I don’t know how many men I slept with, the number will never magically come to mind I imagine.  Perhaps it will when I stand before God, he will remind me of every detail I so conveniently left behind.  The things I do remember, all of the bad choices, the good ones, everything I remember, I do my best to avoid at this point.  I can’t live my life trying to remember what I have done.  What is the point?  Learning?  I have done that.  I have had HIV scares, Herpes scares, even a syphilis scare..  Luckily me I didn’t manage to have any of those, or any of the like.  The only things I have walked away with are shame, and a damaged liver (Non-viral Hepatitis).  Please don’t allow yourself to be so ignorant to assume I am contagious.  I have a shotty liver, not a STD.  I can’t give it to anyone.  I have scars on my liver, and I can’t drink or do drugs anymore.  Yes, I am sober now.  Anyhow, moving on, I have not made much time for romance in my life in the midst of the turmoil.  I pretty much had my time in 7 years, instead of spacing it out over 20 or so years like some of my fellow party people.  I actually made the decision to stop before I even knew about the damage I had caused.  It was my dark urine and depression that led to the entire array of test that concluded the damage was caused.  Throughout all of this amazing abuse to myself, my family as well as I endured hurricane Ike, serious financial woes, cancer in the immediate family, as well as a variety of other challenges. Life happened even though I wasn’t checked in, is what I am saying.  That’s what it does; it keeps going on without you. 

                I have a piss poor relationship with my mother, my father, and even with some of my friends.  I can’t take all of the blame on those though.  My parents are pretty unique creatures on their own.  Granted they are capable of greatness, they have this uncanny ability to be so absurdly selfish.  I have a large family, being that my parents were fertile.  There are 9 of us to be exact, 3 different broken homes of course.   I am only close to three of them, 4 on a good day depending on my mood.  We are all very different, the bottom 4 aren’t really old enough to remember my name, plus I haven’t made the lasting impression one might expect of such an upstanding citizen of the world.  I don’t grieve over it, but I don’t have the intentions of making something of it one day.  I have love for them all.  I just only truly know 3 of them.  Those 3 have managed to stand by me over my own parents, always overlooking my bad choices, but still expressing concern for me health.  They were always genuinely concerned for my well-being, and the only ones I believed were truly supportive of my choice to leave the addictions behind.  My fathers, always a man of few words, always stated the obvious.  My mother, on her assortment of medications with the occasional beer here and there, always seemed empty in her efforts to push me in the right direction.  I blame that on how horrible my father was to her in that mess they called a marriage.  You can only break a person so many times before the pieces won’t come back together anymore.  Oh, and I shalt not forget my grandmother! The ragging alcoholic pot smoker who helped raise us! She is one of my favorites these days, and I do mean that, as she stopped abusing herself when the cancer started riddling her body.  I have been rather committed to her ever since, because sober grandma is an amazing one.  She truly cares about me and the feelings are the like. 

                With all of that said, I think my introduction should pretty much set you toward a decent generalization of, well...  Something.   I don’t hate myself entirely, yet I don’t hold myself high.  I am not some beat up old rag doll that’s been rode hard either.  I feel that I have fared rather nicely over the years.  I would like to think I am a looker, who is really somewhat intelligent.  I have been actively attending college over the past 2 years and I have a little bit of hope now.  I have finally opened myself up to a new beginning and I want it to stay that way.  Sober for 9 months and counting, I look forward to sharing my random thoughts with you. 

B.A.