I'll remember my Pride

This past weekend was my 3rd experience of DC's annual Gay Pride celebration (well, not just Gay -- really it was the Pride of the GLBTQQA community ... I'm proposing we add the acronym 'WTHE' to the long string of letters, signifying "Who The Hell Else?"). And although I have been a member of the GLBTQQAWTHE community for a short 4 years, this small amount of time really accounts for the bulk of my 'life'; the previous 24 seeming like a forgotten dream.

Yes that's right, I said it -- FOUR years ago. I was 24 when I officially came out -- and I took my sweet-assed time doing it, too. Circumstances being what they were growing up, there was no fertile ground in which to tend this delicate flower. But hell -- listening to Christina Auguilera's "I Am Beautiful" enough times can compel anyone to come to bizarre and dramatic revelations ... and disclosures.

So now, 4 years into my personal renaissance, I feel that the myriad of gay experiences packed into my brief history has brought me full circle; I have come back to analyze that previous thrust of pride in myself that was necessary to finally come out of the closet.

Coming out to friends and family requires a paradigm shift, and a braveness to stare into a vast unknown and say "Eh ... screw it, I'm moving forward!". Despite our personal doubts, and those quiet voices inside our heads that say "AH! Be careful, this might not be safe!" ... we leap ...

... and hit the ground running, a whole new world to explore. What interests me is that the personal doubts and often problematic negative self-talk do not go away with coming out; there is an entirely new set of problems that challenge how we view ourselves. Namely dating.

I find that the internal conflict which postponed my coming out is somewhat similar to my current struggle in identifying a place in the world of male relationships. Will I be rejected? Will I lose my dignity, will someone care (sing it girl)? Isn't it better to never show my feelings? Isn't it easier just to keep everything inside? Won't I avoid pain if I never connect with someone else ... again?

This pattern of thinking has led me down the slippery slope of cynicism. It is the fear that things won't turn out right in the end, and then becoming disenchanted with the dating process altogether.

In opening the closet door, gay people become vulnerable. We cannot control what others think or how they will react to us. Similarly, opening the 'relationship door' brings its own trials of dealing with people who do not treat us the way we want to be treated -- and sometimes that stings.

I've been trying to talk down that cranky cynic in my interior monologue by reinstating the pride it took to finally come out to friends and family. Coming out came with a price: stress, difficulty, some pain, and an opening of self that required a genuineness which was sometimes hard to swallow.

Relationships come with a similar price; I have to sacrifice myself to the occasional sting of the beehive to finally reach the honey. Accepting this as the way of things continues to give me the pride to open that relationship door just a bit further. It is an affirmation of self that says, "I'm a good person, even though people don't always treat me that way."

... and I'm pretty damn proud of that ...

Spreading my seed

Now really, it is quite tacky to put a suggestive title on a blog just to confuse (and entice) the reader into thinking that we will be talking about sex ... but since we're on the subject, why the hell not?!?

Rest assured- this gardener has done precious little germination in months past, so the seed that I intend to spread has nothing to do with my irrigation system. Oh no friends, we are talking about love here. LOVE.

The 'heart' shape is the ubiquitous symbol of love, and its origins have been debated by historians for years (particularly because it looks nothing like a real heart). The most likely (and sinfully delicious) theory is that the shape comes from the silphium (syphilis?) plant in northern Africa, around 500 B.C.E. Used as a one-stop shop for common ailments and disease (like Windex in My Big Fat Greek Wedding), silphium was also believed to prevent undesired pregnancies. The seeds of the silphium plant are the shape we have adopted as the 'heart'.

Basically, our symbol for love is a prophylactic.

It makes sense ... love meaning we want the pleasure of sex without the pain of raising little shits. But the transition from the symbolic "no baby here" to "oh baby be mine!" is interesting, and further complicates the mysterious dynamic between emotional and physical love, sex and genuine caring. Throw "I 'heart' you mom" into the mix, and it just gets plain gruesome.

But, like many symbols, its present-day meaning has morphed from its original intent. When I see a heart-shape the last thing I think about is birth control. Instead, I think of compassion, intimacy, and sometimes vomiting in my mouth.

Apparently the need to stop popping out little brats overwhelmed the supply of silphium- it is now extinct (hence it was a commodity, quite like the sponge-worthy Seinfeld episodes). Perhaps it is time to reconsider and change this antiquated symbol of love ... why not something more modern ... like a condom?

*Cupid shoots arrow into a Trojan ... extra-large*

So the next time you're strapping on a rubber to hold back the seed, consider the jocular link between the latex and love. And for god's sake, pray that your 'heart' doesn't get broken.

The Perfect Man

"You've got the charm
you simply disarm me
every time ..."
-Effie

The perfect man, amongst other nonsensical oxymorons like "Microsoft works" and "good morning", is an ideal generated in the human psyche from a lifetime of watching romantic comedies and Disney classics. Ariel falls in love with Prince Eric just by fanatically watching him dance with a dog, Leonardo yearns for a suicidal forward-thinking aristocrat and steams up a fancy car (and I bet the owner didn't appreciate those stains ... no worry, I'm sure they washed out), and Princess Leia kisses her brother --err, um ... oh dear, ok let's just skip that one.

And we fall for it every time ... We know it's foolish, impossible, and void of modern day realities like prenuptials and emotionally-unavailable partners. But subliminally imprinted in the subconscious is that wish for the easy, extreme, and impregnable companionship that defies all logic and reasoning.

So here it is; my attempt to juggle the ingrained lavish longings of the Freudian id with the principles of realistic living -- the definition of the perfect man for an imperfect world.

-thoughtfulness: it's different for everyone ... for some people it's a gift, a text message, a phone call, or an extra minute's embrace. So the perfect man is able to identify his own way of thoughtfulness, deliver, and then recognize it in others ... abundantly.

-listening: hearing what you say, seeing what you do, and sensing what you feel.

-humor: letting your hair down, if you have any, and being ok with embarrassment. The ability to laugh at chickens, merely because they walk funny and make unusual sounds. Farting and then blaming it on the old lady sitting next to you on the Metro with puzzled and accusatory glances in her direction.

-persistence: not giving up when challenged with hardship in the relationship. Fighting the urge to detach emotionally, and staying the course.

-time: to exist in a place where time is generous. Content with a movie on a Friday night and a bedtime of 10:00 if that means an extra hour of cuddling in the morning. To spend an entire day without accomplishing much, yet doing-- or being more than you anticipated.

-insight: to see in yourself and in others that special something that usually goes unnoticed.


It's funny ... after re-reading this list, I was surprised to discover that I'm actually describing the qualities of my own self that I'd like to improve upon.

Perhaps the quest for the perfect man is really the search for the perfect man inside of me.

So I guess, in short, what identifies the perfect man in my mind is simply his struggle to do better-- by himself, and for others.

I suppose it's not as oxymoronic as I thought ...

Flurrying in the snow

*And it's beginning to snow* (Rent)

For a silly kid from Florida, nothing is more exciting than a fresh snowfall. Hell, even for a 27-year-old pseudo-adult, snow is pretty damn enthralling. I found myself today, like most children across the District, magnetized to the window and staring out at a million flakes that lazily coasted down to a candyland sea of powdered frosting, romanticizing everything they touched. Snowflakes are like upside-down white-laced umbrellas, cascading down in uniform- yet unique- bands of fluff and stuff that caught me spellbound and mystified.

10 minutes later, after trudging through some mud and slipping a dozen times, I was so over that shit.

Haha actually, all the skank that goes along with a gallop in the snow is quite worth it in the end. What's particularly interesting about snow, especially for someone who wasn't raised in it, is all of the symbolism tied to snowy days and winter wonderlands.

I immediately think of: warm fireplaces, getting some chapters done in a book, wooden cabins, soft candles, and snuggling under a warm blanket with that special someone.

But what if you don't have a fireplace, you're reading a book that bores you to tears (LOL actually, I'm currently reading "So you want to be an interpreter?" which I quickly have to shove in my bag when my deaf clients approach me on my interpreting assignments *cough cough*), your house is made of brick, your candles may set off the smoke detector, and you don't have anyone to snuggle up with (sorry, Henry the Turtle, but you are a cold-blooded creature...)??? What then, snow ... what then?!?

What's surprising to me is that sometimes when we are presented with the most spectacular sights, the most brilliant sunsets, the most immense canyons -- all of those things which make up the essence of being a conscious being -- we then wish for something on top of that. We sometimes wish we could share that experience with someone else (again, Henry, I'm so sorry but your softness can only go so far).

I thought about that today as the snow relentlessly proved its cuteness for hours and rested itself gently on every single tree branch in Fort Totten Park. To which I thought: "no ... actually, this is quite enough".

I don't need a fireplace, I don't need a novel, an isolated cabin adorned with sweet-perfumed candles, or even a cuddle buddy.

This sight is so perfect... so serene, so gently exquisite- why complicate it with all of that? I am privileged enough to enjoy it, perhaps more so than the people who've grown tiredly accustomed to a first snowfall.

So let it snow, let it snow, let it snow ... come here, Henry.

Conversations on sex, dating, and nothing in between

This morning I took a minute to sit down and really think about the conversations I've had in the past few days- alarmingly, there seems to be an obviously recurring theme in all of them. Different friends, different scenarios, different settings- one pervasive issue ... relationships. I turn on the radio- it's there. I pull up my favorite movie- hmm, there also. Every phone conversation, every dinner and mingling and chat at a bar. Relationships are the Starbucks of our discourse.

Which makes me have to wonder about our society-- what the hell is wrong with us?

"Small people talk about other people. Average people talk about things. Great people talk about ideas."

Hmfph. Well, I suppose this snotty quote isn't all that far off the beaten track. In fact, most of the discussions on relationships and dating involve the search for the unobtainable- an idea, if you will - for that "thing" we seek as a companion. I am surprised by how many truly amazing single people I know, who are usually not single by choice.

If we're all talking about it, and we all want it- then why can't we get it together, people?!?

These aren't joyous discussions about seeking a partner, either-- they are filled with scary dates (I recently heard one about being held hostage, in a oh-no-I'm-not-really-in-to-S-&-M-but-thank-you kind of way), heart-wrenching break ups, complaining, whining, yearning, hallucinating, dreaming the impossible ...

We are a complex synthesis of emotions and biology- one dictating what we need, another concluding what we want, and all of the drama that ensues when these collide.

Now talk amongst yourselves ...

Night of Broken Glass

-"Know before whom you stand"-

This is a quote from the Holocaust museum, in the section depicting the atrocities on the Night of Broken Glass.

This is the third time that broken glass has caught my attention this week. The first time was near the Metro, where a single pebble had fractured an entire wall of glass and had sent hundreds of unique engravings 10 feet high. The second time was at school, where vandals had shattered an entire window by busting it through with a rock. And the third time there, at the Holocaust museum.

The particular meaning for the cascading fractures of glass, and the quote, carry great significance for me today.

I have watched as a single pebble has pierced my own personal glassy window, spreading fragments all along the surface. The window remains intact, yet the impact of that pebble can be seen all over. It makes me think of emotions, and how a single event can profoundly impact our lives. A tiny pebble can suddenly become pervasive in what we see, do, think, and feel.

The reality was this- I did not know before whom I stood.

Someone who would trade my laughter for licentiousness, I guess. Someone who would trade time with me for fleeting moments elsewhere. Someone who doesn't appreciate something pretty special. When you finally open up and give what feels natural, only to learn that this isn't enough. Pretty sad, friends—pretty sad.

Time heals all wounds, and even all panes (see- I still have my sense of humor about me). Snippets of shattered shards slowly slink back into position, the window will become clear again, and emotions will settle back to their clean, transparent whole.

Ouch; even a tiny pebble can sting.

Bother of the bride

Why do brides always stand on the left in wedding ceremonies?

According to a reputable source, brides in Medieval times were often stolen from neighboring cities (gentlemen, I have an alternative strategy for what happens when there aren't enough ladies in town ... what are you doing tonight???).

Therefore, the groom (or one of his 6 brothers, sobbin' sobbin') had to always be on the lookout for some angry father on a rampage because he didn't get a dowry. By having his blushing (or bleeding) bride on his left side, the groom had his right hand available to extract his sword should he need to ward off any person attempting to slit his thieving throat.

I can't imagine a time when women were in such short supply. Now women are everywhere: on buses, in public parks, and even in the bathrooms at Omega.

The only comparable situation I can think of in modern times is the extreme shortage of straight men in the District. Therefore, straight boys of DC be forewarned!!! Should a woman approach you, pretending she's interested in football and the revolting way you keep your toenails, be on the alert!!! The only reason most girls even enter sports bars is because of the low lighting, you know.

Although I don't suppose it would be that incredibly difficult to kidnap a straight man. Simply wave a soft, rotund piece of exposed flesh in front of his eyes and there'll be enough drool to take on the Hoover Dam. Second, entice him with chili-cheese dogs and the promise of a beer gut before he turns 30 and trust me, the straight boys will come a-runnin'. Throw in your tolerance of his bad manners and really poor taste in clothes, and that straight boy will be all over you like white on rice.

But while racing to the altar, girls, make sure to have the groom on your left with his right hand occupied. Should he resist the vows and attempt to fight, we all know that a boy's left hand is weaker ... perhaps from too much time extracting that damned sword.

Mamma mia !!!

Wouldn’t it be easier if we could all wear a sign that indicated our relationship status?

“I’m single and looking”
“I’ve just gotten out of a long-term relationship and am looking for a rebounder”
“I’m in an open relationship”

It would save time and emotional energy. It would also keep us from embarrassing situations to laugh about later.

I was having a few beers (I discovered Snakebites on Friday) with my sister when a very hunky Italian waiterboy was assigned to our table. My “I am single” eyes went to work, but I was frustrated that my sister may be giving off the maybe-he’s-straight?-vibe that could ruin my groove (who am I kidding?).

My darling sibling decided to intervene and make it clear that we were not dating.

My sister is as smooth as I am on the dating scene (please refer to earlier blogs to understand the sarcasm of this remark). As he approached our table and inquired as to the likeability of our beverages, my sweet sissy said:

“Oh, our mom would just love these!”

I was mortified.

She may as well have said: “Oh, the woman whose womb brought forth both myself and my drinking companion, and later suckled to her bosom in motherly love and care, would truly enjoy these beers as only a mother could do!”

In any event, the venom of my Snakebite took to the brain and I left my number on the credit card receipt. He did not call.

No worries – those Italians are such momma’s boys anyways.

Asking someone out

In a moment of absolute irrationality, I promised myself that I would ask out Mr. Hottie the next time I caught him on campus.

That day came before I was ready for it. “Stay cool, be yourself, be pleasant but not exuberant, and smile.”

Standard procedure for asking someone out would involve a sly and almost underhanded scheme of working the date request naturally into the conversation.

But I scoff at common pleasantries like “What’s up?”, “What’s happening?”, and particularly the over-used “Hello”. Some people even suggest that you should ask the person “How are you?” before pounding them with the date request. These merely interrupt my oh-too-smooth rhythm.

Eyes meet. Smiles are exchanged. As the adrenaline kicks in fully the words are out of my mouth before a proper salutation –

“Yeah, so I was wondering if you wanna go out sometime?”

Forget formalities; let’s just get to the good stuff.

First dates

Does anyone really know how you’re supposed to behave on a first date? What expectations should you have? Bells and whistles? Fireworks? Who pays? And what time does the friggin’ Metro close on a Tuesday, anyway?!

Food is an obnoxious way to begin a first date. There I was, surrounded by about 6 plates of tapas at La Tasca in Chinatown, reaching above/around/in/under/through my datee while clumsily spooning chopped peppers and tomatoes into my mouth. My fine motor skills were not cooperating; I was leaving a trail of food from the plate to my lap (almost like Hansel and Gretel backpacking through … well … Spain, I guess).

I think there was even one point where I spit a piece of rice at the poor boy.

He was a complete gentleman and ordered for me. Not knowing my tastes, this was a bold move. My only qualm with cuisine is seafood, particularly when there are identifiable appendages still attached to the glossy-eyed carcass. I did my best to disguise the uneaten remains amongst the showering of tidbits I had spilt all over the table. My datee was not fooled.

And then there’s the awkward exit-of-the-car moment. Is there action? A kiss? A hug? A second date request?

He continued to be a complete gentleman. He gave me a hug, brushed my dribblings off of his jacket, and drove away.