12:35 a.m. - January 07, 2004
Poor table manners make me leave a restaurant in spirit, if not physically. But I checked out tonight.
My response to Ryan II is immature itself.
I fuck everything up. Is there someone who walks in front of me shouting Leper! Beware! and the people I date are those hapless fellows who didnít hear the warning?
It isnít wrong or immature to realize intellectual Ė hell, Iíll settle for plain stimulating - conversation wonít happen, that we cannot forge a dynamism that takes life and roars. Maybe Iím some snob, maybe I have unrealistic expectations and should be grateful that a so-called hottie has taken interest in me and isnít eye or arm candy better than being alone? For others maybe, but not me. And why do I feel the need to excuse myself, defend my unease and turnedoffness in the first place?
The only good thing I can think of about gay men is that the longer I explore, the more I find those whose lives donít revolve around bars, clubs, fashion, sex, and castigating others who donít fit into the fairy mold Ė you know, the haters, the fatties, the so yesterday. As much as I want to check out permanently from the skullduggery that is the Iím-gay-and-tragically-so world Iím in, Iím struck by the notion that there are many smelly fish in the sea covering up the good finds.
And what the hell is up with me dating guys who say theyíre tops but are actually bottoms? I mean Jesus, between Spec and Ryan II Iím unsure what the hell I even like now and damn it, I have pro forma attachments to labels and the predictable. No changes, no surprises, no substitutions!