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5:12 p.m. - February 26, 2003
I think about this often but go in circles, reach no conclusions, see nothing clearer
Foot-in-mouth warning upfront: I donít really know any gay guys. I was thinking about this today while writing an email to a guy who is gay (yeah, you, Tim) and I felt like I was writing a letter to some pen-pal in a foreign country. I didnít know what to say and I felt awkward, just as awkward as when I encounter or work with gay men. Yes, yes, I know Ė there was the year and a half with Spec who hit me, and the guy who sucks me but neither counts in this assessment. I work with several gay men but our conversations are limited to work and as one says, I emit a distinctly unfriendly vibe and that (hopefully) throws off the gaydar thing. Iím worried what Iím saying next will come across as homophobic or just plain stupid, but when I think ďgay manĒ I picture my sisterís friend, the one who contracted some kind of virus via putting his tongue you know where when (apparently) it was not clean Ė yeah, grimace Ė when youíre high on whatever drugís popular at those dance clubs, one doesnít care, it seems, and I think How frigginí nasty and I know this is the stereotype but itís all I know.

There was one guy I started to get to know, a gay guy, who I liked as a person Ė he made me laugh Ė and I even went to his apartment twice to hang out but when one night he started talking about gay sex things changed. I pushed him away. I donít understand that. I mean, Spec was Ė and damn, itís hard to say even here, even now Ė I was in a relationship with Spec but I donít equate what we did with being gay in the capital G sense. We werenít nasty but everybody else is, or We werenít in the clubs and flaming but everybody else is, a thousand variations. I suppose itís denial or something akin. But the point is the same: I donít know gay guys.

I donít know if I want to, either; I feel utterly foreign, no different than watching a show on the Discovery Channel about Amsterdamís Red Light district; itís a million miles away, it isnít me, thereís nothing there. I think Iíd like to meet a normal gay guy and I laugh because as much as I say that I think well fuck, Iím not normal either. I know what it is; I look down on gay guys. I have a hard time thinking Iím the same as them. Iím not sex parties, multiple partners, diseases, fashion, dance clubs, high-pitched squeals, limp wrists, anonymous internet hookups; Iím a quiet guy who reads and listens to music and is usually naÔve. I'd rather have one great relationship than a perfect body, endless hookups, a lifetime supply of free lube. Living stereotypes but more than that, I wonít condone and accept behavior I feel is reprehensible. I just wonít and maybe thatís why I feel so distant. I judge. I donít want to be like them, isnít that what it comes down to? Yeah, there is the bisexual thing going on, too Ė and thatís another topic (in fact, the other day I remarked to Lori that I miss vagina sex before I realized what I said). You know whatís sad, other than these stereotypes and disgust that have reared their heads thus far? That Iím a misfit Ė uncomfortable with anything other than sitting here on the fence. Iím uncomfortable with sex, period, I think; I wasnít always like this. I wonder why I am now. Iím a hypocrite.

I also think Iím jealous at the carefree who gives a fuck attitude. How did I become this uptight?

This entry has made no sense.

Why do I make everything difficult?


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