Poetic Intermission

I thought you could all use a break from the 'Best of 2007' series. Enjoy.

Helen's

I grew up in a diner.
It was home to me, more than home was or is.
People gathered to eat, to drink, to laugh, enjoy each other’s company and to share their lives.
They were family, in a make shift sort of way.
Something that was missing at my house.
The smell of grease and polyester, bacon frying and pies baking.
The sound of ice clinking, the cash register and someone shouting, “Order up!”
The sight of waitresses rushing, customers sipping coffee at the counter and my grandmother fiercely cooking as the orders roll in.
The taste of fresh rolls, chocolate milk and eggs over easy.
Memories of a some-what happy childhood.
Those people and that place... saved me. It gave me a place to belong. A place where I felt wanted. To this day I feel more comfortable on a barstool than a couch. A booth than a kitchen table. Fluorescent lights than a lamp.
Home is not a porch or a garden, a living room or hardwood floors. It’s Formica and neon, fried chicken and day old coffee. And a sense of belonging.

The Best of 2007: HIV

Recently I have met quite a few men under thirty who are all HIV positive. One was a medical educator of HIV who contracted it from his partner of 2 years who had been having affairs behind his back. I found this incredible! I thought to myself, “How does this happen?” Basically this is a generation who has been raised with the virus in the public eye, being educated about it in school and with condoms being sold everywhere. How does this happen in the twenty first century? Now I know how this happens because it almost happened to me.

If you’ve been reading along about my mis-adventures in 2007, you’ll know that after the big BF break-up I went a little out of my head by listening to the wrong one. During one of these ‘encounters’ I had un-protected sex. I’m not proud of it but it happened. The public in general (like me) seems to think people contracting HIV has something to do with smarts or class but here to tell you, it doesn’t. I’ve always considered myself a fairly intelligent, completely in control person. I had always protested nothing like this could happen to me. But it did. It nothing to do with how smart I was or how careful I was, it just happened.

In the heat of the moment your brain is not working on all cylinders, so before you know it you’ve done something totally out of character and unintentional. I was in shock when the act was completed. The only thought running through my mind was, “ Oh my god…what have I done?” I had managed to survive forty years, through all type things, that if you added them up I should I be dead. But to be brought down now by one mistake of my own doing was impossible to conceive. Unfortunately, the deed was done and there was no going back. So I did the only thing I could do…I called my doctor.

Going to doctor for anything else is easy. But going in for an HIV test is paranoia. For once in my life I am thankful for my cell phone, it made making the appointment a bit easier. Making the appointment was easier than walking into the office. The feeling I had as soon as I walked in was that of an obese person walking into McDonald’s. It seems just by looking at you they know why you’re there. You could be there for a physical or a hangnail or you could be pregnant but you know why you’re there. And you’re afraid everyone else in the office does as well.

When the nurse called my name my feet turned into lead. I dragged myself out of the chair and into the examining room where the nurse weighed me, measured me, listened to my heart and took my blood pressure. By this time my blood pressure was hovering around the same odds as the crisis in Darfur taking over the lead story on CNN from Britney “Suicide Watch” Spears. After the nurse left, I spent the next few minutes staring blankly into the cover of a ‘Golf Digest’ while I contemplated my future. Soon my doctor came in, asked me how I was feeling and we both began the rigorous process of arranging my HIV test. Gone are the days of “I think I have HIV.” “Well then, let’s draw some blood.” POKE! “There you go. We’ll have the results for you in twenty to thirty days. I’m sure it’s nothing but you be careful out there.” * WINK * If only it were that easy but thankfully it’s not. The next half hour felt like a scene from ‘Law & Order’. I was interrogated about my sexual activity, my previous relationship, drug use, any noticeable marks, symptoms, etc. When the line of questioning was finished next came the forms; sign this, initial here, finger print there we hadn’t even gotten to the actually test yet. My doctor then informed me the first is not conclusive that would have to come back for a second in three months and another three months after that. Also, if I’m found positive I am legally obligated to inform my past partners of my HIV status. DUH! Like I’m keeping something like THAT to myself!? I would feel like the rat that started the Black Plague. Once we were finished, my doctor turned off the spotlight, put the rubber hose away, took my twenty-five bucks and sent me downstairs to get my blood drawn.

The walk from my doctor’s office, downstairs to the blood clinic felt like the last mile on death row. At this point I wasn’t sure that I had HIV but what if I did? What would I do? How would I tell my family? Things had not been going for me lately and I felt as if the odds were against me. It took a couple of seconds for me to grab the doorknob, turn it and walk in. I had a passing thought I didn’t want to know, I didn’t need to know. I would just live out my days in quiet desperation (which would be very out of character for me because I’m usually so vocal about my desperation.) But I had to do it, so I went inside. Now, every time I have had blood work done before the same kind attentive western Indian lady has drawn it for me. But on this day she had been replaced with Jack Black. As if things weren’t stressful enough I was about to get my blood sucked by the star of ‘Nacho Libre.’ Finally I gave into the chaos that had become my life and I allowed ‘Tenacious D’ to take my samples. I needle poke and cotton ball later I was done. All that was left to do was to wait.

I heard back from the doctor within twenty-four hours. I was negative. Unfortunately, the doctor thought my number at the time was my cell and not my home. The X-bf heard the message as well. Why he didn’t stop the message when he heard it was for me? I couldn’t tell you, but he did ask me about it. He wanted to know if I was all right. I told him point blank it was no longer his concern. And it wasn’t. This happened after we broke up. It was my concern and would be my concern for the next three months.

Three months had passed and I went back in for next HIV test. This time I was prepared for the questions, forms and anxiety that accompanied the whole experience. I signed, they poked and I waited. It took twenty-four hours for me to get the results of my last test. But this time it was taking significantly longer. One, two, three days, a week passed. Nothing. I finally decided to call my doctor to find out the results. Now most people would take the point of view that “No news is good news.” But I couldn’t risk that. This was my life and possibly others, so called. The medical office manager ‘Roz’ picked up and asked why I was calling. I walked to the far end of my office building, away from the smokers. I told her I had a blood test the previous week and I was looking for the results of the test. She paused for a moment and asked me to hold. I stood out in the cold for what seemed like forever at the crossroads of my life waiting for her to come back on the line. Finally she comes back on and says, (I swear these are her words) “Was it a special test?” A SPECIAL TEST!? YES! I think it’s special! It’s only going to determine the rest of my life! So yeah, we’ll go with “SPECIAL”! I said, “Yes, it was a special test.” Her response to me was, (and again not making this up) “Oh it’s negative. Anything else?” No, no I guess that will be all. Thanks for telling I don’t have a life altering, possibly fatal disease. You have a nice day now darlin’! After I hung up (confirming the results of course) I let all the air out my body in one collective sigh, the way you let the air out of a kiddie’s pool.

For some people this would feel like a second chance on life. They would start skydiving or wresting wild boars or some crazy shit like that. But for me, I just felt relieved. I still have one more test to go but I feel like I can handle the results no matter what they are. The one thing this experience has taught me is, things are never as bad as we make them out to be. I have learned to fight through the anxiety of “What if?” Now I ask “What’s next?”

NEXT UP: Farewell to family and friends.

The Best of 2007: I got laid! NO REALLY!!

After a few weeks of licking my wounds from the break up and drowning my sorrows in tubs upon tubs of ice cream I began to feel ‘anxious’ (if you know what I mean ‘wink’.) So I did what any self-respecting gay man would do who was looking for a ‘good time’ and need a little self-esteem boost. I renewed my account and updated my profile on Gay.com.

I tried going out to the local watering holes to pick up a ‘friend’ for some ‘stimulating conversation”, but there are couple obstacles when doing this. One, they can actually see you, ALL of you. You are no longer a two dimensional being shot from your best side with a little Photoshop thrown in for good measure. You’re a middle-aged guy with thinning hair, a slight belly and wearing clothes that are a little too young for you. And two, you are surrounded by other men (boys, really) who are SOOOO much better looking than you. Plus I was on a timetable; I had a limited amount of weekends to try and squeeze this particular ‘activity’ in. So I logged on and away we went.

Now before I start my little tirade I want to point out the names have been changed protect the identities of all involved. All of them were very nice people and in no way is this essay meant to hurt them. It’s meant show what a jackass I am. On with the rant…

The first willing participant in this string of nightmarish hook-ups was a guy who was in town to attend a wedding. Chatting with him online and for a brief period on the phone he seemed a nice enough guy. Plus, he was only in visiting for the long weekend and by Tuesday he’d be gone. One night we ended up talking on the phone and he finally convinced me to meet him at his hotel room. Now if I were in the CORRECT frame of mind I wouldn’t have done this. But I wasn’t and ‘Willie’ had hopped into the driver’s seat, so we went at 1am to meet stranger to have sex. Not a shining moment and certainly not the last.

When I reached the hotel I called him on his cell to let him know I arrived. He told me to meet him in the back of the building. He didn’t want me coming through the lobby in fear that one of his family members might see him sneaking a guy into his room. So like a five-dollar hooker I waited for him by the door of the backstairs. Now I did have a pre-determined picture in my head of what he would look like based on the picture in his profile. Rule number one when it comes to meeting someone online…NEVER TRUST THE PICTURE IN THE PROFILE! It could be a year or two old. It could have been one that came with his wallet. You never know! Because when he came of the door, it was the svelte Italian with chiseled features I saw online. It was a short, round hobbit. Regardless of his looks (which should have knocked some sense into me onsite) I followed him up 4 flights of stairs to his room. Once we arrived and sat down on the couch common sense came back to me and smacked me around a bit. I tried to be as nice possible when I told him I wasn’t expecting a pudgy little gnome to meet me at the back door. Needless to say, I was as polite as possible short of leaping out the 4th story window to get back to my car as quickly as I could. Driving home, I swore something like this was never going to happen again. Little did I know it would happen 4 more times before that statement finally sunk in.

The next was a twenty-six year old young man whom I also met in the chat room. He was cute enough (this time the picture actually matched the person) and he could talk a good game….online. But in real life he had all the personality of a life long member of the ‘Star Trek: Star Fleet Command’ fan club. I could see him and the other ‘cadets’ sitting around on a Saturday night discussing the whys and wherefores of warp theory. But at that time I wasn’t looking for personality, just a warm body with working equipment. But at the first sign of Vulcan ears I was calling it off.

Being twenty-six of course he had roommates and I was still living with the x-BF. So we agreed one night to meet at his place after his roommates went to bed. He was more than willing to ‘conduct business’ in the car. But I felt ridiculous enough sneaking out of the house while the x-BF slept to meet someone to ‘get it on.’ Let alone risking having a police light shown in my face while someone is ‘driving the stick.’ So at twelve-thirty in the AM (notice how these things take place late at night) I hopped in the car and drove over to his place. Once I got there I felt like I was fifteen again and not in a good way. I met him outside, he was dressed in a tank top and pajama bottoms with, I swear, some sort of animal on them. Oooo…SEXY! We made our way upstairs to his room; it was donned with Star War posters and roll playing artifacts. He insisted on having the lights off, he got no argument from me. We kissed, we came and I left. Being an online encounter, I thought that was the end of it. I thought that’s the way the game was played. Apparently not, we hooked up for one last time a few weeks later. This final ‘meeting’ was the memory that stuck with me.

Again it was about 1am, I was feeling ‘anxious’ and I had the house to myself. Just by chance, ‘Vulcan’ boy was online. After a few minutes of hot and heavy bantering I invited him over. I went outside to meet him so he didn’t get lost. As I came out of the house I noticed my neighbor on her porch. She had been out of town for a while and just got in.

Quick side story- while my neighbor was out of town our landlords were going re-sealing the driveways. She gave them the keys to her car so they could move it when they wanted to lay down the black top. Well, they did move it but didn’t tell her where it was. So she had been wandering around the neighborhood looking for her car since she got in. Which is why she was on her porch at one in the morning. (Weird things like this happened all the time when we lived in the townhouses and she did eventually find her car.)

Needless, to say she was curious why I was on the front porch in my pajama pants (sans the little animals) and a t-shirt at one in the morning. Just as I was trying to formulate a relatively believable reply, the answer came walking up to us in a tank top, slippers and again ‘jammie’ pants with something questionable on them. What could I do? I introduced ‘Geek Lad’ to my neighbor and quickly shuffled him inside. After a few minutes of stumbling conversation, we ‘went to work’. Just as we were getting close to ‘sealing the deal’, the house phone rings. My concentration being broken at that point, I tried to listen to the message from upstairs. It was my neighbor; I thought she was calling to tell me she found her car. Once we were finished with ‘insert slang here’ and I shooed the ‘Dungeon Master’ out, I listened to the message she had left. Come to find out later, while I was shuffling ‘fan boy’ into the house, the cat had got out. Now knowing he was an indoor cat (for the most part) she was afraid something might happen to him while he was outside. In a panic, I quickly ran outside to look for the cat. But he had didn’t go very far, he may have been curious but he knows where he gets fed and didn’t wander off very far. I picked up the cat, said ‘Good Night’ to my neighbor (who happened to be still awake) and went inside. Once inside, I swore I would never do anything like that again. Until the next time or two or three or four.

My next sex-capade came when I had moved into my new place and out of my old life I had known for seven years. Feeling lonely and down I hopped online to see who was around (you think I would learn, huh?) An hour goes by of no hits, no pings, no IM’s (depressing, isn’t it?) and I was just about ready to log off when a window pops open. The message in the window was simply, “Hi. Horny?” I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. So I said, “Sort of. Why?” Clever. He turned out to be a deaf student from the local university and he was ‘lookin’ for love in all the WRONG places.’ So why not mine? I invited him over. When he showed up, he wasn’t exactly what I expected but he was there and I was weak. Now at one time I knew sign language but that was quite a while ago and I barely remember any of it. So how did we communicate, you say? Notes, written notes, notes that ended with the closing statement, “ Do you want to go?’ So we went. The whole experience was short, in and out (excuse the pun) in a half an hour. But that encounter is one I won’t soon forget. In the heat of passion, the noises that emanated from this young man reminded of scenes from ‘Wild Kingdom’ involving a wounded water buffalo. You know it’s bad sign when the cat goes running from the room covering his ears. There was not a repeat performance.

The next meeting was even shorter (as to never have happened.) We chatted. He invited me over. I got lost on the way. I showed up too late. He turned me away. I stopped by a bar, had a drink. Got home. Went to bed. I was hoping to wake up the next morning to find the whole thing was one big ‘Dallas’ dream sequence. Not a chance!

The next sleep over ‘friend’ was the best in the bunch. He was drag queen. * Here is where I pause for the muffled giggles and titters from the ‘children’ in the reading audience. YES! A DRAG QUEEN! And NO… he wasn’t wearing a dress at the time! Say what you like but he was sweet and witty and cute and he smelled SOOO good! He was A-dorable! On that cold winter’s night he showed up on my doorstep like a trendy little Eskimo right out of an Express catalog. He had beautiful brown skin and long jet black, as soon as he walked in owned the place. He began opening in doors, examining books on bookshelves, and peaking at pictures. I swear if I didn’t know any better I would have thought he was mentally taking measurements for drapes. After a bit of chitchat, we were off to bed. Out of respect for the ‘lady’, I’ll keep the passionate details to myself. But needless to say, I was quite taken with him. And when I’m rocking on the porch of the old queer home trying not to drool on clearance rack Prada robe, he will be the memory I’m smiling about while I watch the male nurse bend over to pick up bed pans.

Well, I saved the worst for last. To be completely honest I don’t remember much about the last guy. There were a couple of things I can recall from my experience in ‘NEVER-NEVER AGAIN’ land, one being a hazy recollection of the ordeal (phantom memory if you will.) The only way to accurately describe this feeling is that of a solider returning from war. I’ve blocked out most of the memories from that night but I know I don’t want to go back! Also, I’ve seen better dental work on thoroughbred.

I can’t say that I have gone completely cold turkey with the whole chat room thing. I still log on and I still chat with single (or semi-single) guys in and around the area. I have to admit I met one of my best friends through Gay.com and five years later we are still friends to this day. But I don’t go on with the specific reason to find sex anymore. After all, that’s what bars are for.

NEXT UP: HIV

The Best of 2007: Breaking up is hard to do....TWICE!

I don’t think anyone was happier to ring in 2008 than I was. If only for the fact it meant the end of 2007. Much like a tsunami 2007 started out as gentle waves upon sand that was my life but ended by laying waste to my self confidence, emotional well being and what was left of my mental health.

Things started to go down hill rapidly right after the break up with the x-BF. Even though we were broken up we still had to live together because there was 6 months left on the lease. I know what you’re thinking, “Why didn’t he move out?” (God knows how many times I heard that during this ordeal from friends and my own conscience.) Well, even though he wanted to break up he didn’t exactly think the plan all the way through. He had no money saved up to get a new place, let alone a new place to go. So we were stuck. To be perfectly honest I wasn’t ready to let him go. Even to the point where we shared a bed for a couple of weeks after the break up upon my disturbed request. But we thought we could make it work. You know, sort of the way a three hundred pound woman thinks she can fit into a size six pair of slacks. They may stretch but eventually something’s going to give and everything comes out.

Soon we moved his stuff upstairs to the third floor bedroom and for a while we lived in polite restraint. We stilled cooked dinner together sometimes, watched TV, we left the joint checking account open to pay the bills (that was the only move that made sense) and let each other know where we were going and when we would be back. It was almost like nothing ever happened. Sick, huh? Eventually the denial wore off and the x-BF started seeing someone while we were still living together (some nights not coming home at all.) Now in the beginning, we made an agreement that we would not bring anyone into the house (sans close friends.) It was to be our neutral zone, a place where we each could deal with things without the outside world interfering. Well, one day the world kicked down the door, smacked me around and started fucking my x-boyfriend right in front of me! At that point the restraints were off and the gloves were on. We had at it!

Now to be fair I don’t remember all of the argument (I’ve probably blocked it out like the first time I saw my grandmother naked.) But my side was this; if he wanted to date, carry on and have a life of his own he should leave. I felt by him seeing someone else, not that long after we broke up mind you, was throwing our three and half year relationship up in my face as if it meant nothing. I at least had the decency to wait until he was out of town to get laid and not parade it around like new Milanos. After much yelling and a lot of tears a deal was struck. The new ‘person’ was kept under wraps for the duration of our stay in the house.

After that things didn’t get any easier. There were more fights and more tears. Soon there was hardly any talking at all. During one of the arguments I told the x-BF had he moved out when he broke up with me we probably could have started to be friends again. But I’m not sure that will ever happen.

When we finally did move out, he left first. For me, it was like breaking up all over again. Even though we weren’t together, he was still there and some where in the back of my mind I probably thought there was still potential. But there wasn’t and I see now that’s a good thing. I’ve lived on my own before and I can do it again and I am. But once in a while it would be nice to fill that empty space next to me in bed with someone other than the cat.

Next Up: Did I mention I got laid? Don’t ask!