The Words I Couldn’t Say

So, I have this friend. And no, I’m not actually referring to myself. I have this friend who I met about six years ago. We met through a mutual friend on MySpace (Which I’m kind of hoping would make a comeback lol) and became good friends. About 2 months into our new friendship, I realized he wanted more than friendship from me. But I wasn’t (and I’m still not) attracted to him. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great person, but he just doesn’t have what I ordinarily look for in guys. And although I knew in the back of my mind that this friend of mind had a thing for me, I refused to acknowledge it.

Then one drunken night….he kissed me….and I idiotically kissed him back.

The next morning I knew what a fucking stupid mistake I had made, but I was determined to undo the damage. I hated that I gave him the indication that I was interested. The only way to fix it was to be upfront about it, I told myself.

So, that opportunity came….and I wussed out.

Later that night, we went to the Saint. We got drunk off of bourbon and danced all night. Toward the end of the night, I saw him looking at me “in that kind of way” and I knew I had to do something to put at end to all of that. So, in a drunken stupor, I went up to him and told him that I really liked him…as a friend….but I didn’t want him as my boyfriend. He looked at me, eyes full of hurt, and asked, “Why not?”  I’ve never forgotten that moment as that was the first moment I ever broke someone’s heart.

Despite the pain, we got through it. We became great friends. And we really enjoyed hanging out. I was actually pretty surprised at how natural things seemed. I had thought things would become awkward and inevitably the friendship would end. Naturally.

But it continued…until I met someone.

This someone become someone very special to me. And this friend of mine became very bitter. He became so bitter that after one dramatic altercation at The Bonham Exchange, our friendship ended. And on MySpace six years ago, I wrote this:

I’m Burning this Bridge

I kissed him. Twice. So I can understand why there might be confusion and I can understand that despite me telling him incessantly that I have no interest in him, he might think otherwise. I can understand that he might think the only reason I say these things is to protect the relationship I’m starting with Eric.

Then when I decide not to be understanding, I’m faced with someone I really don’t think I would want in my life. He is all kinds of shades, and can change his attitude the second something happens with me and another guy. He’s able to deal with Eric and I being together. That’s not a problem for him anymore. But if any other guy comes up and poses interest he immediately draws into himself, puts up a steel wall, and acts as though I’ve commited an unforgivable sin. A question I have is, why is he no longer threatened by Eric? Eric is the closest thing to a relationship I have right now and <name removed> is NOWHERE in the viscinity. I remember a few months ago, he said that he was thinking of breaking someone up. He looked straight into my eyes when he said this. He made great strides to accomplish this on Tuesday. He intentionally took advantage of a situation. So much that he hurt people in doing it. But it was all done in the hopes that he’d get what he wants. Not only did he insure himself of that NEVER happening, but he’s made it clear that he’s nothing but a bitter, insecure, selfish, impersonable backstabbing sorry excuse for a friend.

And I’m happy to know it.

And here I am, about to burn this bridge again. And not because I’m angry. But because I’m tired. I’m tired of trying to make a friend of a Frenemy. Because that’s who he’s been all this time. And THOSE are truly the words I couldn’t say.

To Say Goodbye

So, I love my new apartment. When I came to Austin looking for a place, I chose the first apartment I was shown. I walked in and instantly new. At that moment as I stood at the center of what would become my apartment, I knew that Austin and I were meant to be. But if these past few months have shown me anything, its that things are never that simple. There’s far more give and take than that.

When I moved here, I went from being utterly excited about my new life, to in complete pieces when my old one drove away. It was heartbreaking. It was suppose to be heartbreaking. Change is never simple. And as I walked around my apartment again…alone…I realized that there were some serious changes ahead. For me personally….and for my apartment. I slowly began adding things every week. Flowers, lamps, rugs….but I knew the biggest change would be to the the walls around me. For a few months, I considered which walls I wanted to paint…and what colors would match my beautiful new furniture.

A month later and little had changed. I had added items here and there. My restroom was exactly as I wanted it (an egyptian theme). But my walls were still the boring white-tanish color that really added zero personality to the space I was trying to create. So, a few weekends ago, I pulled my lazy ass out of bed one Saturday morning and made my way to Home Depot. I have probably been to Home Depot about three times in my life. One was to buy a gift card for one of my former co-workers, another was to buy a magnolia tree for my Mom on Mother’s Day, and then that day…the day, I had decided I wanted to paint three walls in my new apartment. I don’t think I realize how lucky I am to have the apartment I have. It’s only when I’m in other people’s apartments do I realize what a great decision I made. I know that sounds completely big-headed of me, but I think it says something of my state of mind rather than my vanity. I don’t think I truly believe I deserve my apartment. I think in my mind, there’s still so much I need to do to make it mine.

And take it from me, there’s something very empowering about walking into a Home Depot. I mean the place in itself it all about improvement. Everyone that walks through its doors is looking to improve upon something. And so was I.

So, I walked to the Paint Department and started looking at various samples. I had an idea of what I wanted, so it didn’t take me very long to pick out the three custom colors I wanted for my three walls. I inevitably chose an avocado green for my living room (as it goes very nicely with my gray couch), a cinnamon brown for my dining area and an NYPD blue for my bedroom.

$134 later, I got home. I laid out the plastic protective sheets on my carpet, blue-taped the adjacent walls, and decided to start with my living room. I poured the avocado green into the paint tray, placed it on the plastic sheet, and found myself sitting on my couch staring at the walls. I was second-guessing myself. It was all suddenly happening too fast for me. But why? I had been so eager. I mean I got up early on a Saturday morning for this!!! Come on. I realized I was psyching myself out. And I also realized this apprehension was nothing unusual at all. In fact, I had faced it down many times before…and had folded to it…too many times than I’d like to admit.

It was Change. I remembered moving into the University of Incarnate Word dorms in the Fall of 2002 and moving out the very next day. I remember attending St. Mary’s University on a full-scholarship in the Fall of 2005, only to return home to Uvalde in the Spring. The change of it all had shook me. I think that’s what unfortunately stops a lot of us from doing what we know is better for ourselves. It’s the struggle between the old and the new, the complacent and the unexpected.

So, in my effort to get over myself, I got my ipod, put on my headphones, and painted my wall avocado green to Robyn’s “Dancing on My Own.” And as I painted, and the green strokes took charge of that once mundane space…I realized how good it felt and how much I needed it. But it wasn’t until my paint brush met that blank wall, that I realized it.

The Age of Entitlement

(This is something I wrote a few years back….it still applies.)

There was a Friday night a few months back in September where I found myself at Cheddar’s having another buzzed conversation over margaritas (and let us not forget the chips and queso) about life in your late-twenties. I found it fitting that while I was having this conversation, San Antonio was getting hit hard by a system of thunderstorms that turned the night sky jet black that clashed of thunder and lightning. Ugh. Life in my late-twenties. I don’t like being late to a teeth-cleaning, let alone being late in my age bracket. But that’s my reality, isn’t it? And yes, I’m doing my best to accept this reality while shedding the delusions. But man, let me tell you, I have some pretty solid delusions about myself. Choosing to believe it clear and starry that night definitely wouldn’t have spared me of the downpour awaiting me outside. But that’s what us quarter-lifers tend to do.

There was a waiter, not our waiter, but a waiter that would pass along our table occasionally that seemed to catch the attention of Ang and I. We both certainly thought he was cute. As he left our sight for the third time that night (while hoping for a fourth), I looked over across my table as the following realities began to quell this dreamboat of ours:

“Too young”, I said.

“Too short.”

“A Waiter”, I finished.

I’ve found that being officially in your late-twenties adds a certain apprehension that has much more to do with age than anything else. I mean, I’ll probably have to deal with this in my thirties, but one identity crisis at a time, please!! The issue for me–as it is for others my age, I have noticed–has more to do with the fact that I feel late to my age. I struggled and erred for a bit there in my early-twenties, and it certainly didn’t help to have to work full-time to pay bills while trying to pursue an accounting degree that left little for any semblance of a personal life. The decisions of your early-twenties come swift and tough, everyone doesn’t have the same emotional and financial support systems that can expedite a smooth transition to adulthood. And fucking Facebook, man. If there’s anything that sucks more regarding the advent of social networking, it’s the details your old high school friends get to throw in your face about their lives. Bachelor degrees, Graduate degrees, trips overseas, marriages, children, homes, boats! Boats!! I mean, COME ON!! Boats at 26!!?

Where did I go wrong? I don’t want a boat. But it would certainly be nice to have the power to mull one over, ya know? Ultimately, though, I feel the only wrong here is feeling I’m wrong for not being in the same place at the same time as those my age. So there it is, huh? A truth uglier that anything I could ever wake up next to after a late night of heavy bourbon and trance music: We feel entitled to it all. And that’s the grand-daddy delusion of them all.

I think it’s pretty clear that relationships dominate most of our minds. And I’ll admit that I haven’t dated anyone in a while. But that’s a choice after a few tough lessons learned. As those in my life know, graduating from college has been my focus for awhile. I could barely make time for myself. So, as is the trend, I joined a few sites aimed at dating a little over a year ago. When I was filling out a profile for one of these sites, I felt like I was applying for a job.

“What are your interests?”

“Where have you worked?”

“What are your goals?”

“How would you describe yourself?”

“What positions are you most interested in?” (I guess this one could go two ways)

And while sipping on our slushy margaritas, we lamented on our most recent dating trials and errors. The no-call-back, only attracting one-note dead ends, and the aggravation of not being able to win over the one with potential. So, I asked, “Is there more we could be doing?” Is there really much of a difference in how we are professionally hired and romantically desired? If you do the whole online-dating deal (and don’t lie, you fools know your asses do!), you probably have profiles (applications) up on a few sites, you go through the obligatory first phone call (phone interview) to  weed out the losers you really don’t want to waste your time and four bucks for coffee on, then you have your first interview (first date) which are normally used to gauge the possibility of a second date (second interview), then you’re normally either hired at that point or you’re asked back for more interviews depending on the level of the position, and in the dating realm you date until you mutually decide to be exclusive.

As we all probably know, the hardest part of the hiring process is getting the second interview as the hardest part in dating life is receiving that coveted call-back after a first date. So what’s the point? Just take a look at your Facebook page. Your best photos, your likes, your dislikes, personality, interests, education, occupation, goals, and dreams do one big thing: They market yourself. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat in front of my computer with my hand on my mouse (ok, that didn’t sound too good, so mind out of gutter people, please lol) while considering the consequence of liking a certain friend’s status, or admitting to being an avid fan of Pee Wee Herman (I was fashioning pull-ups at the time, ok?!!). Every decision you make on Facebook is seen by other people. Drunk facebooking is the social equivalent of walking out onto your front yard at 9am in a snuggie, boxer shorts, and socks with sandals for the morning paper.

So, why not take a casual business approach toward dating? Yeah, it doesn’t sound sexy, but I’m willing to bet I’d have a much better opportunity of having the chance of being sexy for someone in the future by being more thoughtful of the dating process rather than merely hoping he likes me based on the minimum effort I put forth. And this may take time. Invest in yourself. Salons, gyms, bookstores, therapists…do whatever you have to get yourself good and confident. Just because I might like to have someone, doesn’t mean I’m ready for someone and that is still a far cry from deserving anyone. Personally, I know right now, I ain’t looking too hot, hah. Not only because school has drained me of all energy, but because I feel that way about myself too. I wouldn’t date me. And I’m not dating, until I would.

Let it Go

It drives me crazy when people feel the need to give obvious advice.

I’m smart enough to know what I need. I think, for the most part, we all are. But things are never that simple. If they were, life would be a whole lot easier.

I remember reading “Eat Pray Love” about three years ago. The most compelling part of that book for me was when the main character was put to task for failing to see the truth of her struggling life.

She hadn’t let go. She hadn’t forgiven. She struggles because she allowed herself to. She wasn’t letting go of the old in order to allow the new in. She needed to create a space and let the universe do the rest. After that moment, she went a long journey toward a new life, a better life….a renewed life.

Unfortunately, that latter part (after the admission that you’ve been a total moron and have deluded yourself into thinking your problems are bigger than you) is the hardest part. It’s the part I struggle with. It’s the part I am going to devote myself toward from here on out.

I kind of came to this realization in a bar this past Saturday night. We went to OCH on 4th and had a few vodka 7′s. One of my best friends from San Antonio (who plans to move to Austin this fall) was visiting and we decided to hit the town (as you do in Austin) and meet up with a few friends. It had been awhile since  I had been to Austin, and I quickly noticed how much things had changed. Everything seemed improve. Everything except me.

When we first got there, the place was pretty dead, but as the people began to trickle in I noticed a stark contrast between the people of Austin and the people of San Antonio. Austinites seem more laid back, matter-of-act, and far more comfortable. I really like that. I wish I could take part in that.

Hopefully, one day, I’ll allow myself to. But I’m not going to delude myself into thinking that “letting go” is as easy as deciding to do so. It’s a process. Sometimes, a long one.

And finally…I welcome it.

Independence Day

I moved to Austin, TX about a month ago.

The majority of my family reside in San Antonio. I had never really left home for a substantial amount of time (aside from a semester of college), and had never really felt what it was like to REALLY be on my own. To depend on myself, to shelter myself, pay ALL the bills, clean house, and to really MAN up…well, it’s all very new to me.

I’m a 28 year old gay man with a bachelors of business administration degree in accounting. Oh, and I’m a virgin! Well, it comes to that one technicality, but I’ll get into that later.

I worked for a non-profit before being offered a job with the State of Texas as a Financial Analyst. When it comes to my career, I’m always on target. I have a seamless work history, never been fired, and I’ve been fortunate to not really have to worry about landing a job. It’s just the one part of my life that I always seem to know how to manage.

My personal life, however, well…that’s never been easy for me. Does anyone watch Girls on HBO? Well, the show is about about a group of girls (obviously) in their mid-twenties who in their effort to figure out who they are struggle to come to terms with who they’re becoming. I love the show because I can seem myself in each of those characters. Ultimately, when I look back at my early twenties, I begin to see that there’s just so much pressure to be someone that sometimes we slowly become projections of people we think we should be instead of the person we’re meant to be.

I’m just tired to trying too hard. I’m done with that.

I feel that now that I’ve moved out on my own, into a new city…with new people…I may have a chance to actually try this out.

It just feels like a new day, a new life, and a new start.

It’s Independence Day.

The Virgin of Me

It was March. And a few weeks after we had become official.

We were sitting next to each other, and finding ways to furtively touch, at a San Antonio Spurs game. I don’t remember who my Spurs were playing that night, but I do remember the excitement of it all.

The tension, buildup, countdown, and  the release. The game came down to those final seconds. My team was down two points and my favorite player Manu Ginobili had the ball. Everyone was on their feet and I was nervous as hell.

Some find it unusual that I’m so into sports. And I find it unusual in those that aren’t. How can you not love sports? There’s drama, pride, high-stakes…cute guys. Ok, it’s because I’m gay that they find it unusual. But there are other unusual things about me as well.

Anyway, before I get to that, back to the game.

Manu, atypically, passes the ball to Michael Finley, who dribbles from the top of the key toward  the left wing and shoots up a prayer. It clanks off the front of the rim. The crowd groans in shock as the opposing team celebrate their rare victory over a team that hardly ever loses on their home court (ever loses, period! To be honest).

I put my hands on my head in a classic “dissapointed sports fan” kind of way and looked toward my boyfriend next to me. He smiled, put his arm around my waist, drew me close to him, and kissed me quickly–yet gently–on my neck. I smiled at him and looked around half-nervous about the reaction this kind of display would get at a sports arena in South Texas. Even though I’ve only experienced one moment of gay hate in my life, I still get nervous.

The crowd started to file out and my best friend led the way out of the arena. Angie (the best friend), had gotten a Spurs ticket package from her parents for Christmas and this was the final game of the four games we got to attend. He (the boyfriend), hardly knew anything about basketball aside from the fact that they had won more than a few Championships, was all the city really had to be proud of (sports-wise), and that I called Manu Ginobili my husband.

As we drove back He and I sat in the back seat as Ang and I listened to the post-game on the local radio as we tried to escape the congested parking lot. While Ang and I discussed a few players…He put his hand on mine. I smiled at him, kissed him, and put my legs across his lap.

We had all met up at Angie’s apartment and rode with her to the game. When we got to her apartment we said our goodbyes and Angie went in to call it a night. He walked me to my car. As I got to my car, I turned around and hugged him. He squeezed me tightly, pressed his lips against my neck and kissed me up to my lips. The kiss was beautiful. It was like every other kiss we ever had, sweet, hot, and sensual. I placed my hands on his sides as he placed his on the sides of my face as if trying to hold the moment for as long as he possibly could. After every kiss we normally pressed our foreheads together and looked into each other’s eyes. He finally smiled, groaned, and hugged me tightly. Something seemed amiss…

“What?”, I asked half-laughing.

“I don’t want to leave, that’s what”,  he said.

“Then don’t.”

He kissed me on my neck…and continued to do so a little too aggressively…so I pushed his chest off mine.

“What? Geez”, he said smiling.

“You know I can’t afford getting a hickie. I work at a bank. And band-aids may hide the problem, buuuut people still know that it’s there. And honestly, that’s the worst part.”

He looked up into the night sky smiling, and looked down at me.

“Well, I know for a fact that you like it. Those little noises of pleasure you make…well, they turn me on..so when I start it’s kind of hard not to stop”, he said.

I looked at him and smiled knowing he was right, and said “Well, you’re just going to have to give me one where only you and I will ever know where it is.”

He looked at me smiling, looked around the parking lot, and kissed me gently as he lifted my shirt.

He slowly licked the side of my stomach in tiny circles, kissed it a few times, and then pressed his lips hard against my skin. So hard in fact, that I had to take a few steps backward in order to lean back against my car door. I placed my hands on his head and actually started to laugh a little, because if anyone had been looking out their apartment window it would have clearly looked like I was getting a blow job out in the open in a parking lot. And earlier I had been nervous about a little peck on the neck…gosh.

We slowly stopped, kissed the new mark he left me, and then proceeded up to kiss me on my lips.

I smiled at him and told him we’d better go before someone called the cops on the two pervs getting it on on the hood of a car. We laughed and hugged.

“Call me when you get home, ok?”, I told him while hugging him.

“I’m actually not going home”, he said.

“Oh?”, I asked.

“Yeah, Greg asked that I feed and let the dogs out for an hour or so.”

His best friend was in Dallas with a group of friends for a Britney Spears’ Circus Tour.

“Oh, ok. It’s kind of late, don’t you work tomorrow?”, I asked.

He gently nodded while giving me a few pecks on the lips and said, “But I don’t mind. I don’t need much sleep, you know that.”

“I do!”, I laughed. I’m a notorious sleeper. When I was in my early twenties, my friends would give me hell for maintaing a nap schedule. What they refused to understand was that my schedule warranted a nap! I had to be up at 5am for work, work till three and get to night school at about 7pm where I would stay till about 10pm. I did this four days a week. Power naps were vital! But anyway, I digress. I found it so endearing when after figuring out my sleep schedule, he would text me “Goodnight, Handsome”, right before I got into bed (naps included). It’s the little things that win me over.

Anyway, He smiled, and said “Well, you can sleep over at Greg’s with me.”

I looked at him. He looked determined. We were both very turned on by one another and spending more time next to him was just too great of an idea to turn down, however…

“Well, I won’t be able to stay. I don’t have my work clothes with me, but I can go for a bit.”

He smiled, kissed me with his hand pressed under my t-shirt and against my back.

“Follow me”, he said as he kissed me again and then walked toward his car.

As I watched him walk away I began to fully understand the implications. I was scared and nervous, but still I felt safe, protected, and happy.

I got into my car and followed his. He stopped at the apartment exit and took a left.

I then paused at the exit. Took a few extra seconds…and took a left as well.

It turned out to be a defining night for me. It would be the night that I would place a band-aid on my relationship.

To be continued…