On Chuck Taylors, Flirtations and Getting Asked for My Phone Number

As I walked up to the counter, my two new pairs of shoes in hand, I had a hunch I was in for a round of flirting. The man who was set to ring me up was the kind of guy whom I typically get attention from – tall, large, boyish. He wasn’t unattractive by any means. And he certainly was friendly. All in all, the encounter could have been much worse.

He opened my two boxes of Chuck Taylors to make sure the sizes of the shoes matched the sizes on the boxes. “Have you seen the two-toned ones?” he asked.

I wasn’t sure what he was talking about so he went on to explain. “One color is sort of like the lining for the other.”

I had, in fact, seen those. I was not a fan. “Oh, right. I did see those. I’m not a fan.”

“No?”

“No. It’s like two shoes in one and that’s just way too much shoe for summer.”

“I totally agree.” He flashed me a big smile.

He continued to ring me up as we both smiled and laughed and talked about shoes. Once he had my total ready, he threw me for a loop. Reaching out, he took my hand. “Can I get your phone number?” he asked in a hushed tone.

I froze. Was this guy asking me for my phone number in front of everyone right there in the store where he works? I was more than slightly taken aback. “I’m sorry?” I managed to say.

He leaned in closer. “Can I get your phone number?”

He looked me in the eye and I had to fight the urge to look away. I was becoming more and more uncomfortable by the second. “What?”

He flashed another big smile and pulled his hand away from mine. “Your phone number. I need it so I can make sure you get your points for this purchase.”

Yes, I thought. That’s exactly why he needed my phone number. He was not asking me for my phone number for personal reasons. He needed to look me up in his computer to make sure I got points for my purchase. I breathed for the first time since his initial request and rattled off my digits.

He reminded me that each purchase throughout the weekend would result in triple points, encouraging me to come back before Sunday. He then gave me a handful of coupons to use online. I thanked him and took my bags.

As I left the store, I looked back to see him flashing his big smile at the next customer. “Can I get your phone number?” he asked as he leaned over the counter just so. I tired to stifle a smile as I hit the escalator.

Getting asked for your number is not always what it’s cracked up to be.

On Positivity, Pride and Deciding Not to Dwell on the Negative

As I prepare myself for this weekend’s Gay Pride festivities, I am deciding not to focus on what I consider to be negative aspects of the weekend. Instead, I am deciding to focus on that which I am really proud of. I often find it hard to be proud of the gay community, and the same can be said about myself. But today I’d like break the trend and shine a light on my pride in honor of this very colorful season.

I am proud of …

• My wicked sense of humor
• My unwavering loyalty to my family
• My ability to always win a game of Clue
• My ability to almost always win a game of Cranium
• My generosity
• My killer dance moves and fierce sense of rhythm
• My collection of books
• The fact that I have read nearly every book in said collection
• My dedication to this blog
• My writing skills
• My ability to remember song lyrics
• My honest nature
• My ability to tell a good lie if needed
• My ability to tell an even better story
• The fact that I feel I’ve matured over the years
• My new hairstyle
• My poker face
• My steel trap of a memory
• Moving to Chicago and following a dream
• My job
• The people I choose to surround myself with
• My love of art
• My love of theater
• My love of literature
• My love of trashy television
• My love of trashy pop music
• My love of all music
• My iPod and all its contents
• My uncanny ability to look like I weigh less than I do
• My compassion
• My social awareness
• My determination to be a good person

I’m the kind of guy who tends to dwell on the negative. Sometimes it’s hard for me to remember everything about myself that I can be proud of. But if I take a hard enough look at myself, I see that the picture is not nearly as bad as I thought.

Perhaps I need to take a similar look at the gay community. If I take the time to really examine it, maybe I can find something to be proud of. Certainly there are negative aspects to everything, but now is not the time to dwell on that. Now is the time to be proud of that which is deserving.

That is what this weekend is all about, isn’t it?

On Gloucester High School, Pregnancy and An Unbelievably Unsettling Situation

Have you heard about this group of moronic twats at Gloucester High School in Massachusetts? There are seventeen girls at that school who are pregnant. That is over four times the “norm.” Early reports on the story even claimed a group of the girls formed some sort of pact, vowing that they’d each get pregnant. Allegedly they were giving each other high-fives in the hallways with each new positive home pregnancy test. How incredibly idiotic and sick is that?

Now it seems that there was no pact. The girls merely agreed to help each other out since they’ve all found themselves in the same boat. But pact or no pact, this is a serious problem. Seventeen girls are pregnant at this high school. The majority of these girls are under the age of sixteen. And while most of the girls were impregnated by their boyfriends, it is being reported that at least one girl had sex with a homeless man twice her age for the sole purpose of getting knocked up.

Stripping away all the sensationalism and allegations, you still have an unsettling story. Here we have a group of girls who aren’t even old enough to drive and they’re getting ready to have babies. Good old Gloucester High School has no worries about its future. The class of 2027 is filling up quickly.

It just disgusts me. What is going through the minds of these kids? And not just these kids, but kids all over the country. It’s appalling.

I totally wish I was the father of one of these selfish little bitches. She’d be in a world of hurt. You bet your bottom dollar she’d be having this baby. But you can also bet she’d be doing it alone. If these girls are so anxious to be mothers, let them be mothers. I wouldn’t be paying one red cent to help out. I wouldn’t be babysitting for free. I’d be giving my daughter a little taste of the real world. If you want to be an adult, you need to act like an adult.

And don’t think I’ve forgotten about the little boys who couldn’t keep it in their pants. Each and every one of those horny little bastards needs to pay child support. They need to learn that you can’t just go around squirting your sperm without paying the price. And if they complain one bit, they should be brought up on statutory rape charges. That would teach them a lesson.

As a side note, let’s pray to God none of these poor innocent babies are born with AIDS. Getting pregnant is one consequence of unsafe sex, but it’s hardly the only one.

And where are the adults in these kids’ lives? Who is sitting them down and talking to them about their actions? They seem to be nowhere. Or else they seem to be accepting. In fact, Gloucester High School has a day care center so that young mothers can bring their babies to school with them. And what does Greg Virga, the chairman of the town’s school committee have to say about that? “The beauty of having the day care is that it encourages the child to stay in school and finish their education, as opposed to encouraging them to get pregnant in the first place.” (source)

Are you kidding me? Sure, there is some truth to Virga’s statement, but having a day care also sends the message that teen pregnancies are normal and acceptable. What’s next? Are we going to offer crack in high schools so that teenagers who are addicted to drugs can still manage to get to math class on time?

The more I read about this and think about this, the more upset I become. These young people are throwing their lives away and they don’t even seem to care. I happen to know a number of women who had children at very early ages, and each and every one of them has regrets about it. That does not mean they do not love their children. They do. But they also admit that having a kid when you are a kid makes life very difficult.

I could go on and on about this situation and how upsetting I find it. But that won’t change anything. Teenagers will continue to make stupid choices. School officials will continue to rationalize ridiculous behavior. Parents will continue to turn a blind eye to the actions of their children.

And the saddest part is that babies will be born to mothers and fathers who are not equipped to care for them.

On The Demolisher, The Bleeder and A Tale a Accidental Sexual Assault

I used to think that my sex life was bad. But then I talked to my friend. I have since reevaluated my stance. My friend (we’ll call him The Demolisher for reasons that will soon become apparent) told me a little story last night about the time a sexual encounter ended up in a visit to the emergency room.

The Demolisher had been dating this guy (we’ll call him The Bleeder for reasons that will soon become apparent) for six weeks or so when they decided to try their hands (and other body parts) at anal sex. Both men were fairly new to the anal sex game, but when you put two horny gay men in a room together, experience is of little importance.

As you probably have guessed, there was a little tearing of The Bleeder’s most intimate area. To be honest, I don’t think that’s overly uncommon. And from what I can tell of the situation, it wasn’t that severe. Let us just all remember that lube is our friend, especially when it comes to getting something to go in the out door.

That’s where the story stops being relatively usual and gets a little bit crazy.

A few hours after The Bleeder was done bouncing around on The Demolisher pleasure stick, The Demolisher was awakened from sleep by cries from the bathroom. He rushed to see what the problem was and found The Bleeder standing in front of a toilet full of blood. Like any rational human being, The Demolisher freaked out. The Bleeder, it turns out, was urinating blood. The two rushed to the hospital.

At the hospital the kinky couple found out that somehow The Demolisher had bruised The Bleeder’s urethra, allowing blood to enter the urinary tract. To be honest, I’ve yet to even figure out how that can happen. There must have been some wild monkey sex going on for The Demolisher to accomplish such a feat.

Two days later, The Bleeder was ready for a repeat performance (minus, hopefully, a toilet full of blood). The Demolisher was understandably a little hesitant. It’s not necessarily a good day when you cause someone bodily harm during sex. From what I can gather, The Bleeder never experienced The Demolisher inside of him again.

I must say that as dry as my sex life tends to be, I’ve never made anyone bleed during sex. Well, unless you count that one tiny bloody nose incident. And I’ve certainly never bled during sex. In those respects, I suppose I’m doing just fine in the sex department.

Turns out things can always be worse.

On Yahoo Personals, Danity Kane and An Examination of How I am Foolish and Doomed and Damaged and, Ultimately, Certifiable

Many moons ago (before I declared that there would be no dates for me this year) I placed an ad on Yahoo Personals. The ad reads a little something like this:

I am 29, funny, honest, smart and relatively cute. I say “relatively” because I know that looks are completely subjective. I’m not thin. Nor am I obese. I’m not smooth. I don’t have abs of steel. If you like to cuddle, you may like me. I’m built for such things. I’m a teddy bear kind of guy with (people tell me) a great smile.

In short, I’m just a regular guy with a kind heart and a good attitude. And I’m hoping that someday someone will come along who will revive my romantic nature. I’m looking for friends as much as I am looking for something more. And yes, I am capable of being just friends.

As for you, here are the top five things I look for in a man (in no particular order):

1. A warm smile. It will melt my heart every time.
2. A sense of humor. Laughter is never a bad thing.
3. Confidence. Pick up the phone, give me a call and tell me how you feel.
4. Honesty. Lie to me and I’ll kick you.
5. Good kissing abilities. If your smile melts my heart, your kiss may get my motor revving.

A man who understands that a relationship is work and can’t be rushed will also move to the front of the line (assuming enough men are interested in me to create a line). And if romance is your forte, I’m happy to test your skills against mine.

But mostly (yes, I realize my top five now consists of about 18 things) I like a man who knows who he is and is not afraid to be that person.

As you may have guessed, I didn’t have much luck with the blasted thing. I met one guy who was rather nice, but he wanted more than I was willing to give and things fizzled rather quickly. I also received a few messages from men who lived in other parts of the country, but I never bothered to respond. I refuse to get on a plane for a first date.

After a few months I made the ad private so that no one could see it. It’s a little disheartening to log in and see that no one has even bothered to look at your stupid ad in weeks. Talk about rejection. So in order to save myself from total devastation, I took my search for love offline.

Over the weekend I revisited my stinking ad. A friend of mine recently created an ad of her own, and as we were checking out hers and scoping out the selection of straight single men in the area, we popped over to check out my ad.

And, low and behold, I reactivated the thing.

I know I shouldn’t be “actively” seeking dates when I have six months left in my New Year’s resolution not to date. It’s just a bad idea, right? I’m foolish.

Except that no one has even looked at my ad since it was reposted. I am as completely unappealing to every single single gay man on Yahoo as I was before. I have made no strides in these long months. I’m doomed.

But being doomed may be a good thing in this instance. If someone were to see my ad and find me worthwhile enough to send me a message, I’d have to deal with that. And that is a scary scary prospect. I mean, I’m the guy who simultaneously has sworn off all men and placed an ad on a dating website. How incredibly screwed up am I? Or, in the words of flash-in-the-pan pop sensation Danity Kane, I’m damaged.

I’ve tried every remedy
And nothing seems to work for me

This situation’s driving me crazy
And I really wanna be your lady
But the one before you left me so

Damaged, damaged
Damaged, damaged
I thought that I should let you know
That my heart is
Damaged, damaged
So damaged (so damaged)
And you can blame the one before

And now I’m quoting Danity Kane. I honestly don’t even really know who the hell Danity Kane is. In fact, until about three minutes ago I thought the group was called Dainty Kane.

But I digress. I was talking about simultaneously shunning love and looking for love. I was talking about being one screwed up little boy. I was trying to figure out what could possibly be so wrong with me that I’d do this to myself and anyone out there who would possibly be desperate enough to respond to my ad.

I swear I’m certifiable.

Maybe I need to just forget about my resolution and take the plunge. Maybe I need to start dating again. Sure, I’m scared and my heart is potentially damaged (damaged damaged damaged) beyond all repair. But can I really let that keep me from being with someone? Surely I’m strong enough to get past my fears and insecurities and let someone love me, right? It’s been a long time since my heart was run over by Cupid’s lawnmower, and time heals all wounds. So I might as well just get back on the horse.

Or I’ll just take the damned ad back down.