St. Lucia and Grenada

It’s another early get up since I have an excursion planned for St. Lucia. The ship is actually anchored out, so we have to take the tender (or ferry, and don’t go there) to the port. When I woke up, I opened the curtains on the window and saw one of the ship’s lifeboats being lowered. All but one of the tenders are from the ship. The whole thing is amazingly well organized. When you get your ticket for the excursion, it tells you what time you need to be in the lounge to get assigned to a tender. We make it the port and then get onto our bus. It’s another "tour the island and then go lay on a beach" trip. The lay on the beach part is always good, the tour the island, not so much. To be honest, I really don’t care about their school system, or the local politics, or even the history of the island. Yes I’m a big bad selfish American, but I’m on vacation and I really don’t want to know all of this little arcane useless trivia. I’ve met this couple (Tom and Joe) and we keep making snide comments about the boring commentary and the passing country side. I know, bitchy gay men, can we be more of a cliché? But it is fun. We stop at a batik shop where they give us a quick demonstration of how they make batik prints. The shop is nice, but how many batik print dresses do they think they are going to sell to a tour bus of gay men? Wait, don’t answer that. I do find a cute batik shirt for Carter that will be perfect for his birthday. After the shop, we get back on the bus and head towards the beach. I’m talking with Joe and I notice he keeps rubbing my arm, shoulders, etc. It feels nice and he is hot in a muscle bear kind of way, so I just let it go. We get to the beach and lay out. We get the obligatory rum drink, I lather up in sun tan oil and then go into a deep sun baked coma. The weather is perfect, hot, sunny, a little bit of wind. The beach is beautiful and the water is the clear light blue color that’s so pretty. We’re close to one of the Sandals resorts, so you know it’s nice. Tom and Joe are lying out next to me and they head into the water. A little bit later I join them and we’re talking a bit. Tom goes for a swim and Joe goes in for the kill. He starts to rub my shoulders, and then lower, and before this gets crazy, I’m like, “What about Tom?” And the response: “Tom saw you first and thought you were just our type.” Sure enough, Tom comes back and he’s very friendly also. Since this is St. Lucia, not Ptown or Key West, we just talked a bit more and then went back to the beach to dry out. Then it’s back on the bus and time to go back to the ship for the Dog Tag T-Dance. You get dog tags and then they put a colored dot on them: green = “available”, yellow = “buy me a drink and we’ll see”, red = “not available”, and two greens = “meet me in my stateroom in 5 minutes.” Okay, that sounds like a reasonable and easy system. So I get up to the dance (DJ Joe Gauthreaux who ROCKED!!) and then I see: green & yellow; green, yellow, and red; red, yellow, and red. I’m SO confused. But boys will be boys. So it’s late afternoon and it’s sunny, we’re anchored out and there isn’t a lot of breeze, and there are several hundred shirtless men dancing and writhing on the pool deck. HOT! HOT! HOT! Sometimes life doesn’t suck. More great music. After the dance, I hook up with Tom and Joe who are kind enough to show me their cabin. They are on deck 7, so they get a balcony. The room really isn’t that much bigger, but the balcony is nice. After the tour of their room (and did I mention that every room has these huge floor to ceiling mirrors on one wall?), it’s time for dinner and then I go see the “Spotlight Broadway” show. It’s okay, but broadway stuff isn’t my thing. Then it’s time for a quick nap and then it’s the Fire Island Party on the pool deck. More hot shirtless men dancing. This is such a boring cruise.

I think I went to sleep around 3AM, but am up at 8AM. By the time I open the curtains, I can see we are moored at St. Georges, Grenada. I have no excursion planned today, but I’ve heard the thing to do is walk into town and then get a water taxi to a nearby beach to spend the day. So after a leisurely breakfast in the main restaurant, I get cleaned up and head for the beach. I make it off the boat and then follow the signs for the water taxi. There is an Italian cruise ship moored opposite of us, and somehow I fall into a group of couples from that ship. We board the water taxi and set off across the harbor. Grenada is green and lush and very beautiful. But apparently it got hammered during the last hurricane season. There is construction going on everywhere and I later hear that on one of the tours they see a sail boat upside down on one of the mountains. How’s that for insane. The boat drops us off at a very nice beach. While all of the straight couples walk to the right down the beach, I see a group of guys to the left and walk over to them. Sure enough, this is “our” section of the beach. It’s sunny, hot, and I’m on a beautiful beach jamming to my MP3 player. This does not suck at all. I’m using SPF 15, but after a couple of hours, I’m starting to feel the burn, so I head back to the ship. Then it’s time for my massage by Alex. There’s this pretty decent spa on the ship and it was very popular (according to Malcom, there were more pedicures given on this cruise compared to any other cruise that Celebrity has had). So after a rough day in the sun and then a nice massage, it’s time for the disco nap. Up for a late dinner in the restaurant, and then it’s the Tropical Heat Party. Have I mentioned the hot men on the ship. Okay, they aren’t really all hot. There is a fairly decent mix of guys. So here is my very unscientific analysis of the various subgroups:

Muscle Marys: You know the types. They’re so huge they couldn’t put their arms next to their sides if their lives dependent upon it. They are hot, and they know it. And they only stick to their own kind.

Twinks: Thin, young, not really developed. Kind of like female gymnasts. Think young A&F types with lots of energy.

Gym Bunnys: In shape, not huge, but nice builds. Usually friendly.

Normal gay guys: Not fat, but not gym bunnies. Just kind of in between.

Big gay guys: Bigger than a normal gay guy, not as big as your average bear.

Bears: Big, furry, friendly, and they’ve never seen a pizza they didn’t like.

And the age range was pretty interesting as well. Here are my informal statistics:

My informal statistics for the cruise

Boys dancing.

Atlantis Cruise: San Juan & St. Maartin

Sleep late, hit the pool at the hotel, go back to the room to pack. Can’t find my passport. Completely empty my suitcases, twice. Find my passport. Start to breathe again.

You can’t board the ship until 1PM, so a little after 1 I got a cab to the Pan American Pier. I arrive and enter this big waiting hall where there are all of these chairs lined up. It’s like 130, and I’m like the 1000^th person there. The next hour or so is moving from one line to the other. The funny thing is that I’m sitting next two these two tall guys and this little old lady. Apparently the mother is going on the cruise with them. I listen to their conversation for a bit as I am intrigued. “It’s a shame we couldn’t get that suite so all three of us could stay together.” OMG!! Can you imagine rooming with your mom and your boyfriend? That’s just a parallel universe I’m not prepared to enter. The line actually goes pretty smooth and soon enough I have my ship card and am taking the escalators to get onto the ship. The ship is HUGE! My frame of reference of course is USS Reeves (http://navysite.de/cg/cg24.htm), and this is a little bit bigger than that.

I’m on the second deck. Basically the lowest deck, with the smallest rooms. But I have it to myself and I have a window. So there! While the room is small, it is pretty nice. There’s a little ship newspaper that lists the various things going on as well as some info on the excursions. So the first plan of attack is to figure out what excursions to do. I do that, and then I’m sort of stuck. I want to go hit the pool, but my suitcase has not arrived. (Improper planning #2: Always carry a change of clothing with you when you board so you can immediately go up to the pool deck and begin the lounge chair Olympics.) So I wander up to the pool deck and do my first initial survey of the men onboard.

There’s the mandatory boat drill at 5 PM. It’s a haze and the life vests are not flattering. Orange will never be the new black. But of course, this is a gay cruise, so there is one guy walking around with an orange boa that *perfectly* matches the life vests. Just too funny. During the drill, they demonstrate how to blow into the whistle on the life vest. Big mistake. First of all, gay men have that blowing thing down pat. Secondly, some of the boys decide now is the time to pretend they are at a circuit party and won’t stop blowing their whistles. Stop. Please.

There is a little bit of pre-departure drama. The original info from Atlantis said the ship departed at 11PM. When we get on board and it's really 6PM. Ooops. And apparently some guys dropped their luggage off around 1PM and then headed into San Juan so they could skip the initial madness of trying to get on board. So there's this question about whether they will get on board on time. I'm not sure if they made it or not, I hope they did.

Cocktails on the pool deck, then dinner (the food is okay, there is lots of it, but it’s just okay). I wander the ship for a bit after dinner. They have all sorts of different events going on all the time: POZ meetings, Friends of Bill W. (which is an AA thing), “Straights Along for the Ride”, and even a Bears and Cub gathering. I go to the bears and cub thing, but its dead. Then it’s time for the first dance, the welcome party with DJ Warren Gluck. We like him. He plays music with words. I don’t make it a late night as I am on an excursion the next day. However, before I go to bed, I discover the midnight pizza buffet. Bad, Trey, bad.

When I wake up, the ship is docked at Phillipsburg, Sint Maarten, the Dutch half of the island. It’s overcast of course, so I take the umbrella from the room. After congregating on the pier, we board the bus for our tour. Now the excursion I was on was a tour the island type thing, head over to Marigot (the capital of the French side of Saint Martin), and then go to this beach resort for a couple of hours. The thing is, I expected the island to be prettier, more resortish, but it’s not. Our tour includes some areas of the island where I wouldn’t want to walk down the street alone at night. Just some kind of sad poverty striken areas. We stop for the mandatory photo ops, but it’s overcast and it’s really not that pretty. We do make it to Marigot, but this “charming little French village” is closed for Sunday. All of the stores and cafes that we were supposed to wander around are locked up. So we end up at the open air flea market where they hawk cheap (cost & quality) t-shirts, dresses, etc. After an hour there, we board the bus for the beach. We eat at this beach resort and then it’s some quality time on a lounge chair under the hot sun on a beautiful sandy beach on this lovely island. Yeah, not so much. I did get some quality time on the lounge chair, but it’s still overcast and there is a bit of a wind, so it’s almost cold. And then it starts to spit rain. Just not a good start. Anyways, after a couple of hours, we board the bus back to the boat. Now the funny thing is I ran into this guy on the ship who’s not doing any excursions. He’s like, “If you’ve seen one beautiful sandy beach in the Caribbean, you’ve seen them all. Why leave the ship.” And I can kind of see his point.

Back on the boat, I have time for a quick disco nap, and then it’s time for the singles cocktail party. Malcom, is the Atlantis cruise director, and he hosts a show every day on the ship’s TV talking about the different things going on that day. About the singles cocktail party and dinner. “It’s for the needy, not the greedy. You don’t count as being single if your boyfriend is up on the pool deck.” He’s just hilarious. The cocktail thing was pretty good. Chatted with some guys. Then we went into the dinner where between courses you got up and moved around so you could meet other single guys. It wasn’t so good. When I got a chance to move, I joined a table too quickly and when everyone else sat down the median age was 50. The second time people got to move (they alternated who could move), the median age went up to 60. When I finally got a chance to escape before the dessert course, I found a decent table and chatted with some interesting guys. But I had to leave dinner early to catch the comedy show. They had three comedians on board the ship and the first show included them all. And it was just hilarious. After the comedy show, it was time to wear my lightweight harness and go to the “Lure of Leather” get together at the bar at the end of the ship. It was fun and I did meet someone who was interested in “checking out my cabin.” So naturally I felt I had to show it to him. ; ) Afterwards, I went up to the Mardi Gras party with DJ Tony Moran. Another lesson learned: you need to pack for the theme parties. Some of these people had insane costumes. So cool. Of course, going shirtless was an option also. I did learn that wearing a harness and wearing mardi gras beads don’t match. How’s that for a bit of fashion advice.

The Mardi Gras Party was great. The music was hot, the boys were hotter, and we danced under the stars with red and green lasers shooting into the sky. It was just amazing. I danced to one of my favorite songs: How Would You Feel by David Morales:

Do you feel, you're in a dream
Is it real or hardly what it seems
Can your heart decide the game
Do you stay or burn me in your flame

Do you wanna remember
Did it last forever
Was it what you imagine
Or did it feel like magic

How would you feel
How would you know
If it was truly love

On the Constellation in San Juan

At Fort San Cristóbal.

El Murro

Old San Juan

Old San Juan is actually a walled city. Or, it was originally. Most of the walls and fortifications are still left and there is a big fort, complete with moat, at the end of town called El Murro. That’s where I started my tour. The old fort is pretty amazing and there are these turrets at the corners of the fort that overlook the deep blue water surrounding the island. Just like a tourist postcard. The wind is blowing pretty hard, which is nice because it is HOT, and the wind keeps me cool. Overhead, the sky is filled with kites. I’m not sure if it’s spring break here in San Juan, but in the big field in front of the fort, there are easily 50 children flying kites. Of all shapes, sizes, and colors. It’s really pretty. I walk around El Murro and then head into the city proper.

With it's small streets, cobblestones, and quaint little houses Old San Juan reminds me of the little towns in Spain or Italy. All of the houses are painted in pastel colors: pink, orange, yellow, light blue. It really is pretty. I wander the city for a bit, trying to find someplace to have lunch, but the only place I find is a McDonalds. Just say NO! So I keep wandering. At the other end of the town is the other part of the main fort: Fort San Cristóbal. It’s about lunch time now and I’m seeing more gay guys who are going to be on the cruise sort of wandering around the town. I head into the fort and am really appreciating the shade from the battlements. Part of the tour heads deep underground, into the heart of the fort, where they used to store gun powder and there was a small prison. It’s just hard to imagine how much time and effort it took to build these huge forts.

I cab back to Condado and do the beach thing. All I want is some peace and quiet. But no, the spring breakers are here. I’m sitting in front of three girls and a guy, all probably under 20, who are getting hammered on cheap Puerto Rican beer at like 2 in the afternoon. And one of the girls is just this little whiny bitch. “Jeff, go get us some more beer.” “Jeff, go get the bottle from the room.” “Go get my cigarettes.” I’m just hoping that Jeff is getting some from her after taking all of this crap.

Back to the hotel to shower, change, head to the Atlantic Beach Hotel. A quick drink there and then it’s off to the Hilton Caribe for the Atlantis welcoming party. I ended up sharing a cab with a couple who own a guest house in Ft. Lauderdale. They are hammered, but hilarious. The Hilton is pack with gay men. All fighting for the spot at the bar. I meet some interesting folks, including a hot couple who have cards made up and they are handing them out. Yep, little cards with their pics, their names, and their room number on the ship. I would see this couple off an on during the whole trip but never got a chance to hook up with them. Oh well.

After the cocktail party, I decide to go back to Condado to grab some dinner before heading to the Eros nightclub. On the way back to Condado I get stuck in this horrible traffic jam. I ask the driver what the problem is and he says that there is a section of town where all of these bars and restaurants are and that’s what causing the jam. So I decide to hop out of the cab to explore some of the local nightlife. Couple of things: Puerto Ricans are loud. Loud talkers, Loud music, just loud, loud, loud. The street is packed, like what I imagine Mardi Gras is like in New Orleans, except it’s just a Friday night. Salsa music is blaring from every bar and restaurant. The street is packed with Puerto Ricans of every age and they ALL have either a drink or a cigarette, or both. I worm my way through the crowd and find a restaurant. The menu is only in Spanish and the waiter can’t tell me what the food is in English, so I just order blindly. I ended up with a stuffed game hen. Not bad, and definitely different. After dinner, I walked up to the Eros nightclub and hang out for a couple of hours. The music was okay. Around 1AM, it was back to the hotel.

View from El Murro

DC to San Juan

Okay, so I had planned this trip for months. No wait, scratch that. I had signed up for this cruise many months ago, but I really didn’t do any planning. Which is so unusual for me. And when you have no plan . . . . well, it generally doesn’t turn out very well.

The night before the trip, I got a new haircut, short, buzzcut-ish, and highlights. Then a friend came over to help with some grooming. And so I found myself packing at 1030 the night before I leave. So am I really thinking things through, what I’m bringing, the right number of shirts, shorts, etc? No, not really. I got the essentials and shoved them into a suitcase and a roll on. Then I crashed.

The Supershuttle sucks. They arrive 30 minutes early and want to know if I’m ready. Um, no! We’ll can we come back in 10 minutes? Try 20. I was the last one in the packed shuttle and then we headed out to Dulles. It was cold, like snowflakes coming down cold, but I refused to bring a coat. So it’s jeans and a black wool sweater. Dulles is only a minor haze. I get out to the gate and it’s early. Like 2 ½ hours early. So I start to read and people watch. It’s easy to figure out who’s going on my cruise. I see several of the A-list gays. Hate them. Tall, thin, good looking, partnered. Hate them. A couple of hotties, but I’m feeling big, fat, and unattractive in my jeans and black wool sweater.

The flight down is uneventful. I was braced for the horror of the airport at San Juan, but it seemed so nice, and clean. And did I mention f&*king warm. Even with the AC, it’s hot. Lesson Learned: Plan. When leaving a frigid cold climate and going to the tropics, dress in layers or bring a frickin change of clothes in your carry on. The trek to baggage claim is a good way to get the blood and sweat flowing. Yikes this black wool sweater is a heat sink. Baggage claim: what a zoo. It takes over an hour, and three different baggage carousals to get my bags. When I leave the baggage claim area and actually go outside, it’s like an oven.

San Juan is not pretty. It’s big, it’s noisy, it’s a mix of modern high rises and slums. The traffic makes DC’s look weak. It reminds me of the Phillipines, and not just for the heat. The driver doesn’t speak English (and this is a US territory don’t forget!), the cars don’t really follow the traffic lights. It’s all just weird. We get to the Condado area of San Juan which is where the Radisson is. I had Pricelined the Radisson and it claimed it was a 3 star hotel. I guess 3 stars doesn’t mean much in San Juan. The hotel is basic, clean, but not 3 stars. It does have a casino which is packed with little old ladies chain smoking and working the slots. Kind of sad. I change clothes (shorts yea!!) and decide to tour the neighborhood. Condado is definitely one of the main tourist areas, so it’s kind of nice. Kind of like a run down South Beach. I manage to find the Atlantic Beach Hotel which is the gay hotel and it’s got a beachfront bar. I sit, listen to the good music, and drink a couple of margaritas. Did I say couple? Try four. And then I realize, I’m hammered. And hungry.

So I find a Mexican restaurant for dinner. I’m sitting next to two young, pretty hot guys who are so working this woman who is sitting next to them. They are probably early 20s and she’s probably mid-late 30s. And they are using every tired line in the book and it’s just really sad. Weirder still is that across from them are two older men, who the younger men refer to as their Dad’s, and the older men are trying to convince the woman to go out with their sons and have a "good time". Even in my 5 margarita stupor (well I had to have another one with the chips while I wait for my dinner!), I can’t believe these men are trying to scam this woman into their sons beds. And trust me, it’s so obvious that all the younger guys want to do is score. Then, the younger guys leave and it turns out the older guys aren’t their Dads at all, just strangers at the restaurant. It’s like watching the Twilight Zone.

Between the food and the margaritas, I’m done for the night, at like 8 PM. Yes, kind of sad I know. But tomorrow is old San Juan and then the beach!

My membership card?

From Howard's "Fashion Cocktails DC" blog:

"'Early' is the new 'Late'". But what does that mean in the gay world? "On time" means atleast 30 minutes late. And "fashionably late" means atleast an hour late, if not more. So if "Early" is the new "late", does that mean you show up on time. Or even early, like before the event started. I'm so confused.

I've also learned that "Excited" is the new "Bored". Yikes, I can't keep up. Next thing you know, "black" will be the new "black." I'm so confused.

And that's why we need a membership card and a monthly newsletter. There are so many guys out there who just don't know that they are gay, and a membership card would help them all out. If my membership card hadn't gotten lost in the mail, I would have been out years ago. Plus, we really need a new members guide: things like how to come out to parents, how to speak gay, how to dress, how to figure out which subgroup you belong to (jocks, twinks, bears, etc), the militant gay agenda, you know, the basics. It took me a couple of years to realize that you get the toaster after you've converted three "straights". See, this is just crucial information that needs to be provided upfront.

I'm always afraid that I'm going to be the token gay man at a party or some event and I'm not the stylish, witty, smart, successful man that the media says I'm supposed to be. If I let the community down, will they take away my membership card?

Yuppy Go Home!

I love living in the city. So much to do, great shops, bars, restaurants, the theater, you name it. But there is a price to pay for this much fun. It's called living in the city. The noise, the traffic, the taxes, etc. Most of the times, it seems like it's worth it.

So when I moved into my condo last summer, there was a big pothole right in front of my parking spot. There's also a big 6 foot tall metal pool right to the right of my parking spot, so getting into my parking spot is always a bit of a kabuki dance. It's usually a 2 or 3 point turn to get in. And the pot hole sucks. It makes it just that much more difficult and I'm always a little paranoid about gunning out of the pothole and hitting the big frickin pole. So since the winters is almost over (truth in advertising alert: it's actually snowing while i blog!), I thought I would start the ball rolling to get the pothole filled. So I started with the condo management folks. Nope, it's a DC thing. But there's this website where you can go to request to have the pot hole filled. So I go online, I fill out the form. Size, location, etc. And I'm thinking, okay maybe by mid-summer they will get it fixed. But less than a week later is was filled. I was shocked!! Government bureaucratic efficiency? Here in DC? No way!

But then I was walking from my car to the entrance to my building and I noticed that someone had spraypainted part of the concrete on my building. And what did it say? "Yuppy Go Home." Are you kidding me? Hello, which "yuppy" are you referring to? Is this some futile attempt to save the "hood" from the yuppies. Well wake up and smell the Starbucks, or the Caribu, coffee. The yuppies are here. They own the neighborhood, and they have for years. This area of Dupont and Logan isn't really "in transition" anymore. If you want to fight for the "hood", try Shaw or Columbia Heights, or some other places to the east. You've lost the battle here.

Diva Fixation

So what is it with gay men and their fixation on divas?

Ooops, let me back track a bit. Got up early this AM, went to the gym (and how friggin cold is it out there?), and I'm doing 45 minutes on the elliptical cross trainer. My TV choices are ESPN's coverage of deep sea fishing, or some strange CNN show on non-traditional medicine stuff. You call those choices? So I ended up having some quality time to think and just jam out to my tunage on my MP3 player.

So one of my favorite songs come on, I've got the cardio burn going on, and I all of a sudden, I want to sing out. With my voice, not a good thing. But an idea for a new reality show: "When Endorphins Attack".

Anyways, I started to think about the song, the singer (a diva, natch), and then I wondered why gay men love divas. So here are a couple of random thoughts:

1) Divas are wrecks. Gay men are wrecks. So there's that "life is miserable" bond. Seriously. Look, you can't be a diva without having a sad combination of bad career moves, bad relationships (abusive boyfriends/husbands), money problems, and/or addiction problems. Madonna, Cher, Janet, Britney, Whitney, you name it. They've been there, done that. And survived. And so have a lot of gay men. Or atleast they think they have (been there that is).
2) Female singers sing about emotions. Yes, I love some male emo musicians, but it's not the same. If you want to listen to a song about a broken heart, or a cheating boyfriend, or about falling in love, you turn to women. They've been there. They know how it feels. And, they aren't afraid to put that music to a little dance beat and mix it up. Becuase if you're going to sing about heartache, or cheating boyfriends, or about love, you'll want to dance to it, shirtless, in a room full of hot men. (just go with it, okay)
3) Divas are the personification of drama queens. Everything they do is bigger and louder than life. They know how to cause a scene. They've been through too much crap to deal with the petty little things that world throws at them. They are better than that. Sounds like a gay man, right?

Okay, top five Diva songs to dance to:

1) Anastacia: One Day In Your Life
2) Taylor Dayne: How Many
3) Cher: This is a Song for the Lonely
4) Whitney Houston: I Learned From the Best
5) Deborah Cox: Play Your Part

ThoughtNot on Perpetual Motion

So I was blog hopping at work (which is my new passive aggressive way of dealing with all of the crap at work) and I came across a blog called Thought Not (thoughtnot.typepad.com/my_weblog/).

It's by a pretty cute bearish guy in NYC. Interesting reading and a view into a different, yet possibly parallel world. Recently he wrote in one of his posting something that resonated with me.

"It's put me in sort of a melancholy mood. Given me a lot of time to think about what I've been doing and where I'm going. I think at times I try to stay in perpetual motion so as to not have to answer those questions (or for that matter, question the answers I find comfortable.)"

Wow. That's definitely me. Perpetual motion. I think I denied that I was gay for a long time becuase of that. I've always let something (usually work) suck up all of my life and keep me always on the run so that I don't ever have to stop and think about the hard personal questions that I need to answer at some point: Am I happy? Am I the person I want to be? Where do I want to be in five years? Who do I want to be when I grow up?
At first it was easy. I went to the US Naval Academy and I was busy from 6AM to 11AM. School, athletics, miilitary drills, you name it. Then I was in the Navy and on a ship and again it was the same thing. Standing watch 12 hours a day, running a division, etc. I was just so busy with my life (very narrowly defined as my professional life) that I kept putting off a social life. "Oh I'm too busy. I'll have a social life later." Which also effectively delayed the actual realization/reality of what having a social life meant (very convenient for someone in the Navy and the DADT policy). Then I got out of the Navy, came out, and then got sucked into it all again. Now I need to build a professional life. I need to pour all of my energy into building a career. So here I go pushing off a social life.
And I think that's one of the reasons I'll go through certain periods where I'm just in a funk. It's hard to explain. It's like a little bubble of unhappiness breaks free from deep within my mind and finally breaks to the surface and when it does, I get into a funk.
Anyways, I've always suspected that gay men experience this alot. I also think we tend to overcompensate for not having a social life (for whatever reason) by becoming over achievers in the things we do. There's nothing we can't do, that we can't do to excess! It's like our inner drama queen trying to break out.
Oh well, I need to go do some work. Just kidding!!! It's actually time for me to go to bed so I can get up and go to work. ; )

Running in the Rain

I love it. I'm not sure why. I like it when it's just slightly drizzling or light rain. Tonight was like that. A little bit chilly (actually warm for Feb), I went out only in shorts and a long sleeve t-shirt. I had my new MP3 player and was jamming to tunes as I went. I haven't run in a couple of months, so it was good to get out. My winter training program hasn't been that successful, so I need to get more cardio into my life. Right now I've got two basic running routes. The Gtown loop and the Adams Morgan loop. The Gtown loop takes me down M St into Gtown. Then I run back along P St, through the Circle, and then home. I think it's about 3.3 miles. The Adams Morgan loop is a bit more complicated. I run to the Circle, up Connetticut into Woodly Park, then across the bridge into Adams Morgan, then down 18th St to U St, where I then cut over to 17th, down 17th to P and then home. I did the Adams Morgan loop this evening. Running up Connetticut is a bitch, but once you get to the top of the hill, you get to cross two bridges that span Rock Creek Park. It's just very cool.

So while I'm listening to my dance remixes on my MP3 player, I start thinking about love. When I was "straight" (just go with it for now, okay?), I sort of convinced myself that I was never going to fall in love, never be in love, never be loved. Kind of depressing, isn't it? Then I came out, and I fell in love, but it didn't work out. Since then it's been a string of dates (usually bad) that has lead to me where I am now. And as much as love hurt my friend, when he thought he had lost his bf, that's the love I want. The risky love, the put your heart out there and hope someone will protect it, cherish it, love it. And in turn love them.

Yikes, I sound like a bad romance novel. But it's what I want. So sue me.

The run was good. Stopped by the soviet safeway to pick up cereal and milk before I ran home. Time to get ready for work tomorrow.

Got Bugs?

Okay, I'm back online again. Not sure what happened, but my PC started to just S L O W down. It was freaky. And despite the fact that I do IT for a living, I'm just not that good at troubleshooting my own PC. So I've not been online that much. And maybe that's a good thing.

Anyways, I ended up hiring some guy to come over to clean up my PC. Definitely a wiz and he really cleaned up my machine. But he was not cheap! He said that I had a number of trojan software on my PC, as well as some spyware. Talk about people I'd like to hunt down and spam to death. Of course, now I wonder what sites have I been to that caused my PC to get infected. Gee, even cybersex isn't safe anymore. Now your PC can get a virus.

Friend update. He and his BF are communicating again. It looks like they are going to be able to work it out. Yeah!!!!!

Off for a run, more later.

Love Hurts Like a Hangover

Atleast according to the very wise, but usually drunk, Anastasia Beaverhauser (aka Karen from Will and Grace). During my music download days (bad Trey, bad), I downloaded this really funny song that's mix of great Karen quotes from W&G. It's just hilarious to listen to, and with the recent turn of events, a little enlightening.

Apparently I've entered a strange parallel universe where someone actually find me attractive, actually several someones, so I find myself in the very unique position of sort of dating with a couple of guys. Just dinner/drinks type of stuff. Anyways, I'm out at dinner on a date, I come back to my place and I get a phone call from one of my friends. He's crying so hard that I can barely understand him. And to say that I freak out is an understatement. He has never been a drama queen, so I know something is seriously wrong. I get the story out of him and I'm actually worried about him. So I get into the car to go visit him. He and his boyfriend of year and a half got into a really big fight and the bf walked out. As I'm driving to his place, I'm so worried about him that I have the shakes. So weird. When I get to his place, he can't stop crying and I just sit there and hug him and tell him that it will work out. That it's not the end. That his bf will come back. He and his bf are such a perfect couple (almost annoyingly so) and I just refuse to believe that it's over. After a while, he stops crying, we talk for a bit more, and then I send him to sleep while I drive back to the city.

What a long night, but it was something I needed to do and something I'm glad I did. He's my best friend and he needed some help. He needed a hug and someone to tell him that it was goign to be alright. And isn't that what friends are for? I'm still worried about him and call him a bunch to check in. Love does hurt. I'm hoping his hangover goes away quickly.

The Clinic

So it was time for my semi-annual pilgrimage to the clinic. Part of the “glamour” of being a gay man these days is going to get your HIV status checked. Basically as a left over habit from the Navy, and because it’s recommended, I get tested twice a year. And yeah, it’s not what you think. I know Catholic priests who have a more active sex life than I do. Anyways, I started going to the Whitman Walker Clinic when I came out because my loser doctor (Irish, Catholic, and not gay friendly) doesn’t actually do blood work at his office. You have to go to him to get a consult, to go someplace else to get the blood drawn. Then you have to go back to him to get the results. What a pain. Plus, with all of the crazy stuff going on these days, I’ve become a bit of a privacy nut regarding medical stuff. So the WWC does this Men’s Wellness Program which is confidential and they check you out for all sorts of fun things. Yes, remember boys when you “choose” to be gay, it’s isn’t all fashion and parties.

Anyways, while WWC does a great job and provides a very needed service, it’s still a bit bizarre to go there. Every time I’ve been, there’s been a very interesting slice of society there. Every age, every race, every income level. Some guys are in suits, some are in jeans, some are in work/uniform type clothes. And it’s quiet. Everyone is there for the same reason, and it’s totally anonymous (you’re just a number). So unless you are there with a friend, it’s just very quiet. So after filling out all of the fun paperwork, you then shuffle from office to waiting room to office to waiting room to office. Syphillis, clamydia, gonorrhea, and HIV. It’s pretty much a full service check up. In between blood offerings, you get the opportunity to talk with outreach counselors. So it’s a pretty involved process and it’s done fairly smoothly. But it’s not done very quickly. And since there’s no talking, you’re pretty much left alone to think. And considering where you are and the situation, the thoughts aren’t necessarily fun happy thoughts. Was I safe *every* time? Did he lie about his status? What happens if I am? What does that mean? How quick can I get on the right medication? How expensive will it be? What will the side effects be? How will it effect my life, my job, my family, my friends, . . . . It’s a pretty severe downward spiral if you aren’t careful. Lesson learned: bring a book. And a light fluffy book at that.

Petty People

So I updated my profile on Match.com (yeah, hope springs eternal) and that for some reason kicks my profile up a notch on the search function and so I’ve gotten a couple of emails. One of the emails is from a guy and in his email he asks for a response “pro or con.” So I send him an email saying thanks, but not really what I’m looking for. So I get another email from him. Which is odd. I’m thinking maybe it’s a thanks for atleast responding since sometimes people don’t respond. And really, how hard is it to write a short email that says, thanks, but I don’t think we’re a good match and then just leave it at that. But it’s not a thank you email. It’s a petty little email saying that he had clicked me by mistake and that he meant to send the email to the guy with muscles. Wow. Kind of sad. Look if you can’t handle rejection, then don’t ask for a response: “pro or con.” I could have just ignored you like most gay guys would. So, anyways, petty people. Just not nice.

Palm Springs

It's supposed to be warm. Palms Springs at the end of January, right? I get off the plane and it's a bit nippy. Did I even pack a long sleeve shirt or a sweater? Oh well, I'll deal.

My mid winter little break was courtesy of Jeff's job. He had to go out there for work, and they ended up renting a house to save the non-profit he works for some money, so I tagged along. So while they worked (7:30AM-1PM), I would lay out by the pool and just relax, read, and work on my tan. After the first day, the weather did improve a bit and it was nice to sit in the sun in my little square cut bathing suit slathered in SPF 15. And when I wanted to take a break, there was the pool and hot tub. So it was rough. But I managed.

Palm Springs is apparently the Mecca for gay men for the White Party that happens over Easter Weekend. Thousands (like 30,000) gay men descend on this very picturesque city to dance the weekend away, most of them high on various chemical enhancements. But for the rest of the time, I guess it's got a decent size gay population, but it's not huge.

On Monday night, after dinner, I decided to go out out to check out the time. Okay, first mistake: going out on a Monday night. I went to Hunters the video bar. It was dead. But I did stay for a red bull (second mistake) and saw one of my favorite Kylie videos (On a Night Like This). Then I headed to this tiki bar. Wow. How tragic. There was a small crowd there, mainly older men, and a really, really, really bad drag queen hosting some sort of kareoke night. I didn't even stay for a drink. Okay, I'm thinking, let's go to the ToolShed, a levi/leather place. I drive over and I walk into the bar. All of the lights are on and they are playing Bingo. I stopped, frozen, by the strange horrific sight in front of me. Bingo? At a leather bar? Have you no shame? I turned around and went back to the house and then channel surfed for a couple of hours since I still "on" from the red bull. Damn those wings!

One of the best things about the trip to Palm Springs was the excusion we made out to the Joshua Tree National Park. Before we left, everyone was telling me to bring a coat. I had a little wind breaker, but I thought, we're going to the desert. Were not going to get cold. But out of peer pressure I brought it. OH MY GAWD. So glad I did. JTNP is in the high desert. As in higher elevation. So when we go there, I'm immediately putting on the jacket. In the sun it wasn't that bad. But when the wind picked up, or when we were in the shadows, it got seriously cold. But we hiked up one of the mountains and it was just amazingly beautiful. Here are a couple of photos.