Brit Boy Update

Alright, I know I am rather delayed in an update about Brit Boy. He's come to the states, gone off to Cuba for a fortnight, returned to spend the past weekend with me, then ventured off to Portland while I'm with my family. There are so many things I could blab on about, but I'm not sure I really know how to put these things into words. Things have gone exceedingly well, and I will just say two things about our time together thus far...

1) WOW!!! The connection we shared in the desert has not diminished. Nor, actually, has the fabulousness of the sex. *grin*

2) He thinks the way I prepare my tea is treasonous. I keep trying to tell him that my countrymen committed treason against the crown a few centuries ago, but he can't get over the fact that I like to put half-n-half... or on those really decadent moments real cream... in my tea. For me, milk just won't cut it.

So, things are going well. I'm with my family for one more day, and then it's off to San Francisco to join up with Brit Boy for New Year's Eve. We'll see what kind of shenanigans we can get ourselves into out there.

It's cold up in here...

It's been a little over a decade since I've had to deal with seriously cold weather and snow, but here I am, holed up in my mom's house in Kansas City, KS, while snow keeps fluttering to the ground. Big fat chunks of snow. It's really rather pretty, and I'm enjoying watching it fall on the evergreen trees and collect on my mom's deck. From the warmth of the comfy chair, with a cat resting on my legs and a nice warm cup of tea on the table beside me.

I did venture out for a bit earlier today, but still having my left leg bound up in a brace from my accident is causing me a fair amount of limping and instability. Not the best way to really experience the snowy outdoors.

You got your chocholate in my peanut butter...

There seems to be a pattern to the manner in which I recover emotionally from bodily injury. Years ago when my right hand was smashed in a boating accident and it was thought I might have nerve damage or loss of some motor skills, I found myself sitting in bed, jar of peanut butter in one hand, King-Size Hershey bar in the other, dealing with my pain.

Last year when I broke my pelvis and Latex Guy and my sex life was less than desired due to the many constraints on my ability to move, I often found myself with a jar of peanut butter in one hand and a milk chocolate bar in the other, consoling myself.

The last few days while I've been recovering from being hit by a truck (by the way, there is some truth to the statement "I feel like I just got hit by a truck"), I've gone through two and a half fabulous chocolate bars and about a third of a jar of peanut butter. Brit Boy made some fabulous choices in chocolate bars before he left for Cuba. Too bad he wasn't around to enjoy them.

Maybe this is why I always gain a few pounds after I injure myself.

OW!!!!

While Brit Boy was here last week we went underwear shopping. After perusing through several different brands and styles, I selected a nice pair of dark blue C-IN2 briefs with Sling-Support. What is "sling support," you might ask? Well... it's a way to lift and support my natural... er... assets. I had heard about these at a party and was definitely intrigued. See, I've noticed a bit of discomfort at times while riding my bike around town, specifically in the scrotal area. I wanted to see if these things could support my goods.

I can say that when I put these puppies on, I was all sorts of supported. I actually felt a little uncomfortable with how prominent I was. I mean... I wasn't sure that I really liked having my goods on display like this. But, they definitely did the job with helping me avoid a bad case of crotch soreness.

That is, until I wore them to work the other day.

I'm just sitting at my desk going through some emails when I do a little scratch. Which is immediately followed by an intense pain of the scrotum. I shift. I adjust. To no avail. In fact, I only make the situation worse. It's like someone has taken a clothespin and clipped it to my jigglies.

I run to the bathroom, rip open my pants, pull down my underwear and disentangle my meat and potatoes from the elastic band sling-support.

I need to find a better way to protect my assets.

Bicycle experiment... on hold.

Well, my bicycle experiment... is on hold right now.

Today, I got hit by a car. By a Ford Explorer to be precise. I rolled over the hood, hit the windshield, was upside down for a bit, and crashed to the ground. My bike... is trashed. A large portion of it, actually, has been bent in half.

I spent the better part of the afternoon at the county trauma center. After about 20 X-rays, a Cat-Scan, and some general poking and prodding, I'm okay. I have some serious road-rash and from about my mid-thigh to my ankles it feels like I'm on fire. But I have no broken bones. Thank god for my week-old helmet.

I. Am. Doomed.

I started a new job on Monday. I'm still working in downtown Austin. I'm still associated with the legislature... just in a different fashion. And apparently it's a job where I need to be reachable in many different ways at all hours.

I was given a Blackberry today.

I don't know how I feel about having this thing attached to my hip. Vibrating every time I get an e'mail. Going off when co-workers begin some IM chat conversation about where we're gonna go to lunch. My boss sending me messages when he gets into the office... at 6:30am.

I have found myself checking it frequently. Making sure that I'm not missing anything from my boss. Gotta ensure I make that good first impression.

There's a reason they call it the Crack-berry.

Early... riser.

I've been teaching a 6:15am yoga class lately as part of some kinesiology grad school program at The University of Texas. Thankfully, it will soon be over. However, there has been a very nice thing about getting to campus before the sun rises.

Both the Army ROTC and Air Force ROTC cadets do their morning PT at the gym at 6am. I think I could definitely become a... solid... um... supporter of the military.

3 Days, 11 Hours, 8 Minutes

...till Brit Boy arrives.

Mind racing? Yuppers.

Excited about seeing him for the first time in almost three months? You better believe it.

Nervous about our connection, especially given that he is now a single man? Words cannot express the butterflies and knots in my stomach. (Oh... and yeah. I didn't write about his break-up. Not my place to. But no... I was not a home-wrecker.)

He arrives this Friday. 8:40pm.

Hopefully it'll be sometime Wednesday before I can tell you if it's going well or not.

Red Dress Party

It was called a Red Dress Party.  Everyone was to wear a red dress.  And, for the most part, people did.  I wasn't originally in the mood to go to a party.  I had spent the day twisting people into pretzels and working in the yard.  I was t-i-r-e-d.  But I was told that it was a party being put on by a bunch of Austin burners, a group of people that I was intrigued about, but had yet to be introduced to.

For the most part, people were... nice.  I was introduced and friendly, party-style conversation ensued.   Where are you from?  Oh, you've been to Burning Man?  Who do you camp with?  Oh really?!?

But behind some of the conversation, I could sense something.  There was some discomfort.  My friend Sarah and I were in a room, chatting with a straight couple.  After my introduction, they never once looked at me.  I made several contributions to the conversation, but eye contact to me was never made again.  They soon leave.  

Another guy walks in and starts chatting with us.  We're all sitting on the bed, facing one another, but he seems so much more interested in talking to Sarah.  This, actually, is not surprising.  She's a very pretty, very flirtatious woman.  To let her have her fun, I'm only making intermittent contributions to what is being said.  I'm just sitting on the bed, listening, swinging my legs slightly.  I accidentally hit this guy's leg with one of my swings.  Just a tap.   While she's still talking about something, he quickly looks at me like I slid my hand up his leg into his crotch.  He stands up, turns his back to me, sits back down, and commences to talk only to Sarah.  I take the hint and excuse myself to the bathroom.

I enter another room, and am called over by a friendly man who I later find out went to my high school alma mater.  He's sitting in a group watching two bare-breasted women engage in activity fitting a poem by Sappho.  As I sit down next to my fellow alumnus, the circle closes behind me, leaving the two Jesuit boys outside.

Near the end of the evening, I'm outside with Sarah and her husband, chatting with a group.  One man is regaling the group with drunken and debaucherous stories.  At this point, I'm rather over the people at this party, but I continue to be civil and social.  My friends apparently like these people so I'm not going to make a scene.  I leave for a second to refill my drink, and as I return, one of the group pulls the circle in tighter so that I have to stand behind them, as an outsider looking in.

As we're leaving, my friends tell me that I should really consider going to Flipside, the regional Burning Man event outside of Austin.  They tell me how I'd love all the fun times that are had with the people there.  The people that I just spent the evening with.  I smile, nod, and tell them that I'm much more focused on my chosen family with which I attend the main Burning Man festival.  My family that is inclusive, loving, open-minded, and accepting of all that come through our beaded curtains.

Bicycle Experiment: Week 1

I've started an experiment. An experiment to reduce my reliance on my car. To reduce my consumption of motor vehicle fuels. To reduce my carbon footprint.

I'm riding my bicycle around town instead of using my car for most of my transportation needs.

After one week, there are a few things that I've noticed.

My world here in Austin is very small. Part of this is due to me having a pretty standard routine and traveling the same paths day in and day out. I have now started using alternate paths, and coming to know the neighborhoods around me much better.

Austin has some hills, yo! Now, My San Francisco friends will scoff at me, but still... these are pretty fun. And a little daunting at times.

I've found that I'm much better at grouping errands together. There's more involved in just popping over to the store if you're on your bike.

Riding to work in the morning really wakes me up. I've been so much more alert when I start work. My co-workers don't know what to do with a chipper and energetic morning me. They're so used to one that simply grunts and shuffles his feet until about 10am.

and finally... my caloric intake has skyrocketed. I swear, I don't know when I've ever been eating as much as I am right now. And I'm still slimming down.

How do you spell relief?

I had just finished dinner with some friends in North Austin and was on my bike heading back home.  That's when I felt it.  The feeling that I know so well.  A tension growing in my groin.  It's like my underwear is too tight and I'm straining against it.  I shift on my seat, attempting to ease my discomfort.  I stand up on the pedals, but the movement of my jeans against my crotch only intensifies my discomfort.  My body is telling me that I need relief, and I need it now.

My path home takes me through the Capitol grounds.  I stop, thinking that I might be able to quickly head inside and take care of matters.  The doors are locked and I don't have my security badge to grant me access.  CRAP!!

It's growing.  More urgent.  It's like a knot in my crotch, begging to be untied.  I need the release.

I hop back on my bike, and sprint through downtown.  I start to think of quicker routes back to my house.  Can I handle this tension for the ride up the massive hill that leads into South Austin?  Suddenly, as I'm racing down one street, the answer pops into view.  I slam on my brakes, take off my helmet, and lock up my bike.  I quickly enter a watering hole frequented by homosexuals.  I head to the back of the bar, and it's like my body knows that I will soon be letting go.  With every step the tension builds, as if I'll be able to climax in ten seconds flat.  

I enter the bathroom, walk up to a urinal, and the sense of relief runs through my body as all those iced teas I consumed at dinner flush out.  My knees almost buckle as I exhale deeply.  Now I understand why some men sigh loudly as they urinate.

That was... expected.

He was cute, with a wonderfully pert ass.  And some gorgeous legs.  So therefore it was really no surprise that it happened at all.

It's a natural reaction.  It happens when the nervous system activates a rapid increase in blood flow. The vascular muscle in the spongy area becomes engorged with blood and the outflow of blood is cut off.  

Translation: I popped wood while adjusting a cute guy during class.  

This isn't the first time something like this has happened, but this was the first time something like this took place during my naked class.  

I had placed my hand on his left hip, keeping it stable as I stretched his right leg.  That's when his penis fell onto my hand.  I looked at his face, trying to determine if I should shake it off, cuz my hand was where it needed to be for the adjustment.  As I looked at his face, his eyes closed, an expression showing he was focusing only on the stretch, I felt the stir.  I looked at my own crotch and noticed that it was coming to life.

"Crap...  uh... well...  it'll go away before he looks up..."

I cued the transition to the next pose, and as he began to move into it, he lifted his head and looked directly at my erection.

I looked him in the eye as I began to move away, everyone else oblivious in their own poses.  He looked again at my erection, a hint of a smile on his face, and laid down.

You know you're gay...

You know you're gay when...

a very sexy woman, wearing only a bit of lingerie, jumps on top of your naked body and starts bouncing up and down.  And it does absolutely nothing to you but make you laugh hysterically at the absurdity of it all. 

Missed Connection

"we saw one another at IKEA today *grin*

i wasn't sure if that was your bf or not - you guys seemed pretty intent on gettin' a piece of furniture and i didn't want to interrupt - heh.

anyhow, i just wanted to drop you a line, say "howdy" and that you look *REALLY* good :)"

It's a little unreal.  This is a missed connection for me.  My good friends C and J, who have what I might call an unhealthy obsession with them, have created a number of rules as to what does and does not constitute a missed connection.  I've always kinda laughed along with them, but never really thought anything of it.  However, I think mine is the real thing.  We made eye contact.  Held eye contact.  Smiled.  Got distracted by others, glanced at each other again.  And then were separated by the crowds of Williamson County suburbanites.

He wrote the above message.

I responded.

Satisfied, dear?

What started as a small area of red, raised, itchy little spots has, in the period of two days, spread into an almost all-torso consuming itch-a-thon.  The doctor gave me a lotion to slather myself in, and it's working.  I think.  However the rash may be spreading faster than I can rub myself down.

And, apparently I need to clear something up.  Fancy Pants called me all in a huff last night wanting me to make sure that y'all know that he does not, in fact, have scabies.  He was cleared of that by his doctor.  He was just being a hypochondriac drama queen and freaking out.  So, sorry I didn't clear that up in the first post, but... um... this blog is about me.  Satisfied?  (It's not like the three people that actually read this thing even know who you are, anyway...)

So...  back to me.  Just so we're all on the same page, I'm about ready to take a cheese grater and scrape all my skin off. 

FUCK!! But no fucking.

"Have you read the e'mail from Fancy Pants?  It's... interesting," he said with a hint of hesitation.

Warily I grabbed my laptop and opened my e'mail.  The note was short and too the point.  "I'm not sure, but I might have scabies.  While there wasn't much personal contact while I was over at your place, I spent a good deal of time lounging on your couch."

My gaze shifted from the spot on the couch my friend had occupied the other day to the words on my computer screen, and back to the spot on my couch.  I reached for my drink, finished it off, and went to bed.

*this is to denote the passage of time*

I woke up itching.  There were little red raised spots near my groin.  They itched.  A lot.  Having never had an STI in my 17 years of sexual activity, I had no idea if what I was experiencing was some sort of rash, or an infection.  So, I went online.

Hrmmm...  scabies... small, red, raised, itchy spots.  They like the folds of skin, elbows, armpits, the groin, the waistline.  They itch.  A lot.  

"FUCK!!!!  Not only do I now have my first STI, but I didn't even get to have fun in getting it," I thought.  "I fucking hope he had a good time getting it.  That better have been some fucking FAN-tastic sex..."

As the day wore on, I tried really hard not to scratch.  But I did.  Quite a bit actually.  At the end of the day, when i got home and finally took off my clothes, I inspected my "spots."  No longer were they little, raised, red, itchy spots.  They had morphed.

"Hrmm....  I don't have scabies.  This is just poison ivy."

Update:  Went to the doctor.  Yes, it's poison ivy.  Don't ask how I got it in that spot...

Date night

Monday morning, 6am.  I had a date.  A phone date, to be precise.  A phone date with a person six time zones away.

Upon answering the phone, upon hearing his voice, I was transported back to the desert.  Memories of him curled up behind me, his arms around me, holding me close, his face nuzzled to the base of my neck.  Memories of Lake Tahoe, our bodies pressed together, my head on his shoulder.  "If I don't let you go, then you can't leave," I had said.  I let go.  He left.

Just as his voice sent me off to memoryland, his voice brought me back.  We chatted for well over an hour, and while morning me was definitely trying to rear his ugly head and push me back into a slumber, I made sure that I took full advantage of the opportunity to have a nice, long, uninterrupted chat with my Brit.  To say it was nice to hear his accent, to engage in live communication, to reconnect on some level, is like saying the water in Lake Tahoe is a tad chilly - it was wonderful.

However...

[Cue freak out music]

With the date of his visit set, with the realization that I'm actually attempting to continue the connection we experienced on the playa - even with the limitations of him being in an ongoing, open relationship much closer to the prime meridian than I am, with the knowledge that I'm a devout monogamist, I'm in the middle of a major freak-out.

My great friend Chi told me, upon hearing that Brit Boy and I were attempting a continuance of what we experienced in the desert, "to not celebrate the connections that we experience with others is folly at least and unsanctimonious at worst."  He also stated that for me, being who and what I am, to be scared of the unchartered, unfamiliar territory, to be nervous that something bad is happening...  is normal.  Yet, knowing that doesn't make it any easier.

I know some of you don't agree with all of this; you don't condone the open-relationship/lover style of things.  Honestly, I don't know where I stand with this anymore.  I thought I knew where I stood - firmly in the one-man-for-me/me-for-one-man camp.  

My knowledge of relationships... my desire for a particular kind of relationship... my comfort level of being in a specific style of relationship with others...  it's all being challenged.  It's scary.  It's frightening.  

It's allowing me to grow.

Busted!

Normally I'm fairly good at taking an inconspicuous look at some guy I find rather attractive. I might be wearing sunglasses, pretend that I'm looking past him, and take the opportunity to check him out. Sometimes it just works out that he's looking away from me, and I can do a nice scan of admiration before he adjusts his gaze.

Normally. This time, however, it was as if I had donned the personality and smoothness of Basil Fawlty

As my co-worker Smiley and I were heading to lunch, I notice a rather attractive state trooper hanging around the lobby of my building. A state trooper that I hadn't noticed before. In an attempt at nonchalance, as well as chivalry, I switch places with my co-worker, positioning myself to open the door for her. And take a gander at this hot man.

In my haste to gawk, I completely forgot that I'm injured. In the arm about to be used to open the door.

*slam hand into door handle*

*wince in pain*

*exclaim loudly*

Heads turn to look at me. No longer can I pass off my "glance" at the state trooper.   Busted?  Party of one?

OUCH!!!

There's a lesson to be learned in almost all that you do.  Even the most mundane, common, and routine actions can lead you on a path of learning.  Let's take last night as an example.

When, at 3:30am, you decide that you absolutely must go to the store to purchase a "can't live without" item, and you decide to ride your bicycle due to the fact that you've had *way* too much to drink, and while en route on your bicycle, you decide that you absolutely must call a particular person in England...

wear a phone headset.

How long has it been?

My office is getting new printers today. As such, a swarm of computer people descended upon us a short time ago, moving in concert, shouting strings of numbers and letters to each other. As I have found is always the case, there is one really handsome man mixed in with the rest of the "depths of the basement IT people."

At first I paid no attention to the commotion around me. I donned my headphones and fell into a Cure coma, only to be brought back to reality by an almost imperceptible tap on my left shoulder. I spun around, anticipating my gaze to fall upon a person who has not seen the light of day, nor a shower, for several days, if not weeks. 

I made an uncontrollable doubletake as my eyes fell upon a well-groomed, well-dressed 6'1" man with dark hair and green, piercing eyes. "I need to install something real quick on your computer," he said. I knew it was just code for something else.

"Uhhh.... sure...  no problem..." I stammered, and rose from my chair. He maintained eye contact for just a second too long, and suddenly I knew it wasn't just thoughts of peripherals and USB ports running through his mind.  Or at least not the ones you buy at Radio Shack.

Within 15 seconds, he'd moved on to my officemate, but I knew he was still thinking of me. As I hear the computer team packing things up, getting ready to move to the next office in the building, I know he'll be back. He's just playing hard to get.

Damn... has it been that long since I've gotten laid?

The British are coming... The British are coming...

"It's such a hard decision!  The date may even not be fixed yet... [but] wanting to be in Texas is a really strong desire.  Now that's a sentence I never thought I'd utter!"



Brit Boy is coming to Texas.  The exact dates of the trip are still to be determined, as he has a number of events to schedule around, and he's having to make some decisions about which ones to bypass.  Yes, he's doing a bit of arranging for this visit.

To say I'm excited is an understatement.  To say I'm scared is an oversimplification.  There are a number of thoughts and emotions running through my mind, not the least of which is a slightly bewildered anticipation.

As I've previously stated, I understand the parameters within which we're working.  This is an affair.  One which may not work.  A short time ago I asked a very good friend how to determine what limit I should put on my actions in maintaining a connection.  How do I know when these attempts become damaging to me?  At what point am I forsaking something more attainable, something more present?  How do I know when I need to just accept things as they were and cherish that?  She smiled as she touched my arm, her eyes sparkling as she saw the tears threatening to spill forth from mine.  She stated that there is no answer to that question.  Perhaps I can have a little affair, perhaps such things do not work.  But I must move forward, being true to my heart.

And so, I'm moving forward as I always do.  Opening myself up to the possibility of something spectacular, albeit with limitations.  Or something devastating.  The challenge is that one never knows how things will turn out.  

Therein lies the adventure.  Therein lies the hope.

I love my mother

When I was younger, and I was struggling with a friendship gone sour, while I was dealing with many emotional issues, my mom took me aside. She sat me down and pulled out a bulging, tattered, and torn scrapbook. While it had obviously been meticulously pieced together, the years had not been gentle on it.

She set it on the table in front of her, placing one of her hands gently on its cover, the other on my arm. I must have rolled my eyes or made some similar teenage expression of annoyance for she quietly said, "Just bear with me a moment."

Even though I could tell that it had been a number of years since she had opened the book, she turned directly to the page she was looking for. She undid the fastening, gently removed a yellowed bit of paper, handed it to me, and simply said, "Read this."

On this faded and yellowed piece of paper, paper that had obviously been handled a number of times through the years, probably from her reading and re-reading its contents, was something that has stuck with me over the seventeen years since I first laid eyes on the words. I have paraphrased them to numerous people over the years, for I find them to be profound and essential to anyone and everyone.

“I love you,
Not only for what you are,
But for what I am
When I am with you.

I love you,
Not only for what
You have made of yourself,
But for what
You are making of me.

I love you
For the part of me
That you bring out;
I love you
For putting your hand
Into my heaped-up heart
And passing over
All the foolish, weak things
That you can’t help
Dimly seeing there,
And for drawing out
Into the light
All the beautiful belongings
That no one else had looked
Quite far enough to find.

I love you because you
Are helping me to make
Of the lumber of my life
Not a tavern
But a temple;
Out of the works
Of my every day
Not a reproach
But a song.

I love you
Because you have done
More than any creed
Could have done
To make me good
And more than any fate
Could have done
To make me happy.
You have done it
Without a touch,
Without a word,
Without a sign.
You have done it
By being yourself.
Perhaps that is what
Being a friend means,
After all.”

I have Kitte Kaat to thank for finding the words for me again. As I read them tonight, fully, for the first time in many years, I can envision that angst-ridden, sad, and troubled child sitting at the kitchen table so many years ago. I can also see each and every friendship and relationship that I have let go because I realized that the particular relationship did not contain even a shred of the ideology contained in the above words. Thanks Kitte.

And mom, thank you.

A few of my favorite things

There are certain words and phrases in the English language that I love.  Just the ability to accurately and succinctly convey a thought, an emotion, or present a situation makes me smile.  I was recently able to work the phrase, "It's just sweet ambrosia" into a conversation, and I had to giggle.  It had taken me a week to do so, but it was an accurate descriptor of the current topic.

Heretofore, my favorite phrase has been, "Who do I need to talk to about buying a pallet of beer?"  I get to utter this phrase once a year, as I go and gather the beer for my camp at Burning Man, and it always makes me happy.  However, I think I have found a phrase that is giving the current front-runner a serious challenge.

"My ex-boyfriend is a porn star."

LA Boy has started doing porn.  

Hrmmm...  memories...

How rude!!

I was asleep.  During the heat of the day in the desert, I tended to have a quick little lie down, storing up some energy for the long night that was always ahead of me (or just trying to recuperate from the previous night).  Additionally, a massive dust storm had just rolled in, and while some ventured off to the playa to explore, the comfort of camp was calling me.

As Mama Kitte was spinning some groovin' tunes, I had flopped down on a futon mattress, next to Jellybean for a nice little rest.  How long I slept, what went on around me, I don't know.  What I do remember was the sensation of a rough hand up my sarong, cupping my balls.

I jolted awake, actually hitting the arm of the person trespassing on my genitals.  He spoke softly in my ear, letting me know that I knew him.  I groggily pushed his hand away from my wobbly bits and made motions for us to just curl up together.  "Tired...  not feeling good..." I said.  "It's sleepy time..."

As he repositioned himself, I noted that he moved to ensure that my right hand was in contact with his groin.  "Really?" I thought to myself.  "Well, it's not like I hadn't kinda thought about this...  wanted this... just not right now."

After a brief interlude of sleeping, I heard his voice in my ear again.  "Let's go back to your tent."  I wearily arose and began to move toward my tent.  What made me get up, I'm not sure.  I wasn't interested in sleeping with him, at least not then.  I had yet to completely recover from the previous night's escapades, and truly was not feeling well.  I stopped as we entered the shade structure my tent was under.

"No...  I'm not feeling well.  We're not going into my tent."  I rested my head on his shoulder, and attempted to explain how poorly I felt.  

"You're so sexy...  Let me show you how sexy I think you are," he said as he caressed my arms, my shoulders, my back.  I had always heard Latin men were romantics.  This Uruguayan was definitely proving that.

And then he reached down, cupped my ass in his hands, and said "Let's go to your tent.  This shouldn't go to waste."

The look on his face as I pushed him away, both hands on his chest and exclaimed "No!!!" was rather priceless.  "Cuddling, ok.  Sex, not gonna happen.  I said I don't feel well, and I don't.  Now excuse me..."  And with that, I walked away, and he left camp.

Off like a...

And I'm out.  It's time for my annual pilgrimage to my other home.  The place where I can take a break from all my worries.  The place where I can get away.  The place where...

No.  Not Cheers.  I'm off to get covered in dust and dirt.  To get abused by the fierce wind, hot sun, and cold nights.

Burning Man awaits me.  I'll be back in about three weeks.

Excited doesn't begin to describe how I feel.  As Mama Kitte put it, "I'm about to vibrate into a mass of whirling molecules."

Substance abuse

Hi.  I'm Cary.  And I have an addiction.

It started when I was young.  Grandmother was to blame.  I would watch her as she just gave into temptation willy-nilly.  My mom and dad didn't really help curb my desire either.  They acted like such an obsession was normal.  And now that I'm an adult, I realize that I really don't have the skills, the courage, or the strength to resist.

I'm addicted to cookies.

Just the way a well-made cookie melts on your tongue, the flavors blending together, creating a sense of euphoria.  My eyes roll back into my head.  Goosebumps rise on my flesh.  A shiver runs down my spine.  If it's really good, like Tiff's Treats Snickerdoodle...  the hair on the back of my neck stands up.

How have I handled my addiction thus far?  I've gone the whole cold-turkey route.  I don't keep any cookies in the house, and for the most part, I'm able to resist any temptations.

However...

The H.E.B. (local grocery) around the corner from my gym does this wonderful little thing where they place all the broken tidbits of cookies out on a "sample" table.  All one has to do is wander by periodically and snag a couple of broken bits.  Chocolate chip.  Oatmeal raisin.  White chocolate macadamia nut.  A smidgen here.  A handful there.  I made three trips past the bakery on one shopping trip alone.

While the cookies may not be the best cookies ever made, it doesn't really matter.  For someone who has avoided them like they're the plague, these things are sweet ambrosia.

Seriously.  I need help.  I find myself planning extra trips to the grocery and making plans to grab the cookie tray and run out the door, leaving a trail of chocolate chips and M&Ms behind me.

I have a secret

I have a secret admirer.  A secret admirer who has my phone number.  But I don't have his.  And he likes to send me cryptic text messages.

I'm not fond of my secret admirer.

See, even though I'm still kinda hanging out with Chef Guy, and I'm not really looking for any kind of serious relationship, for someone to just say that he's "an old friend and I have a crush on you" without revealing himself...  it's kinda chicken.  And I'm not fond of people that are chicken.

If you have an interest in me, own it.  It may or may not be reciprocated, but at least its out there and it's honest.

For to rest

o·ver·train (ō'vər-trān')  v.   o·ver·trained, o·ver·train·ing, o·ver·trains v.   tr.
To train too much: a coach who overtrained the athletes before the championship.

v.   intr. To engage in excessive training: a boxer who overtrained.

I don't know when it happened.  I don't know how it happened.  I was in the middle of teaching a class when I became very aware of a sharp pain in my chest.  My breath caught.  I hunched forward slightly.  I put my students in a repetitive cycle, and tried to determine what was happening.

Chest pain. On the right side, just beside the sternum.  Hrmmm...  right side... not a heart attack.  Very localized.  I rubbed the muscle (yes, I was rubbing my chest...  you turned on yet?) and determined it wasn't a muscular issue.  Figuring that I was ok for at least the time being, I finished class, went home and got ready to meet up with Chef Guy and some others for some shenanigans.

In the two days since this happened, it hasn't really gotten any better, but it's not really bothering me that much.  However, I've realized that perhaps this is a sign.  Perhaps I need to slow down a bit.

This has been what I've been up to lately.

Teach 14 yoga classes per week.
Take 3 cycling classes per week.
Run 2 times per week (4-5 miles).
Weightlifting workout 2 times per week.

I've been at this pace since the 4th of July.  Maybe it's time to scale things back.

Update:  I suspected as much, and it was confirmed.  I popped a rib out of place.  It's now back in it's proper position.

I do that now!

First conversation of the morning.  Well, other than the normal grunt hello that I give to my office-mate.

Me:  Ugh.  I stayed up too late last night.
Co-worker:  Me too.  What's your excuse.
Me:  I couldn't put down the book I was reading.
Co-worker: ...
Me:  *stares at the floor* Um...   Atlas of Human Anatomy.
Co-worker:  You're getting stranger by the day.
Me:  What can I say...  I was really interested by the different layers of abdominal muscles.
Co-worker:  You're going to be that sixty-year old man at the end of the street all the kids avoid because he talks to himself.
Me:  I talk to myself now!!

Homo-say-what?!?

"I'll bet you a dollar I can get you to show me your dick."

Now say what?!?!  These words were uttered by a man who had just knocked into me, spilling about half of my martini.  And before any of you ask, no... he wasn't cute enough for me to show my cock to him.  He actually reminded me a little of an aging Dick York. 

Bathroom Etiquette

I swear, I was so close to doing the pee-dance that when the stall door opened I nearly collided with the guy coming out.  It took all the restraint I could muster not to have an accident  while I fumbled with my belt and fly.  (Mental note: why was this so challenging?  Normally I have no problem ripping into the crotch of pants...)  I was so absorbed in the sense of relief I was feeling that I almost didn't hear the guy enter the stall next to me.  I also almost didn't hear the tell-tale jingle of the keys and the little "pop" of a small plastic ziploc-style bag being opened.  Unfortunately, both of these sounds are not unknown to me.  In fact, it's rather common to hear on Friday and Saturday nights in some bars.

What I was not expecting to hear, however, was what came next.  "Tchk, tchk."  My ears pricked up.  Did I really just hear that?  Then it happened again. "Tchk," followed by a deep inhale.  I stopped pissing so fast and had barely buckled my belt when I tore out of that stall.  Thankfully the bathroom was now empty so that no one saw the panicked look in my eyes.  I mean, really.  Since when is it ok to smoke crystal meth in a bathroom stall?!?

Stars Shining Bright Above You

It happened so quickly that at first I wasn't sure that it was real. He was in front of me, talking about the evening's class, and he just leaned in for a kiss.

"Thank you," he said. "I've really missed coming to your class. It's good to be grounded again" 

I was shocked. I blinked my eyes repeatedly as my mouth just sort of hung open in disbelief. 

"N-n-no-n-n-n-n-no-n-no," I stammered like a character from The Vicar of Dibley. It was just a peck, but he lingered just long enough for me to realize that he wanted to break that tension that existed between us. The tension that had existed between us for so long.

"I can't," I finally forced out. "You're a student in my class. That's an ethical boundary I have to respect. It's fairly well understood in yogic circles that teachers..." I rambled on. He said he understood. His body language told me he was lying.  His shoulders were slouched and the sparkle in his eyes had dimmed.  The post-yoga glow that had surrounded him had begun to fade.  I grabbed two teas as we exited the studio and asked about his recent adventures and escapades.

We sat on a bench outside and chatted, discussing his recent travels. His statements seemed strained and forced. He seemed tense, like he was unsure about what to do, what to say. And then, just as quickly as before, he did it again.  I didn't stop him.  The kiss deepened as he touched my arm, causing goose-bumps to rise on my flesh. The tension that had existed between us for so many months just broke. There was such an overflow of energy that consumed the two of us, sitting on that park bench, that I felt light-headed.  I felt like I couldn't hold the kiss any longer, but I was afraid of what would happen if I was the one to break it.

A large crack of thunder brought me out of my daze. The kiss was broken. It was raining. Hard. I opened my eyes, and my pillow was wet.

Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous

Like a previous encounter with an ex, this one was not completely unexpected, even if this was unanticipated.  While our paths rarely crossed, in a town as small as Austin, it was gonna happen at some point. 

And that's how it happened.  All of a sudden.  That's how I wound up standing next to JH, Latex Guy, and current front-runner Chef Guy.  I had hoped that my first encounter with Latex in the six-plus months since our breakup would have allowed for more one-on-one conversation without the pressure of ensuring that Chef Guy (who I've only been hanging out with for two weeks) was not insecure about me having an extended chat with some guy.


JH and Chef Guy were rather drunk, which made for some interesting conversation topics.  For the most part, however, the conversation was comfortable, even if I did have to maneuver the conversation away from various "I miss us hanging out" comments made by Latex.

And then it happened.  He was drunk.  He was trying to keep it light.  But it was still rather surreal.  I don't quite remember how it happened, but JH asked to see Latex's cock.  "I wanna see it.  Go ahead, pull it out," he said.

My eyes widened.  Did I really just hear what I thought I heard?  Yes, one of my ex-boyfriends asked to see another ex-boyfriend's cock, in the middle of a bar, right in front of the guy I'm currently...  dating.

Dancing with Red Shirt

Location: Ellysium - 80s Night
Time: 1:00am
Music: Michael Jackson - Thriller

I'm on the dancefloor (yes, shock that it is) attempting to do my best "Thriller" moves, but the dancefloor is so crowded I can't really get in any convincing zombie dance moves.  (Sidenote:  I can do some great Thriller dance moves.  My eldest brother made me learn the moves with him when the video first came out.)  Red Shirt (some new guy I'm seeing) is outdoing me greatly.

We exit the danefloor shortly after the song ends and make our way to some new friends hanging out by the air conditioner.  I swear, I would have thought hanging out by the cool breezes of the air conditioner would be more popular, but the area in front of it was always vacant everytime I left the dancefloor.  We chat for a few minutes, and the he turns to me.

"I think I'm done with the 80s for tonight.  You ready to go?"  "Sure," I respond, and we make our way outside.  We're rather touchy-feely as we're walking back to his car.  My legs are killing me (workout the day before, running earlier today, moderate time on the dancefloor tonight), and he decides to help me up the hill by letting me lean on him.  He's got a tight and strong body, even if he is only 5'9" in height.  "Why am I being so touchy tonight," I begin to ask myself.  "I'm not really sure how I feel about him...  I don't want to be dishonest and misleading..."

We arrive at his car, and he leans against it, holding my hand and drawing me to him.  I lean in for the kiss as he places his hands on my torso, caressingly.  He draws me in closer, and I continue to wonder if I'm being dishonest.  I'm not sure this is something I can do.  I'm not sure he's the person I want do it with, even if I can.  

Eventually, the kiss is broken and he asks the question I knew was coming.  "What happens now?"

"What happens now is that I go home.  It's late." 

"And where am I going," he responds as he smiles.  I see the glint in his eyes, and the slight tilt of his head is not lost on me.

*sigh* "You're going to your house.  It's late.  And I'm tired."  I chickened out.  Why couldn't I tell him the truth.  That it's gonna take me some time before anything like that happens, if at all?

He seems ok with my statement, though.  He inquires about doing something the next day, as I have the day off from work.  I agree to some tentative outdoor plans, and we separate, getting into our respective cars.  I watch him as he drives away, wondering.  Is there no real spark?  Or am I unable to perceive it if it is, in fact, there.

Did I just say that?

"Dude, you're fucking hot.  But...  I don't hook-up."

Those words were uttered by me.  Yes, me.

Ok...  stop laughing.  Really.

True, he was a little aggressive in trying to get at my goods, but that wasn't the only reason why I turned him down.  Let me run through the numbers.

1)  Hot.  Dude was fucking *smoking*

2)  Out-of-towner.  Always a good thing.  There's no real "call me later" thing going on.

3)  Very aggressive.  As in, "dude, you're really hot.  Do you live nearby?  I'd really like to see your place."  Oh come on now...  can't you be just a little smoother?

4)  Bad kisser.  The kiss kinda surprised me.  We were getting up to head inside from the patio, and he leaned in as I was standing.  Perhaps it was the angle.  Perhaps I never let him get into his groove.  Whatever the reason, it was not a good experience.

5)  But the main reason is that I'm batting this quaint little notion running around in my head.  Not having sex unless I'm in an exclusive arrangement.

Tonight I was talking to Jellybean, and I mentioned #5 to him.  "What?!?!" was his response.  "What in the hell are you thinking?"

"Yeah, I'm not exactly sure, but it's just something I'm thinking about these days."

And that's it.  It's just something I'm thinking about these days.  Not sure that it'll last, but it's something that is very interesting to me.

What to do...

I felt the gentle touch on my right arm just as I reached the bar to order another drink. I turn around and saw her, one of Latex's best friends. 

"Hey Cary, I thought that was you across the way. How are you?"

I stare at her for a moment, unsure of what is about to happen. Unsure of what exactly I'm supposed to do. Why is she at OCH? Is Latex with her? And she's pregnant... When did this happen?

A pleasant conversation ensues, during which she has this look in her eyes that she's being apologetic for the way that Latex acted at the end of our relationship. I decide not to venture down that road, instead talking about various silly little topics.

"I miss you coming over for dinner," she finally says. "Damn," I think to myself. "I didn't want to head down that path."

"Well, what's done is done. But I do miss those affairs, as well." And from there I steer the conversation elsewhere by introducing her to Shot Guy. On a side note, Shot Guy can talk. So its very easy to avoid any uncomfortable topics by just allowing him to take over the course of the conversation. This was no exception. The plan worked perfectly. For a while.

"So you should give me a call sometime," she eventually says. Once again, I just stare at her for a moment. 

"Sweety, I... that's... not something I think I should do. You're one of Latex's best friends, I won't do that to him."

"I'm still gonna give you my number." And with that she grabs a trick card, scribbles her number down, and places the card in my hand. "Call me," she says. "I can have my own friends."

When I get home, I pull the card out of my pocket and place it on the kitchen counter, right next to the stove. I feel the urge to light the stove and burn the card. If Latex were to hang out with one of my best friends, I know how I would feel. I mean, I really don't have any negative feelings towards him, but he made it very clear how things were gonna be between us... non-existent. That's a line that I feel I must respect.

The next morning I'm in the kitchen, preparing some tea when Shot Guy comes in from the bedroom. I'm holding the card in my hand, unsure of what I should do with it. He asks about it, about her, about who she is. I tell him the truth. He takes the card from my hand, rips it up, and throws it in the trash.