newest entry
contact
quien es nico?
a links page
Antes:
2005
2004
2003
2002
2001
2000
I also do stuff over at livejournal:
the insufficient blog
otro lugares:
absorbacon
abstractnixon
aiyah
amateur gourmet
amazing adventures of bill
appetites
archerr
bill and kent
blockade boy
center of gravitas
cheap blue guitar
chocolate and zucchini
comics 212
designer blog
dogpoet
edwin
how to learn swedish
hungry tiger
i make things
i was just really very hungry
insequence
island of misfit toys
lady, that's my skull
mysterysteps
news from me
old grey poet
once upon a tart
postmodernbarney
precocious curmudgeon
pretty, fizzy, paradise
roar of comics
something old, nothing new
stop touching my food
strange maps
super underwear perverts
there are some who call me tim
tinman
tmb
ultrasparky
diaryland
diaryland profile
ringsurf gay diary
previous next random list join
Stories from a man who fails to meet media expectations of what it means to be gay:
white, frivolous, over sexed yet sexless, shrill, single, stylish, a clown, unimportant, et al.
Lunes 06/16/2003
Super glue, meets Primetime, meets Irish boyfriends with green eyes
I'm pushing a shopping cart through the parking lot of the Silverlake Trader Joe's towards a jeep of all things. Loading my purchases into the back of the jeep is a tad awkward, and I realize that my left hand is gone. I'm wearing a short sleeve polo shirt, so I can see the stump and some scars on my arm, but this doesn't surprise me. Apparently it had happened a while ago and I am used to it, if still somewhat clumsy.
James steps up behind me and gives me a quick hug and kiss. He helps me finish loading the jeep and tosses in some dry cleaning that he had just picked up a couple of stores over. As we're getting into the car, I smile and think about him. I look out the passenger window and think about his cute accent, and how adorable it is when he makes a grumbly face whenever someone thinks he is older than I am because of his salt and pepper hair. I also think about how sexy it is that his chest hair has some grey in it as well, and what a good lover he is.
He notices me smiling, then smiling broadly himself, makes a comment about how much quicker and enjoyable errands are when I am with him. It's his way of reminding me that he asked me the night before to move in with him and is still waiting for my answer. He wants me to say yes, and even though I am somewhat hesitant about taking this important step, I am inclined to do so.
We're on the road, and he is telling me about a dinner party we have been invited to, and I am thinking that I am happy.
This is when I get confused. When did I become a 40-year-old with a 36-year-old Irish boyfriend named James? What am I doing being happy with another man? Where is John? When did I move to Silverlake? What the heck happened to my hand? More importantly, where is John??? James noticed that I had become agitated and then it was over. I woke up.
John was asleep next to me and babe cat was lying on top of his shoulder. I could feel the Spanky cat curled up under the blankets next to our feet. Everyone was fine and asleep except for me. I was now wide-awake and I felt guilty. As irrational as it sounds, I was feeling unfaithful to John.
The guilt didn't last long, ending pretty much when I told myself that it was stupid to feel bad over a dream I have no control over. Although I am curious about what was going on in my mind when it came up with James the Irish Doctor who is a huge football (soccer) fan; who is almost an inch shorter than I am, making me the taller one in a relationship for once; and who curves a bit towards the left. Think smutty for a moment and that last part should make sense.
If I was someone who puts a lot of importance on dreams, I'm sure there would be a lot of insights into my troubled and damaged psyche with the James the Irish Doctor dream.
Then again, maybe it's a good thing that I don't believe in the importance of dream imagery, because I would then have to figure out what the heck was going on the week before when I dreamed that John and I came home one day to find that the house had been broken into, but instead of being burgled, jokers had taken all of the jewel cases to our CD collection and super glued them to the ceilings, or even worse, the time I dreamt I was annoyed that Disney had optioned Michael Nava's Henry Rios mystery novels for a series of made for TV movies.
I was watching a commercial for it, and everything had been changed. Instead of an openly gay, Latino, lawyer dealing with sobriety and a troubled private life, there was now an overweight, Hawaiian shirt wearing, STRAIGHT, klutzy, ladies man wannabe, private detective named George (played by George Lopez) who solved crimes with the help of his niece, a big haired former gang member trying to make good.
The commercial promised wacky high jinks, and called it My Cousin Vinny meets Barretta meets La Bomba. I sat on the couch groaning and wondering what was wrong with the world.
More later,
Nico