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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.
Mon 11/04/2002
My elephant is drunk and other stories
Disturbingly, I have been having a recurring sex dream. More accurately, a recurring nonsex dream. A frustration dream. A "Damn, ain't I ever going to get any?" dream.
The specifics change, but the basic situation remains the same. I'm trying very aggressively to passively get this sex stud of a man to come on to me. We talk. We flirt. We coyly touch. We end up seconds from actual sweaty man on man sex when someone walks into the room, or the phone rings, or there's a loud noise.
There's always an interruption. There's always frustration.
Not having sex does not make a dream disturbing. What does is that sex stud man appears to be an amalgamation of various men who for various reasons I dislike and who dislike me back. Why exactly has my mind cast a combination of every jerk who ever pissed me off as an amazingly hot guy who wants, no, who needs to ravage me?
My mind is a dark and troublesome thing.
I watched the first episode of 24 last week. Terrorists threaten to nuke Los Angeles and I'm yawning. I didn't make it through the first season, not because I thought it was a bad show, but because I missed a couple of episodes and it seemed far more trouble than it was worth to get back into the story.
Who knows if I'll stick with the new season, but I already have a problem with the program. Too many blond women. How exactly am I supposed to tell them all apart? Was that pensive blond woman on screen Kiefer Sutherland's blond daughter, the blond daughters abusive employer's blond wife, the possible terrorist's blond fiancee, or the possible terrorist's blond fiancee's blond older sister? I had no freaking clue.
The annual dead celebrity party was last Saturday. Despite not feeling too great, I went. In an actual proper costume no less. Thanks to John borrowing a Gandolph costume from a coworker that is. So I showed up as dead Dumbledor. Does it say much that while kids realized I wasn�t really in the right costume, no adults did?
John went as Judge Judy Garland, which wasn't as out of place as it may seem. At one point, the hostess was talking about having everyone be Judy Garland, but for assorted reasons, mainly people refusing to do so, that idea didn't pan out. Strangely, despite the Judy Garland obsession thing happening, this was a "straight" party.
There were a couple of Liza's mothers, as they were calling themselves, in attendance, as well as an Aaliyah, some dead silent movie starlets, a dead fat Elvis, multiple Mary Kays, a samurai'd John Belushi, and other various dead folks.
Not surprisingly, John won a prize for his costume and for his talent which involved a forbidden Broadway song, a mallet, and a stuffed toto. As usual, I did not participate in the talent contest, which was fine, since I would have been nowhere as near as interesting as the multiple Mary Kays explaining how to put on lipstick.
When one of the people in my office came back from visiting relatives in Nigeria, he brought back small wooden elephants as presents. They were handed out and everyone was mighty pleased for the nice gesture.
After sitting on my desk for the afternoon, I noticed that my little wooden elephant leans over to the right quite a bit. I've taken to telling people that my elephant is drunk.
The weather here has been gray. Gray clouds. Gray temperatures. Gray. Gray. Gray. The heat loving plants, like the coleus are not enjoying this weather, but most everything else is. Daffodils and crocus are starting to come up, and the nasturtiums are returning. No flowers yet, still too early for that.
Most of the deciduous trees in the neighborhood have decided that this would be as good a time as any to start the prep for loosing their leaves. Oaks, walnuts, pomegranates, and gingkoes have turned bright yellow.
Soon enough, it'll be winter and instead of gray and gray, it will be dark and wet. For now at least, I'm trying to ignore the gray and pay more attention to the more pleasant aspects of autumn, like persimmons.
The final issue of Vertigo Pop! Tokyo came out. I haven't had this much fun with a comic in quite awhile. Japanese pop stars, cranky yakuza, and obsessed teen fans going amok in Harajuku. What was not to like.
With luck, the next series, London, will be as good.
Going to the dentist=not so fun time. Going to the dentist on Halloween=weird and not so fun time. Especially if everyone in the office was in costume. Having your mouth poked and prodded by a cheerleader maybe some odd straight boy fetish, but it ain't mine.
My dentist did not have good news for me. It appears that I am under stress. It appears that I am grinding my teeth. A lot. I've damaged some filling, and worn down the porcelain on one of my crowns to the underlying metal.
Apparently my mouth is not a happy place.
The next few weeks are going to be filled with repeat visits to my dentist. Visits I most likely won't write about here in too much detail, since I don't want to think about it.
I will have to think about some of the options I was given to deal with the grinding. An important one being to remove stress from my life. To remove tension. To remove frustration.
Maybe I should have told my cheerleader dentist about my nonsex dreams...
more later,
nico
Music:
random classical music station
Want:
less stress
Elsewhere:
gayfraud
<<It's funnier when it happens::::Nico is mothing more than an oversized chew toy>>