Exes and Ohs

When a relationship ends things tend to be a little awkward. If you do the breaking up then the other party inevitably hates you for a period of time, even if they still love you. That seemed like a juxtaposition, but I’m sure many people have experienced this very weird emotional position – an example that I experience all the time is my folks, they annoy the hell out of me sometimes with their old-timey views and lack of understanding of things happening around them, but of course I still love them. When I’m broken up with, or even when I break up with someone, I feel something similar to this. I just can’t really go back to the person after I cool down and say sorry, I love you. But can you, after a cool-down period, go back and give them a a different kind of love? Can exes be friends?

Usually I’d say no. I’m fantastically good friends with some girls I dated way back when in primary school, because I have since come out, and anything in primary school can’t actually count when you’re in your twenties, right? Right. There are, however, no guys from my past that I’m actually properly friends with. I’ll see some of them out now and again, or send or receive a text from one if we need to discuss something specific. But friends? No, I still refer to them as ‘my ex’, not ‘my friend’.

This past weekend I had yet another birthday party with a theme – ‘Squares and Drapes’. If you don’t know what that theme entails, it’s from some Johnny Depp movie made in 1990. Anyway, I didn’t know what to wear and one of the very few people I knew was going to be there, was an ex. I sent him a text the morning of asking what I should wear, what I really wanted to gauge was if it was going to be an awkward evening or not. Turns out we’re fine now, almost two years after we broke up. I’m sure it helped that he’s been in a year-long relationship with someone new, even if it’s long distance. He seemed happy and we got along just fine.

The only hiccup was when I had to explain why I did not go to his birthday party a few months ago, even though quite a few of my friends ended up going. I said it was because I felt like I was the obligatory invite, the guy you invite because you feel like it’s the right thing to do – it’s the absolute worst when they actually end up coming. This explanation was mostly true. I also just didn’t feel like a room full of attractive gay guys when I’ve really been letting myself go for the last six months or so.

So that went well – we’re still not going to be in the business of inviting each other out to coffee or clubbing though. Still just ‘my ex’.

Now, some people may or may not remember Ben from at least two of my other recent posts. We vibed for like a month, that’s no time at all. I developed a semblance of feelings very quickly though, possibly just because I hadn’t had any for anyone in quite some time. Well whatever the reason for my ridiculous affections, they were there. Now it’s his birthday this coming weekend and lo and behold, he’s having a party. It’s Halloween themed – apt. Not only because it’s Halloween on Saturday (also JHB gay pride that day by the way), but because I’m terrified of going. I’ve been checking the Facebook event and many of my friends are going. So is Gaysian, from my extended play post.

The reason I’m terrified, is because we were never friends and we were never together, but we kind of broke up. We haven’t texted in weeks and it’s awkward when we run into each other, unlike the ex that I saw last week. I don’t want to go and be awkward and I don’t want to not go because then it’s obvious that I’m not going because I dread seeing him. Is it obvious?

Anyway, he invited 150 people. He’s personally told me that he dislikes some of the people on his guest-list. Am I one of those people for real this time? The one that you feel you have to invite to be polite, but secretly you really hope they don’t come.

What’s the right move here? Do I go because my friends are going, do I go because I want to show him that I’m over it, or do I not go and risk being the guy that can’t be friends with a whole group of people because of one failed relationship attempt with a member of said group?

Did I burn a bridge here? Or if I haven’t burnt one, am I risking doing just that?

Label It

This is something that intrigues and confuses me, and it has for a long time. I posted about coming out just a few days ago, and although I didn’t really feel like telling my own story, I tried to convey that I’m all for coming out and being gay and being happy. But is it really that easy to label yourself and then just live with it?

At my university, we have an annual event called the Medics Pub Crawl – it’s pretty fun I think. I’m not really sure, since the goal is to be off your face even before you get on the bus to the first destination. At last year’s pub crawl, as is my tradition when going out, I mingled with many groups of people and not just my everyday group of friends. So on one of the buses between venues, I sat with some girls in my class. We were all pretty well socially lubricated at this point, so things got a bit flirty as they often do. They all knew that I was gay and I knew that they all knew, so it’s all good if we flirt a bit. No harm done. Except that I ended up almost making out with the one girl, but picked her friend instead. This caused some friction there apparently, oh well. Anyway, the one I chose is taller than me, has beautiful blonde curls or waves or whatever and has a banging body. It just happened, and it was fun for both of us I hope.

Later that night, at the last venue, I spot this super tall guy who is also in my class. I had never really spoken to him before that evening, but I had always assumed that he would swing both ways. So we’re on the street and I approach him and attempt to chat him up, and it works. Did I mention that he’s taller than me and had brown curls or waves or whatever? The reason I’m drawing this comparison is simply because sometimes it’s true that you have a type, but can your type resonate with you regardless of gender?

For me the answer is almost always no, but after a few drinks I enjoy making out with girls. I assume it’s just because I enjoy making out and it doesn’t really have anything to do with sex or gender, as long as there’s some level of physical attraction.

The reason for the backstory was really so I could mention the tall guy. Let’s just call him J. J is a vegetarian and looks like a hippy sometimes and like a hipster other times. He’s a model and a medical student, so he checks a lot of boxes and leaves many other boxes blank.

My sometimes socially awkward friend doesn’t make out with too many people when she’s drunk, instead she asks questions and brings up things best forgotten. I mentioned earlier that J and I didn’t really speak before we kissed a year ago, well now we’re in the same group of friends, so we speak rather often. At a party last weekend the awkward bestie asks him about his label. He responds, quite casually I might add, that he isn’t sure what he is. He likes girls but he could also easily make out with me again right there and then. I responded that it would not be that easy, just because I didn’t know what to say.

The akward bestie, I think that’s what I’ll call her from now on, seemed unsure how she felt about this, purely from a ‘what box in my head is reserved fir this’, kind of perspective. I tried to come up for J and said not to label him, he’s clearly not at either extreme of the Kinsey scale. I felt very cosmopolitan and forward thinking for saying this, but then I started really thinking about it. I think I may need labels. I think society as whole may function better when we can label things. I tried to imagine dating not J, but someone like him, someone who didn’t really know what they wanted.

I’ve been struggling with simply the idea of dating a bisexual man. I don’t know why it’s such a weird thing for me, I hook up with guys and girls but have no emotional or romantic attraction to girls so I’m not quite identifying as bi. Should it bother me that a bi man could just as easily leave me for a woman as for another man? Probably not. What does bother me and I feel like it may be more justified, is that a bi man can never be at the same comfort level with my girl friends as I am, there’s a possibility of sexual attraction there. I’m the jealous type, so maybe that’s what’s shining through here if we’re being completely honest. So did I just decide that the ‘Bi’ label is an exception? Do we want labels, but ones that say something concrete, like ‘I want a girlfriend’ or ‘I want a boyfriend’ rather than ‘I’m single’?

Back to the J situation. If you’re unsure what you want, and you date a boy for a year just to realise that you really want to marry a woman instead, is that fair to either of you? If you don’t want the world to label you, that’s probably completely okay, but maybe you should have a label tucked away in your mind just for your own personal use?

Obviously I can’t really come up with a concrete solution to the problem of labeling, and maybe there isn’t a problem at all. Maybe it’s all much of a muchness and every situation warrants a complete evaluation by itself.

Friendship Whore

I had recently been called a friendship whore, and I was appalled. In the context it simply seemed to suggest that I had a few different groups of friends, so when I attended events I could not be counted on to be someone’s pillar and keep them company for the whole evening. That actually doesn’t sound so bad does it? Having quite a few friends could sometimes be considered a good thing.

The reason it upset me, not to my core, but on a rather superficial flesh wound kind of level, was because someone I like as a friend called me a Friendship Whore. I mean, there can be no good intent when calling someone any kind of whore, unless when quoting Mean Girls, and subtly letting someone know they’re part of your crew with a playful “Boo, you whore”.

I remembered the phrase in question this morning, while considering the weekend ahead – thinking where I had to go and who I was likely to see and what we might have to talk about. Halfway through my mental preparations it popped into my head –  “You’re such a friendship whore”. I considered this accusation and its validity, especially in a context where I was actually thinking ahead about what to say to different people at social events. I know that it’s really because of social anxiety and not wanting to have to improvise if I ran into someone that I had nothing to say to, but I think maybe it could come across as some form of friendship whoring.

Just to really be sure if I could be described as such a fiend, I did a quick internet search of the term. Of course. there is a certain not so official online dictionary that has a definition for this phrase, this title, this… insult. It is described as someone who pretends to be a nice person so that they can be your friend and your trusted confident, but then turns out to really not give a damn about you. Not only that, but the victim of the charade is then so deep in this whore’s grasp that they can never be angry enough to justify breaking off the friendship.

Now I’m a bit uncomfortable. Is this a status that I actually have among people? Worst of all, the one that first brought my attention to my whoring ways is in my class, one of my peers and someone that I see regularly and will have to see for at least three more years. This is fine. What’s not fine, is if other people agree, other people who are also my peers and who also have to be in my life for years to come.

Maybe I should simply embrace the idea and allow people to fall into my black widow-esque clutches from which there is no escape and build an army of devout, if not slightly sad and hurt, patrons of whoring.

I feel like maybe this is all coming off very dramatic and woe-is-me. I’ll mention that as much as this is a worry in my life, it’s not really a worry in my life. That makes total sense right? Good.

Coming Out

In my weekend haze of sleep and binge eating, I missed coming out day. Hoe embarrassing for me.  If I’m telling the absolute truth, I actually had no idea that I was missing it – I either never knew such a day existed, or I had simply forgotten about it.

I was going to use this post to complain about the fact that gay men and women, not to mention transgender folks and a multitude of other fringe sexualities, actually still have to come out. I was going to use the argument that it’s 2015, and straight people don’t have to come out as straight and blah blah blah. You know, the usual indignation about things that won’t change simply because I’m indignant about it.

I’ve decided against going that route, and would rather say something about how great it is that there is actually a day for coming out. It puts some kind of pressure on society when a mass of young boys and girls all flock to social media on one day to declare themselves normal, and proud of it. I’m using the word normal because that’s exactly what LGBTQI people are, just a different kind of normal. That last sentence was written with my tongue literally nestled in my cheek, its favourite position, by the way.

Not only does it give the individuals actually doing the coming out a chance to start living life as themselves, but it also encourages those not ready this year to potentially start readying themselves for a big reveal next year. We must all know that having a date in mind for the completion of any project helps you and forces you to get it done. It’s no different with coming out. It’s a battle you need to fight and being able to postpone the inevitable makes it so easy to do.

I remember coming out quite well. Actually, that’s a lie. I was 14 at the time, and what i remember the most clearly is the fallout at home and at school. I don’t feel like rehashing the whole thing, it’s not a very entertaining story. What is worth mentioning though, is that people who aren’t too impressed when you tell do get over it and eventually grow the hell up – yes, even mothers.

I’m 22 now and mostly happy and comfortable with the whole thing, even though there are still assholes out there that say fantastically homophobic things to my face. It will happen to anyone, no matter how long you’ve been out or where you’re from or where you fit in to the LGBTQI spectrum, so fear of such immature and most likely dumb folks is no reason to postpone living your best and most honest life.

That’s really all I have on the topic right now. So come out, be you and live your life.

All About That Dating Life

So my previous post raised the question if people, particularly young gay men, still date. It also made me wonder if we don’t date because promiscuity is just so great, or if it’s because the dating pool is shallow at best.

These two things probably aren’t mutually exclusive. I’ve met quite a few guys that I wouldn’t mind dating, but many of them seem to prefer just getting it on and then moving right along. I can’t say that I haven’t been guilty of this. Just last week a boy told me that he loved me and my response was to keep making out, and taking a quick pause to tell him that he must be mistaken.

This particular fellow lives in a different country and is heading back there today actually. I’m avoiding the whole situation until I know he’s safely out of my hood. Does that make me a terrible person?

I’m conflicted. On the one hand I really want to be in the type of successful relationship I see on campus every day. But on the other hand, I like keeping it casual and not giving someone the opportunity to screw me emotionally.

Does it all come down to some form of fear? A fear of commitment, a fear of catching the feels in a real way, a fear of rejection? What about when it becomes boring, which it inevitably has to? Is it all worth the effort and the self-esteem blows?

I haven’t been in a relationship in just about 18 months. I’ve had my fair share of flings and dates, but not one that seemed like it could be a potential life changer – maybe Ben from the last two posts but look how that panned out.

I just joined Tinder for  the one millionth time. I’m telling myself it’s for research – you know, so that I have something to write about on here. Maybe it is to an extent, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the matches and the messages and just the general ego boost when you realize that there are some people out there, albeit not that many, that want to talk to me because they find my Facebook pictures attractive.

That brings me to the next dilemma that us would-be daters have to face. Narcissism.

In a world of TV, Grindr, Tinder, Facebook, Pinterest, the internet in general and even blog sites like Tumblr and Twitter, society is constantly told to look at things. We don’t read like we used to, we don’t talk like we used to. Our interactions are so driven by visual stimulation that we expect nothing but the most beautiful and most stunning. I’m complaining about it yeah, but just like I enjoy a casual fling when I secretly want to date, I also judge on appearances, and way too harshly. I physically struggle to watch movies made before the dawn of CGI, and I hate when lead roles are portrayed by anyone less attractive than Keira Knightly or Matt Bomer.

Dating sites are so bad in this regard. You simply swipe left, ignore a friend request, block, unfollow if someone isn’t as aesthetically pleasing as your dream partner is in your mind’s eye. Imagine we did the same in real life. Imagine for a second someone did the same to you – try approach someone in your class, place of work or in a bar and they simply ignore you or ‘swipe’ you out of their way. It all seems so messed up, and yet we thrive on it. We check our likes on Instagram and our retweets and favourites on Twitter and bask in the glow of having the best follows to following ratios. I’m completely immersed in the culture myself, there is no turning back.

But what does everything I’ve said so far mean? What does it mean for the future of dating, particularly for my future in terms of dating? Well, I guess I don’t know. Do I suck it up and stay single forever, hooking up randomly for as long as possible, or should I go to gym, be on a perpetual diet, be tanned as all hell all the time and hope that someone swipes right?

This is where I’ll end off, no closer to an answer than when I began.

When You Meet Someone New Part 2 

Right. Where was I? 

So I saw Ben at a hipster music festival. He never came to the after party and took at least 12 hours to send me a message after I gave him my number (three day rule for who). 

Let me mention right now that he pretty much led with “I’m not looking for a relationship right now” when we started chatting. I heard him, I told him I’m not keen on a casual hookup. I don’t recall him responding to that though. And let me be honest – I didn’t care that he said that, he was smart and attractive, so I convinced myself on the spot that I could change his mind if given the chance. 

So he eventually texts me and I, being as cool and collected as I am, reply minutes, no seconds later. I’m not proud of it, but I’m also not ashamed. So we chat. And it’s pretty damn great. For a whole Sunday we ‘talk’ crap and admit to doing the compulsory social media stalking on one another’s accounts. 

But, somehow, I feel like that Sunday, a week or so after meeting him for the first time, my thing with Ben had come to an end. 

For the next week, he texts me back intermittently at best, sometimes with 48 hours between responses. I know, people are busy, we all have things to do. But not being able to reply to a text message … To me that means your phone got stolen, you’re dead or you’re just not interested. 

I knew his phone wasn’t stolen – he replied to my friend. That also rules out being dead I guess. So that left one option, one option that I was hell bent on ignoring. 

Have I mentioned that playing it cool is not my strong point? It really isn’t – wow. So I tried my best to only reply hours after this boy sends me a message and sometimes succeeded. But I also wanted to be on his mind, so now and then I would send what I thought was a cute text – just a “Have a nice day” type of message with an emoji or two, you  know. Of course, no response to these little gestures of kindness and potential brain washing. 

So I play this game for week or so, wanting to give up but also wanting to keep trying. Friday night plans come out of nowhere and guess who happens to be included in said plans? 

So by the time I get to the bar, Ben is wasted and dancing with a bunch of girls – heaven forbid a guy comes near him in public. 

I take the hint and sit with with a gaggle of gays waiting for a drink. I hit it off with these guys and Ben notices. He asks me to take a walk with him and I pretend to think about it – who am I kidding, I said yes almost immediately, only pausing long enough to try and contain my joy. I sound like a typical highschool girl right now, don’t I? Oh well. 

So we took a walk, and we made out. It was fantastic. It felt like he knew me. You know how generally a first kiss is akward and uncertain? This was anything but that. It was the stuff of movies and novels and other luckier people’s blogs. And then he ruined it by telling me that he knew how great it was, because he’s well aware that he’s awesome and a great kisser. I’m all about cocky assholes, but let’s calm down. 

This is turning out to be a very  long story, I’m sorry. 

That was it for that night, he went off back to his friends and I went back to the gaggle. I left soon after and didn’t speak to him again until I saw him again the next day. 

Saturday. I go to a birthday picnic, basically the pre game for a swing party (Jazzy type vibe) later that night. Ben’s there. We say hi and that’s it. 

At the Jazz party we don’t really talk, he tells me I look good and we take a bunch of photos with the gang. The rest of the night he speaks to my best friend more than he speaks to me but I figure that’s not too odd. She’s pretty cool after all. 

We both end up staying at a mutual friend after the party, in the same bed. Unfortunately there are no juicy details to share. We kissed for 5 minutes. He fell asleep. He woke up and we cuddled. That’s it. At this point I’m sure you can imagine how self conscious I feel – I’ve never had someone fall alseep that quickly, no matter how wasted. 

Next morning. Sunday. He wakes up a few minutes after me, gets right out bed, takes all his things and goes and chills with the friend whose house we’re at. I think my ego died there and then. I get dressed. I have some much needed water, brush my teeth and we all go to breakfast. 

Later we text. He says his quick escape was to avoid being awkward, because he’s weird and doesn’t know how to deal with such things. 

This was two weeks ago and I believe it was our last conversation. I’ve seen him since and bummed a cigarette off him. Oh he also poked my abdominal region cause he knew I had to pee and clearly likes to see me squirm. 

I know. What a long ass story and what an anticlimax. Now imagine how I feel. This made me wonder – do people, specifically young gay guys, still date? Are there any potentials out there?  Or are we all destined to an eternity of Grindr and meeting pretty boys with zero social graces? 

When You Meet Someone New

Okay, here we go. It’s been months and now I’m rusty. I meant months since I’ve written anything, but now it occurs to me that it’s also been months since I’ve been on a real date and not just a booty call or some event with a group of friends and that one attractive guy with whom I’ve inadvertently been playing games. But that isn’t really the topic that’s on my mind.

This post was meant to be some cynical and scathing essay about a guy I met recently after eyeing him on and off for a while, but now that I’m here I don’t know what to say about him. It might just be because our fling lasted for about 2 weeks, and I’m using the word fling loosely –  I’m sure even flings are more intimate than this bullshit.

It all started when I went out with friends to some guy’s birthday drinks at a local watering hole. I was having a really good chat with a good girl friend, when everyone decided it was time to leave the confines of the chilled, golden oldie playing bar in affluent suburbia and move on to a grimy drum and bass event happening miles away in the middle of town. For some stupid reason I agreed and also offered to give some people a ride. I was ready to leave and edged away from my friends, trying to get them to follow me to the car-park. Instead, they took their time finishing drinks and saying goodbye to those who were not planning on joining us.

While standing by myself a boy approached me. I recognized this boy, because I don’t forget seeing someone this pretty. Imagine a younger Ben Affleck , but also taller, much taller, and skinnier and actually just all round better looking. So anyway he comes up to me and calls me by name, which immediately throws me off what little natural game I actually posses. He asks for a lighter and obviously I would never refuse. And that’s kind of it – we met on a Thursday for literally less than a minute. I went to the Drum and Bass party and forgot about this man until the next day.

The next morning I woke up to an Instagram follow request. Yes, I am one of those annoying people that decided my uploads are a matter of national security and should not be accessible to all. I accepted his request and then followed him back as well.

This was all pretty exciting so I told two of my friends about the newest developments in my otherwise pretty boring dating/sex/actually meeting people life. One was totally on board as she always is, but the other said she knew him very well and he was unfortunately straight, but the nicest guy ever. I must admit that I didn’t really give a shit if he was the nicest guy ever if he was completely straight.

So this all happened on Friday, the day after I gave him a light.

A week later. Saturday. I’m heading to pre’s at a friend’s, before making our way into town once more for some hipster music festival. Guess who just happens to be at the festival? Ben, as I’ll call him from now on, himself, in the flesh. Of course, now I’m not nervous to talk him to him at all, since he’s straight. I feel like we hit it off and we could probably be good friends, but that’s not what I came here for. I came for a party, I came to get drunk and dance my face off. So I move toward one of the stages and go have a jam. My friends join me and it’s a great time.

A few songs in, Ben joins us near the stage and decides to stand next to me, which is obviously fine. He speaks to me quite a bit but all I really want to do is, once again dance my face off.

So now he’s saying some odd stuff. Asking me about my type, telling me we’ll be spending time together later but there will be very little talking. Confused.

Anyway, to cut this already super long post short, he’s gay. We chat all night, we dance, we drink, we touch only just a little – we’re in public and he’s not out.

He’s smart, he’s doing an Honours degree in some BSc. He is, as previously stated, tall and gorgeous. He’s Jewish, and for some reason I’ve always liked that a lot, probably because my parents have a very pointed dislike of Jewish attorneys. He’s charming, maybe a bit too cocky and definitely an asshole, but again, this is one of my odd odd odd turn-ons.

Anyway, I give him my number and he tells me to add him on Facebook. I’m wasted and we’re leaving to an after party, at that same Drum and Bass venue, and I’m only realizing how odd that is now. He says he’ll see me there in an hour or 

We head to this party and of course he doesn’t show. He also doesn’t text me until a good 12 hours later, which isn’t all that long but I’m used to people who are interested replying a little bit quicker.

Well that’s how we met, next post will be about how it progressed and I guess how it ended, since there’s only a 2 week span to cover.

Welcome to Civilised Society

Maybe it’s a bit rude to suggest that the US had, up until now, not lived in a civilized society, but I’m going to go ahead and say it. I’m mostly okay with saying it since I’m on another continent and not too afraid of any US expats around these here parts.

Anyway, I was just about to say that maybe civilized society is an ideal which no one country has really reached yet?

Back to the US. On Friday the 26th of June 2015, history was made by the SCOTUS, when in a 5-4 decision, Gay Marriage (or as it in now known, marriage) was legalized in all states of the USA. Although I’m not sure that I would say it was legalized, I’d rather say it was made illegal to not allow gay marriage, or to not recognize it. I’m not an expert on the law though. Does it matter in any case? Love is after all, love.

Can I just quickly mention that currently the top of my WordPress page is a Pride flag and that makes me so happy.

I live in South Africa, and although we can’t get married here under the Marriage Act of nineteen sixty something, we can get married under the Civil Union act of 2006. Again, I have no expertise here, but we have something and I can kinda get married here if I wanted to.

Why is it so important to everyone around the world that it finally happened in America? I mean, it’s been legal to marry whoever you want in Canada for years, the Netherlands for more than a decade and even Ireland in recent weeks. These are all perfectly good places to live and to escape to from certain places in the world where a lifestyle of love is still discriminated against in more ways than just marriage inequality.

It matters because America is the 1st world ideal. Maybe not really in reality, considering some things happening there in the recent past. Racial inequality is the top of my list, but gosh there are a lot of 3rd world shitty things going on in the land of the free… All that aside though, America really is the ideal that a lot of other countries strive to. And not just countries, young people from around the world see Americans on TV and in all kinds of social media platforms and think “If only my life could be like that”. That’s why it matters. Apart from being a victory on home soil for all the American LGBT people, this historical event inspires hope and change all over the world.

Every equality victory matters. Even the small unseen ones. If only people would stop saying that changing your profile picture to a rainbow pride flag in Africa is just jumping on America’s bandwagon and that this victory meant nothing here in a country where gays can already get married. Can we just not. I’ll say it one more time – every victory counts.

When it rains

..it pours, right? This is one of the many things moms and dads like to say when you’re little and you really have no idea what they’re on about, I mean, there’s not even a cloud in sight. 

To tell you the truth, I didn’t really understand how accurate this sentiment can be until very recently. 

Last year a cousin of mine had a brain tumour removed, and even though she doesn’t have an agressive cancer she went through a few months of intense chemo and radiation therapy just in case. This left her incapable of working or really leading a productive life, and she’s not even 35 yet. Granted, she’s a drama queen and we all know she plays things up for the attention now and again. That being said, it’s a shit time, even just the unadulterated and unadorned facts. Now above and beyond this her mother, my aunt, has been diagnosed with Parkinsons and Alzheimers diease. I won’t get into the nitty gritty of these things, but I will say that this means tremors and dementia for the rest of her life – not to mention the financial and emotional burden this places on not only her but on all her relatives.

All of this sucks, yeah? But, to be fair, it’s all extended family and in all honesty  I’m not really affected directly at all. 

Until about a week ago – no rap reference intended,  but I will accept any street cred this could have awarded me.

Now, because the person involved is private, and even though they are unaware of my blog, I won’t mention who this happened to. That means that anyone reading this will be blissfully unaware of the consequnces of this new diagnoses not only for the person who was diagnosed, but also for all their loved ones. 

Someone really close to me was diagnosed with a potentially debilitating, chronic disease with no cure and very little possible medical intervention. Even symptomatic and syndromic treatment is severly lacking st this stage. 

This unnamed disease causes irreversible damage to the central nervous sytem, so it has motor affects amognst other things like depression and personlaity disorders. It’s almost impossible to really grasp the scope of this disease, especially when it happens to someone you love. You do not want to make it real, more than anything you want to pretend it can’t possibly all be true or all happen to this person that you hold so dear.

I can’t say much more about it, because I respect this person’s pride and autonomy.  

I really just wanted to put this ‘secret’ in a space that makes me feel like I shared it, just to take my own selfish benefit from it – why else do I even have this blog, right? 

Anyway, something  more interesting next time, promise. 

Postcoital

Everything is pretty much much of a muchness when you’re in a precoital state, moments before it happens. Things are also not too clear or important while you’re in a coital state – that is, your thoughts are pretty much filled with only one subject, right?

Postcoital, now that’s when the situation gets sticky.

The only time you really want to spend the night after the deed is done, is when you’re in some sort of relationship, or when you’re a tiny bit intoxicated and getting home after hooking up with this random that you met at the club hours earlier might actually be potentially life threatening. I mean, who in their right mind is actually keen on sleeping over if the whole point was just to get your rocks off? Not me.

For some reason, I find the exact type of guy who wants me to spend the night. Thank goodness they can’t force themselves into my house and move in there for a bit – the first time I’ve been glad to still live with my folks.

So I’m continuously in this awkward situation where I either have to suck it up and endure hours of unsolicited cuddling and spooning, or try be creative on the spot and make up a feasible reason to get the hell outa there. I said continuously, maybe that gives the wrong idea, it happens to me the average amount of times, not hundreds of times a month, I’m not nearly enough of a catch to get that many people to even invite me to their place.

So in this postcoital pressure cooker you have mere moments to make a decision. If you do indeed decide that staying over isn’t the worst idea ever, just wait until the next morning. This person you had every intention of never seeing again and probably forgetting about for the most part, might get it in their head to make you breakfast. I like bacon, sure, make me breakfast. Do not however, try to get in the shower with me. I’m washing last night off me, I don’t want to make it worse. It’s daytime, it’s light out, my conscience can’t take a backseat when I’m sober and I have a whole day ahead of me.

The best way to avoid all of this is probably to become celibate until a sustainable relationship prevents itself. But I still need love, I’m just a man.