Once again, updating has taken a necessary backseat to stupid personal drama, so I�ve been lax this week with the writing and everything. It was a long week, too, y�all. Not because any crazy shit happened, but maybe because of the opposite. Last week, some crazy, crazy shit went down, and this week? Each day became more and more not exciting, at least at work, until I hit what I can only describe as the boredom equivalent of nirvana. I mean, I practically bored myself into this altered state where I was communicating with the dead and seeing, like, St. Elmo�s Fire or some shit like that. Which, I guess, actually was kind of exciting, come to think of it.
Other than that, it was just a cavalcade of endurance. My relationship with Clyde took a southwesterly turn about two weeks ago, and I�ve been sort of muddling my way through that whole situation ever since. I don�t really want to go into a whole lot of details, but suffice it to say that most of my friends are surprised we�re still together. Frankly, I�m a little surprised myself. Some information came to light that was shocking, confusing, and for a brief and thankfully unwarranted time, scary. Because of the scary, though, I was sort of unable to process what ended up being the real issue based on its own merits. That�s what I�ve been trying to come to grips with for the past two weeks; the issue is sort of a gray area, but it makes me feel hurt and angry. Clyde, however, has been contrite, demonstrative, and placatory, anxious to put this behind us. I�m not always sure where my head is, but frankly, it�s exhausting.
In other news, the show I�ve been working on (Freudian typing slip: I almost wrote �whore� instead of �show�) is a documentary about a guy opening a bar, which bar opened on Friday. I decided that it would be remiss of me not to attend, particularly considering that despite the fact none of the key players in this ongoing melodrama have any idea who I am, nor could they pick me out of a lineup with Abraham Lincoln, Divine, two pigeons, and a map of the Paris Metro, I know every little humiliating ordeal they�ve undergone for the last two months or so. It�s fascinating for me to see these people out and about in waking life, to know them as flesh and blood humans, rather than images on a television screen.
Also on Friday night, in a small-world coincidence you wouldn�t believe if you saw it on TV, May Day invited some people over to celebrate her best friend�s birthday, and two of them happened to be a couple of girls I went to school with way, way back in the day. And by �the day� I mean �the day before I came out of the closet�. This was only awkward because one of the girls happened to have been good friends with the girl I took my senior prom (who, as far as I am aware, does not know yet about the whole �I like to bone other dudes� thing) and the other...well, we were bitter enemies. I don�t know who started what, or when, but what I do remember was her calling me and my best friend �fags�. Which was true, as it turns out, if hurtful. Although meeting them by such random chance lo these many years later sort of threw me off, we talked and arrived at a kind of unspoken detente and an understanding that our pasts were a long time ago, and we are now mature adults.
In another coincidence, also on Friday night, Clyde and I were heckled by passing motorists and pedestrians for daring to hold hands in public. One of the great joys of being gay is getting to learn every nuance of the word �faggot� as it�s bent by the Doppler Effect when some guy leans out the window of a passing SUV to let you know where you�ve strayed from God�s plan. I was not able to determine most of the sentence he conveyed, but I�m pretty sure I understood the general message, and I don�t think it was meant to be empowering. Clyde got really upset about it, which surprised me in a way, because he is much more into PDA than I am. Every time he reaches for my hand, or kisses me on a street corner, I expect to hear epithets and slurs because it�s sadly the price you have to pay. I don�t think it�s right, but it�s the way it is.
Although that does lead me to ask: why do people holler things at you out of passing cars? And I mean that in general. Like, not just critiquing your sexuality, or your outfit, but just anything. Do these people not understand science? When a car is passing and someone is shouting, all you hear is �haaaaayyAPATAWAPPASCUDDADAdeeeeeee...� or some variation thereof. It just seems like so much wasted breath. People should carry cardboard and markers or something, and hold signs up as they drive by. You have to wonder if anyone�s ever responded favorably to being catcalled, too. I mean, anyone who doesn�t charge by the hour.
Anyway, that�s all I got for now. Besides, it was one year ago today that I returned from Switzerland, so I�m going to take a moment here and remember the good times. And the cheese. Ah, the cheese.
Someone Got Here By Searching For: �extended Coke commercial� I�m Watching: Passions, still, but I missed Friday�s episode! I�m so upset, too, because I really wanted to learn the secret of the gazebo! I�m Reading: Can I say I�m still reading Trace, even though it�s been almost three weeks since I even had a chance to pick it up?