I've started typing this blog post at almost 4am, early Easter Sunday morning. This seems to be the only time I have to actually sit and blog nowadays, I've been ridiculously busy lately. My head hurts a little, probably from all the wine I drank today, yesterday I should say. I should be asleep right now but I know I haven't really blogged, blogged with y'all in a minute. We haven't talked in a while, me and you, my reading public. I value you guys more than you realize. Remember, if you see me on the street don't be afraid to come up and say "Hi." I realize that we all may not know each other personally, but some of the opinions, advice, and straight up fierce ballroom girl reads that we've shared over the past thirteen months have been more substantial in my life than those I've shared with people I've known for years. Anyway, thanks, keep the cards and letters coming.
Last Easter, Sunday, April 8th, 2007, I wrote a blog post entitled "Companionship. An Idea Resurrected", in which I spilled the beans that I was in a relationship. Oddly enough this Easter I find myself in the same situation, but with a different man, obviously, but for some of you not so different. I'll explain later. Like our Lord Jesus, companionship, a notion I thought was pretty much dead for me again has miraculously managed to rise again. It's Sunday now but I originally started this post last Friday (Good Friday) morning.
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I woke up early this Good Friday morning at about 7:30. It's not
that I actually wake up that early on the regular, I just had to pee
really bad. As I rose from my bed I saw him there asleep, curled up
like a little shrimp (I know it's a bad simile, but it's accurate), I
smiled. A few moments later when I came back to bed he scooted back
into me, we spooned and fell back asleep. Looking at him I thought
about all we'd been through to get to this moment and I silently
thanked God for it all, the good and the bad. I also thanked God for
all that Jesus had gone through on this day, thousands of years ago. A
Good Friday indeed.
Last time we talked I was dating Mr. Bojangles, the dancer who was
also a virgin, remember him? Well things didn't work out between us. It didn't end
badly and he's a great guy, very nice, cute, comes from good stock.
He's definitely the quote-unquote "perfect guy" on paper, he's just
wasn't perfect for me. And who the fuck was I kidding, me and a virgin,
c'mon, it was doomed before it started. Even with all that, sex itself,
or in this case the lack thereof wasn't the deal breaking issue for us,
well, rather me. Obviously I knew going in that we weren't having sex
and I was cool with that, I mean, I guess we'd have sex someday, when
we're ready, when he's ready, after a few moths or so, right? But like
most twenty-something virgins, Mr. Bojangles seemed to vilify sex, like
it was a bad thing and I actually felt uncomfortable talking about sex
or being sexual around him. I'm a guy, I'm a sexual guy, I like sex, I
talk about sex, I write about sex, I make sexual jokes sometimes, but I
couldn't really do that around him. He just seemed so prudent at times.
It made me uncomfortable. But even that wasn't the real reason why I
broke things off with him. As nice as it was being with him just didn't
feel right.
So, being with Mr. Bojangles wasn't right, being with '08 wasn't right,
being with Winston wasn't right. As nice as all these guys were and as
much as they all genuinely liked me, I broke it off with all of them.
Why? I know why, I know exactly why. But I was afraid to say, afraid to
write, but I know why. It's because I still have feelings for Pubby. As
hard as that was for me to say, as embarrassing and humiliating as it is
to say, especially after all the times we'd broken up and gotten back
together and all the declarations I made, vowing to never speak to him
again after the way he hurt me with his neglect and indecisiveness. I
can't help it. I missed him. We had our bad times but when we're together
it was great, like we were the only two people in the world, looking
into his eyes and him looking in mine. Even after our thing was all
over I thought often of him. Little did I know he was still thinking of
me too.
//===> SIDE NOTE: If you're new and have no idea who Pubby is. The best way to get into our saga is to read the "Dating" section
of the blog from January 9th, 2008 back to September 18th, 2007. he's
all in there. I mean you ain't gotta read everything, just give it a
liberal skim just to catch yourself up. <===//
It went down like this. Pubby and I had our final knock-down,
drag-out argument via email and text message via text and email right
before New Years. We said a lot of mean things to each other. That day,
December 30th, 2007 I believe, I decided that I didn't wanna take this
dysfunctional, one-sided, relationship-like thing we had into a New
Year. Although I still had feelings for him, that day was the day those
feelings started to fade. As usual, after our breakups he extended the
option to me to remain friends and as usual after our breakups I didn't
accept it because I figured that the best and fastest way to get him
out of my system was to remove him from my life altogether. Besides, I
wanted to be his man, not his friend, fuck that shit.
So for a few weeks we didn't talk and reluctantly, I was back on the dating
scene, totally unhappy. He went back to his ex. A relationship which he has described as
on and off, rocky and tumultuous for a good part of the few years they'd been together. Every so often he would
text me and I'd text back. We had textual small talk, so to speak,
which would usually end when one of us got bored and stopped the text
chain. We even grew to having conversations as friends. Even though I
was trying my best to be friendly, I still longed for Pubby. But I fell
back because he was back with his ex. No matter how good you are and no matter how much you bring to the table, the one thing you
can't fuck with is history, history, experiences and memories. I also
figured that the reason why he basically chose his ex over me is
because his ex is "that guy", I mean that's what they tell me.
Let me explain who "that guy" is. Pubby and I are total opposites, he likes to party,
I like to stay home, he's a socialite, working the crowd, I'm a homebody, who'd rather
chill with just me and my people, he wears Gucci, I wear the Gap. People like him and his ex are "that guy" and I'm "the other guy". We're your basic opposites attract story, like "The Odd Couple". He's
the Felix Unger to my Oscar Madison. If this were "Sex And the City" I'd be the Aidan Shaw to his Carrie Bradshaw, which is hilarious because people call me "the black gay Carrie Bradshaw". But anyway, he's creme brulee and I'm "granola", as Samantha Jones would say. The thing about me though is that I'm perfectly happy being granola, Gap & Levi's, plain construction Timbs and all white Nikes, mid-priced retail guy. Shit, say what you want about granola, it's not the fanciest food in the world, you probably won't see it in the fancy haute cuisine magazines, but granola is solid, filling and healthy. Once you crack through the hard fancy shell of creme brulee all you're left with is some cheap-ass, glorified Jell-O pudding that will leave you hungry again in an hour.
Though I enjoy it in Pubby, and I think he looks great, I personally have no desire to be high fashion, socialite guy. I don't even like clubs and I can't stand being around all those shady, fake-ass people. It just makes me wanna run to the DJ booth, grab the mic and yell out: "Where all the real niggas at?" But I guess I'm just ghetto that way. I'd rather go out to Applebee's, TGIFridays, or BBQ's or even a nicer restaurant or even just a nice bar and just eat, drink and wild out with my people. Fuck pretenses and cliques and labels and shit, you know how much money those people spend on clothes, it's insane. I have much better ways to spend my hard earned money. Fuck Balenciaga and McQueen and Gucci and all them, I'd much rather have my dude look good naked than with all that label shit on. Who cares? Surprisingly, Pubby actually likes my outlook on things, he calls me practical, he says somebody has to be.
Like I said, Pubby's ex, like him is also "that guy", another creme brulee. I met him once, he seems nice enough, nothing against him, but that life's not for me. I also know that as cute as a secluded moonlight stroll on the granola side of town is for a creme brulee like Pubby, I also live in the real would and in the real world you don't often find creme brulee and granola served at the same restaurant. Jean Georges don't serve no damn granola and Applebees don't know what the a fuck creme brulee is. So where does that leave us? As much as he liked me, would he be truly comfortable having my unabashedly granola ass around his friends in their candy coated creme brulee world is the question. And as much as I liked him how much creme brulee could I stomach is my next question. So that's where we were left December 30th, breaking up for the third time, with him saying that we were incompatible and me telling him to go fuck himself for wasting my time. As time went on I accepted that even though a part of me still wanted him, that we were just too different for it to work and even though there was magic when we were alone, we couldn't lay up in bed forever. We had to face the world sometime.
One afternoon last month Pubby invited me to a friendly, catch up lunch with him. We dined at one of the restaurants inside the Metropolitan Museum Of Art. Since at that point I was technically over Pubby, newly dating Mr. Bojangles, I did something I'd never done. I went to that lunch with Pubby looking a total mess. I had some regular jeans on, my fucked up gray New Balance workout sneakers (I was going to the gym after lunch) and a hoodie that I paid $19.99 for at Modells. I was in need of a haircut and I had my glasses on. He'd never seen me so rough before, since Pubby was so fancy I always felt a need to impress him with my appearance, I mean at least as much as a hunk of granola possibly could. But at that point, his toothbrush was in the garbage and we were officially over, fuck the bullshit, who the fuck was he that I had to impress him, fuck that. He saw the real fuckin' me that day. The funny thing is that he never commented on my appearance. He was just happy to see me again, it'd been so long.
As we talked I could see the hurt in his eyes as he talked about the break up of him and his ex, the final nail in the coffin. He went on to tell me about the new guys he was seeing at the time. They sounded pretty wack to me, that shit wasn't gonna last, I know Pubby and I knew he wasn't really into those dudes like that. Filled with all the hope that the prospect of a new relationship brings I told him about Mr. Bojangles and he was equally as impressed. The defining moment of our meeting is when he turned to me, looked into my eyes and said something to the effect of:
"I know we've gone through a lot of shit but I've always thought that once I got my shit together and you got you shit together that somehow we'd end up together."
I always thought the same thing.
Fast forward to a few weeks later and here we are, together. Throwing caution to the wind and saying fuck the world and fuck everyone else who doesn't see it, bitches better open their eyes or get some fuckin' glasses or bifocals or contacts some shit. Although things have been going great, for us so far the going hasn't always been easy, especially for me. If you've been reading you'll know that Pubby hurt me real bad last time around. How will I know he won't hurt me again? I don't. (That's why I wrote this poem.) All I can do is trust him. Well I'm not just trusting in him blindly, I'm not that stupid. My trust is being built through his actions. Remember my relationship theory:
"If a man really wants to do something he will do it. Period."
I'm talking about effort. We're gy but we're also men and if a man wants you he's gonna make an effort toward you. Phone calls, text messages, dates, visits, show me you want me nigga. So far he's been on point, passing every test. I'm not sure what happened when we were apart but Pubby is like a different person now, like Damascus Road different. I even teased him and asked him whether he'd had a visit from the Ghost Of Christmas Future. He's so attentive and caring and real now, it's almost scary. The cynical faggot inside me perpetually asks the question of whether it's just a phase, but if I'm gonna be happy I can't give in to that.
Now I'm seeing past all the superficial shit. Sure he's still a party boy who likes fashion and labels, that's not gonna change and I'm cool with that, but he's also my dude that I can eat bad Chinese food with, on the bed, chillin, watching "John Tucker Must Die" (smile). He's opened up to me now. I get to see the Pubby that the world doesn't get to see. Behind the makeup, ponytails (smile), smoke and mirrors and I realized that we're not so totally different after all. I always thought that all that fierceness and indecision was just a defense mechanism anyway. It was. He told me that he's wanted to be with me for a while, but was fighting it tooth and nail, scared of opening up and being hurt again. He recently told me that he's stopped fighting. Call me crazy, call me a fool, but I'm happy. We'll see.
HAPPY EASTER!
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Playing In The Background...
"Fallin'"
by Alicia Keys
from the album "Songs In A-Minor"
and
"Clumsy"
by Fergie
from the album "The Dutchess"
and
"Trippin' (That's the Way Love Works)"
by Toni Braxton
from the album "Libra"
and
"Still Open"
by Syleena Johnson
from the album "Chapter 3 - The Flesh"
and
"Opposites Attract"
by Paula Abdul
from the album "Forever Your Girl"
and
"Bump What Ya Friends Say"
by Fantasia
from the album "Fantasia"
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Today's Throwback Blog Post:
See, The Reason Why My Relationships Never Work Out Is… (Part 1)
Originally posted April 7th, 2007
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