Great second date (Saturday)

Really great actually, which led quickly to a third date last night. This guy could potentially be a keeper...we'll see about the future. He has been a complete gentleman (as have I), yet more than appropriately affectionate. He told me that if he feels that spark with someone, he holds back on his inner horn dog. I pretty much wanted to throw him on the bed immediately after that. Of course, that does not mean he does not have sex on the brain, which thankfully I learned yesterday afternoon. One can only go with blue balls for so many days (I know, I know....TMI).

I told my coworker this morning that I cannot, and will not, swim too far ahead in the dating pool. Everything must be kept in perspective and emotions in check. Just because this is the first guy in a long time who I would like to see more than once a week, does not mean that I am not going to try my hardest to not put any serious pressure on either one of us. God, how does one actually do that? I mean, I am gay, and along with that inevitably comes some emotional drama. Wow, it has been SO long since I went on a date (let alone more than one) with a guy who I may actually like.

In the end it will probably turn disastrous (always a pessimist here), but for the first time in a long time, I am ready to swim out of the shallow end of the pool and do a couple of laps. Bring it on!

Fifth Wheel

I was supposed to have dinner last night (after an unbelievably hellacious week at work) with a very close friend and his girlfriend, whose wine I drink way too much, who cook me dinner constantly and if we go out, never let me pick up the tab. Basically, I love them and want to hang out with them all the time....who wouldn't with that kind of generousity? I have no problem being their third wheel. Last night, though, they invited their neighbors to join us, and I will freely admit was a bit apprehensive being the fifth wheel with strangers.

I don't mind being single and I appreciate that my coupled friends still like to include me in their social events. Being a third wheel has some distinct advantages. A lot of times, the couple in a third wheel situation, feeling guilty that there are two of them (and not wanting to split a restuarant bill or bar tab in three) will insist on treating. Last summer I went to Napa as a seventh wheel with three other couples and it was one of the best trips I have ever taken. But so many people hate having to be third, fifth, seventh wheels, etc. I don't really mind. I will admit that I would preferred that it was three couples hanging out last night versus five adults, but until that day, I will roll right along as anyone's (well, almost) third wheel and pray the free drinks keep coming.

It's the craze sweeping the nation...

I normally do not post things like this (I rarely post links at all) but my co-worker sent this link to me and I had to share. Please do not watch any of the previews after a meal. They are nauseating. www.exoticdanceschool.com, aka pole dancing and striptease for fitness and fun. The male sample video is hysterical. Order your copy today. What is this red-state dominated world coming to? The final quote on the home page may have to be my new motto: "We don't stop playing because we grow old. We grow old because we stop playing." Let's pole dance! Truer words were never spoken.

Two other noteworthy thoughts, if you are anywhere close to my age, download a couple of classics from The Smiths and do it soon. You've probably forgotten how much their depressing melodies rocked your teen angst, and you'll quickly remember that you still know every word to each song.

Finally, official date #2 with boy from Tuesday (all men are boys, no matter what their age) is set for Saturday night. A real Saturday night date. Obviously I am going to be hit by a car Friday night, but still, I will be in traction at Georgetown knowing I would have had a wonderful evening!

Beach Trip

I went to Rehoboth two weekends ago and had a wonderful time, despite a 9 mile back up on Rt. 50 on the way there, and a 6 mile back-up on 404 on the way home. The weather was incredible, the house was beautiful and the Grotto Pizza, as always, was delicious. I met a friend for drinks last night and as I was catching him up on my lame-assed existence, I retold the tales from my Rehoboth trip. Did I mention I went to Rehoboth with my family? Four adults, four kids (all under 3) and the Gay Caballero. Even though I am no Mary Poppins, as I said above, it was wonderful. Early morning walks on the beach building castles, drinking Coronas with lime on the deck watching the sun set and spotty cell service, meaning I turned the CrackBerry off completely.

Despite being happy for me about escaping for a few days out of the DC swamp, my friend immediately asked the stereo-typical questions I guess 99% of all gay Rehoboth beach goers ask: Who did I see at the Blue Moon (happy hour, of course), who did I dance with at Cloud 9 and how long was I lying face down, spread eagle at Poodle Beach each day? First of all, I am a gentleman and a gaucho, so therefore would never be lying face down spread eagle on any beach. Secondly, I have two left feet and no rhythm and my friend knows that, so there would not have been any dancing on my part at least, without 50 cocktails. Finally, when did I get lumped in with all of the other gay tourists in Rehomo? I think he was somewhat disappointed that I did not show up at Blue Moon happy hour at 5:01, danced to Cascada at Cloud 9 and he was really disappointed I never even made on to the boardwalk, let alone to Poodle Beach. Not ever a Thrasher's fry grace my lips. He's not the first person to act this way. I got my hair cut last week and when I mentioned to my stylist that I had just been in Rehoboth, he immediately asked me who I saw. I mean seriously, I already have to see and deal with all half of the gay guys here in DC...why would I want to bother with them ocean side, especially since sandy shorts makes me a bitch?

Thanks to the dog

Good morning my non-existent fan base. A quick post this morning as I have been tasked with actual work to do before lunch. However, I had to share that I had a true, bone fide date last night with a seemingly nice guy who appears to work full time, is decently attractive and not a stalker, although the last remains to be seen. We grabbed drinks and dinner at a restaurant around the corner from my place, and struck up a conversation with the cutest server ever. Amongst our topics of discussion, which ranged from my cute slides (her words, not mine) to wine pairings, we talked about blogging. Apparently she has a well-known blog around these parts. I mentioned I had an unknown blog around these parts. But then she clued me in on bog parties and happy hours she used to attend, and she made it sound almost cult like. Of course I am thinking to myself, this is so weird; I am never blogging again. But now I am getting even more addicted to it and of course, reading other people's blogs, which are now keeping me up at night (long story). Anyway, there will be a second date with this guy, and he may even move past my two date minimum. We'll see.

On a side note, I have been dog sitting for a week and have another week to go. Thankfully she is a cute and friendly dog, and apparently gives off a pheromone to gay men. I have had more cute boys come up to me and say hello while walking her. I feel like I am on parade. So a big thank you to the puppy for boosting my self-esteem about 100 notches.

Weeds and more

This is a shout-out to anyone who has not seen the Showtime comedy Weeds. It is amazing. A coworker of mine told me I had to watch it so I decided to get my money's worth out of my Comcast digital cable (grrrr) and watch the entire first season this weekend. So funny. Loved it. Mary-Louise Parker is so quirky in general that she is totally made for this role. And I figured since I was being a TV whore, I would catch up on Entourage too. Yes, my weekend was totally lame, but we all need a lame weekend every once in a while.

Update: So "2 dates in my mind/5 dates in his mind" guy emailed me yesterday to ask if I would join him, his ex and his ex's new bf for dinner. Ahhh, no. That certainly sounds like an amazingly awkward date #6 (in his mind) if I have ever heard one and an event I will avoid at all costs.

One more, Yes, only my life is this ridiculous when it comes to dating stories: Ran in to a friend outside the market last night around the corner from my place, after running out of pasta (in my lameness yesterday, I made a vat of homemade spaghetti sauce). He was being particularly stalkerish. Met him almost a year ago as a potential bf, did the whole two date minimum, and well, obviously anyone can see the pattern here. The difference with this guy is that he got the picture, or at least I thought so. After a few minutes of idle chit chat and promises to "get together real soon," I am home again. Buzz. Text message: You r lookn gr8 these days We need 2 fuck Uh-oh. Seriously, my email should be idatestalkers@___.com

Two Dates Redux

Just a quick update...at dinner, my companion mentioned the words 5th date, referring to our sushi eating extravaganza. Yikes. Just as suspected. He was let down clearly, but easily. Hopefully I will not have to worry about him stalking me on the Metro.

And I am basically in love with the new gossip columnist for MSN. I may be totally off-base, but isn't she the same Kat from the first Road Rules season? Hmmm. Today's comments on Britney are classic. http://movies.msn.com/beacon/gallery.aspx?ptid=3479ba55-c03d-4b96-9a66-34788464c8f6>1=7701&photoidx=1

JonBenet

I have been watching the news reports about the arrest of a suspect in the killing of JonBenet Ramsey nearly 10 years ago, and as much as I want a killer to go before the courts, I think this guy, John Mark Karr, has just a few too many screws loose. I listened to him this morning in a video taped news conference and he just seems too obsessed with the case, in a I'm-crazy-about-JonBenet-but couldn't-kill-a-gnat kind of way. I applaud John Ramsey for taking a very cautious stand with regards to the arrest. Needless to say, with Yahoo! already reporting that Karr's ex-wife (with whom he supposedly has three sons-scary!) is claiming that the two of them lived in Alabama at the time of the murder and that there was no way he could have killed JonBenet because he was with her and their family for Christmas http://news.yahoo.com/fc/us/jonbenet_ramsey_murder

Needless to say, I will be obessed with this now for the next week or so. I have already told one of my co-workers that there is no way I will be able to get anything done today because I will be scouring the web for details about this guy and how he is linked, if at all, to the case.

When Two Dates is Enough

I am having dinner with a new quasi-friend tomorrow evening. Nothing serious, probably Thai, very low-key. I actually met this guy about a month and a half ago. We went out on what I would consider two official dates, which is what I would like to consider my norm. A first date can be frought with peril, from awkward conversations to spilled drinks and blown first kisses, so as long as I have a palatable time on a first date, I am always up for a second. More or less I have a good feeling as to whether or not their will be a third before I go out on the second, however, no one is perfect and I have been known to be wrong. But I consider the second date as the true test, at least for me. The spark is either there or it isn't. Sometimes it is there for one person and not the other or vice versa. Either way, the second date is make it or break it in my book.

So my dinner partner tomorrow did not make it to a third date, much to his chagrin. He, however, insists we can be friends, which I am all for, as I am a firm believer I can always use more friends. The problem is that since the second date, each time we have gotten together has seemed like a third, fourth and fifth date. I am worried that there is a bit of a pattern forming and dinner tomorrow will be date number six in his mind. He is a very sweet guy, and I have enjoyed getting to know him, but am I leading him astray? I have made it clear, not just in my body language but also but telling him in very clear terms that I like him as a friend, period. My question is this: How do you let someone go when you were never even dating in the first place?

My two cents

Hello my non-existence audience. I am glad to be back. I was able to escape a few days from my tyrant of a boss (see previous post) and head to Rehoboth for a few days. I was with family (yes, the non-gay side of town) and it was wonderful. Okay, so now I am back and ready to be better about posting, because I had a dream that someone would find my blog, like my writing and turn it in to a book a la Sex in the City. Hmmm, yeah, like that is sooo going to happen.

So, there is this huge brew-ha-ha running quietly rampant online among the gay community here in DC about a little gathering spot called The Duplex Diner, well not really about the diner, and more about this invisible line between younger homos and older homos. Now, at 33 years old, I would like to consider myself somewhere in between a younger and older homo, more like a younder. But I realize in many circles, I am way too old to be young, and really, too young to be old. Here's where Duplex comes in, at least for me. Duplex was the first "gay" establishment I ever went to after coming out at 29 (yes I was a late bloomer). I loved it that night and have loved it ever since. The food is good (I am an apple martini, BBQ chicken and fries guy myself) but the atmosphere is fun. And although I can see how people can interpret the scene as being a bit cliquish, Duplex is mild when compared to many of the bars in the area. And again, maybe I have my head in the sand, but it's not overly cruisy. One can truly go to Duplex just to have some great drinks and tater tots. And one means any one. It's a neighborhood spot and it's not reserved for any particular age. And the whole A&F argument...people know what they are wearing. I only worry about dressing myself.

My boss is a tyrant

Okay...my boss is a tyrant and literally I have had no time to post anything this week. And by the time I get home in the evening, the last thing I want to do is sit in front of the computer and post a entry no one will ever read. So, I will continue to toil away here in my office until I have a few moments to post a few more random thoughts that have been rolling around in my head for some time. BTW...this weather today is awesome. Makes the hell that was DC last week worth it.

So hard to say I'm Sorry

I didn't post anything yesterday, and for that I apologize. Of course, I am the only person at this point who even reads this, so basically, I am saying sorry to myself. I'm sorry me.

Being sorry can be a hard concept to grasp. I say it when I truly mean it, when I really want to convey to someone that I am bumbling idiot, but for others, the words, "I'm sorry" glide so easily off of the tongue that it is hard to know when they actually mean it or they are just saying it to end what is most likely a very awkward conversation. And if someone says "I'm sorry" more than once in multiple conversations, it starts to sound a lot like the boy who cried wolf. I think there needs to be a new way to convey to someone else that you are sorry, without having to say those exact words, over the phone. That way, when the alternative phrase it uttered, the person on the other end really knows that you are apologetic in every way, shape or form. So the next time you hear someone say "Solitary confinement would be too good for me right now" or "Gouging my eyes out will be nothing when compared to the pain I have caused you" then you'll know they are truly contrite. And compared to "I'm sorry," don't those just roll off of the tongue?

When is information, TMI?

Question: When is information, too much information? I realize that this is a very subjective question because TMI for one person is not enough for the next. I consider myself a very modest person, at least when it comes to the amount of info I put out there for people to scrutinize. Many people say that is why I am successful in my role in business, which requires a great deal of trust and keeping informational secrets. However, when I open myself up a bit (usually after several cocktails) I have my friends squealing with delight, and occassionally disgust. I have a few very close friends (like I can count them on one hand) who "really" know what happens behind closed doors at my condo. Most people get a very "G" rated version of my escapades. Which brings me back to my question.

I was recently exchanging dirty boy stories with a good gal pal of mine, kind of like a "if you show my yours, I'll show you mine" banter, only with no show, only tell. When I suddenly let it slip that I have been occassionally seeing a guy who has a partner of five years, I thought she might kill me right then and there with her Jimmy Choos. I quickly realized that I crossed the line of TMI. However, this is someone whom I have known for well over a year, and when I never got even a cringe of disgust upon mentioning the goings on at an underground leather bar in NYC (one time visit on a dare only fellas, sorry!), I figured the fact that I was enjoying the occassional company of another man, albeit a taken man, was a walk in the park. How wrong I was. So how do you know when too much is more than enough, and hardly anything is just right?

What Goes Around Comes Around

As I mentioned in an earlier post (um, hello, I only have a day and a half of posts), DC is essentially a small village, with new members of the tribe flitting (is that a word??) in and out on a daily basis. Because of its relative size, you are likely to have three (or a maximum of four) degrees of separation between any other person in the city proper, two (or fewer) if you happen to be gay.

In my quest for my ever-elusive boyfriend, I have met some great potential suitors and some not-so potential anybodies, but all learning experiences none the less. As the dating pool becomes smaller (more kiddie pool-ish in fact), the higher the likelihood that one date will at least know of, dated or slept with your ex. Case in point, I was out with a very nice guy a few weeks back and the topic of conversation turned to exes. As I was describing a young man whom for quite some time I was convinced was the love of my life, a look of sheer horror crossed this man's previously smiling face. "His last name isn't ______, is it?" Now we both had matching looks of fear on our faces. I didn't even need to respond. My gaze alone sent my suitor in to a 30 minute tirade as to how this man, the man I dreamed of spending the rest of my life with (at one point), the man who actually spoke the words "I love you" to me at the precise moment I was feeling the same emotion, the man whom I was willing to give up a great home and career in order to move across the country to be with because it was too hard to be apart (does someone have a tissue? God I was nauseating) is the same man being described as, and I quote: "the weirdest, most self-centered ass-user (now that, I know, is NOT a word) I have ever met." Yes, this man is apparently not only a total jerk, but a serial liar. Although our breakup was amicable (due to a job transfer among other things), I always saw him in a good light. But not only did my date have a wealth of four letter words to use to describe what he thought about him, but then he proceeded to reel off a laundry list of other guys (some of whom I knew) who had been burned also. Which got me thinking, although I like to think of myself as a good former bf/date/whatever, are there guys in DC bashing my name unmercilously? My answer has to be a resounding yes. If I am doing it to others, then others must be doing it to me. I know for a fact I sent one guy in to therapy and one other literally followed me to a new beau's place after our break-up to confront him for "stealing me away." He subsequently would drive by this guy's place on a weekly basis in order to freak him out. I am not perfect, far from it, but I can never be too sure if a group of guys I see out at any of the local bars is actually checking me out because they like what they see or my reputation has preceded me.

Lesson Number Four: Karma. Enough said.

Missed Connections

I am not sure when someone else will actually read this blog, but on the off chance anyone stumbles upon it, I will admit freely that I love Craigslist and I read their Missed Connections section everyday. More than once a day in fact. Religiously. I don't know about anyone else, but I check each listing carefully to see if somehow, the love of my life may have passed me like a ship in the night. And yes, even though I am gay, I check the missed W4M connections as well. Although it certainly wouldn't be a love match, I would take a W4M MC as a compliment.

Do you know how many missed connections I have had in the one-year plus I have been looking? ZERO. Now, I have no data to confirm how many people actually "connect" with their missed connections off of Craigslist, however, I have a friend who has had at least half a dozen online missed connection posts, several which have led to dates. He is tall, well-built and shaves his head, which may be why he can find his "MCs" so easily online. Being bald really is a distinctive feature which I lack. Maybe I need to only wear fuschia colored shirts (which I would never do with my complexion) in order to get noticed. Even so, I am not discouraged. I know one day my MC ship will come in.

I have, however, posted two missed connections to guys with whom I thought I shared a moment: neither merited a response.

Lesson Number Three: A Missed Connection has to go both ways in order to be a connection in the first place. That stare you are getting from a certain someone may only be because your outfit is more mismatched than even you thought after dressing in the dark.

Filthy Feet

I have to make a passioned plea to all sandal, flip-flop and open toed shoe wearing Washingtonians. Please, please, please look at your feet. I mean, REALLY look at your feet. I know it's hot out, trust me, I do, and please don't think that I do not dream about slipping in to my favorite Birks when I get home after work, but my barefoot bretheren, about 90% of you need some serious foot attention. Ladies, for most of you, I applaud your efforts to keep your pedicurists in business. However, gentlemen, let me remind you that toe nail clippers are not optional grooming products. The same goes for Tinactin, or any anti-fungal foot product for that matter. Oh yeah, and soap and water are keys to success. So if I am going to be forced to look at glistening piggies, please at least use a washcloth once a day, if not more, at least until Mother Nature forces toes back in to socks for a long winter's nap.
Lesson Number Two: Cleanliness is next to Godliness, at least when it comes to feet.

The Repeating Trick

DC is a small town; village-like in a way. And when you are single, yet "different" in a small village, well, your circle of potential mates is, well, tiny. Although DC has a very large gay population, the community itself is extremely segmented. Now don't get me wrong, I love the fact that your best friend can be a lipstick lesbian, her girlfriend a butch bull dyke, your next door neighbor a twink-loving cub and your across the hall neighbor a Ted Baker-wearing realtor, but in general, each of these sub-segments of gay culture tend to flock and mate together. In the end though, if the statistic 1 in 10 is really true, then I only have about 60,000 mates to choose from in my circle here in the Village O'D.C. and half of them are looking for ladies. Bottom line, tricks in a village can sometimes be like red wine stains on white carpet: no matter how hard you try, you can never quite get the entire spot out. A faint hint of it will linger on, and on, and on....

Which leads me to this morning. I ran in to a trick whom I had not seen for months, and in all reality, had secretly prayed that I would never see again. He seems like a perfectly normal, nice guy on the surface. I actually met him out a local watering hole when he tried to pick up one of my straight friends. When he was quickly shot down by my wingman, he turned his sights to me as a worthy second prize. Long story short, in the 12 hours I knew this indivdual, I quickly learned that he had more baggage with him then the Hecht's luggage department during a one-day sale, drank more in one sitting than most social drinkers do in a week, kissed like a St. Bernard who has just gone on a five mile run in 100 degree heat and the cherry on his sundae: a raging case of crabs (quickly discovered and treated within 48 hours). Needless to say, when he departed after a night of amazingly lack-luster sex, I was sure that would be the end of him. Not quite.

D.C., while being a small village, has a wonderful transportation system with the Metro. Efficient, easy to get around on and A/C set at meat locker levels, WMATA is a highlight for many urban commuters. However, it can quickly turn in to a prison when suddenly confronted by any one of many unsavory characters: unshowered tourists, aspiring petty theives and oh yes, the trick you had hoped to never see again. No where to run, no place to hide, our eyes locked as soon as I stepped in to the metro car and the doors shut behind me like lock down at Attica. Maybe he doesn't recognize me; maybe he was so obliterated that night he doesn't remember the evening at all; maybe I was so obliterated that night I that I am the one who is mistaken with my total recall (especially underground with poor lighting)....and then, a knowing smile sweeps across his face and he bounds down the aisle of the car, like a bull in a china shop. No chance to react and the train is now stopped between two stations, so I am trapped.

Me: Hi
Him: Hhhhiiiiiii!
Me: Wow, how have you been? (My mind racing for a name....I have a 50/50 chance with Steve, but am unwilling to take the gamble)
Him: Soooooo gooooooddd. Although I am totally hating this icky weather. You look so tan....is that from the beach or a can? (Loud high pitched cackle follows)
Me (nerveously smiling): Funny. No, I was working outside a bit over the weekend and got some sun
Him (smiling): Mmmm. Very nice. So, _______ (insert my real name here [damn, he remembered]), how come I never heard from you again after that night? I thought we had a great time.

And that's where things go from bad to worse. I am a guy who likes guys. Although straight men are very sexual, I personally believe that gay men have more sex; the difference is we are just more discreet when it comes to letting anyone know how many times a month we get laid. Anyway, I met this still nameless guy one evening when I was feeling particularly frisky. We had a little fun (little being the opportune word) and that's all. For me at least. Apparently though, this guy is my red wine stain of life.

Lesson Number One: In the small village of D.C., one night of fun can easily turn in to a lifetime of mine-sweeping metro cars before one's morning commute.

My First Foray in to the Land of Internet Blogging

So, for whatever reason, this morning, instead of concentrating on the piles of work I have in front of me in my office, I decided I was going to start a blog. Maybe it's the extreme heat that has gone right to my head, or maybe it's because my friends tell me I have some interesting things to say (i.e. funny stories that could ONLY happen to me), but mostly because I love reading other peoples' blogs, and I think that plagiarism is the highest form of flattery (wait, somehow that doesn't sound right). I will try to post something every day, and yes, many of my posts will probably revolve around being gay and trying to date in my "city du jour," Washington, DC, but not everything will be about me. As the editors of one of my favorite blogs, Wonkette, will easily show anyone, DC is full of dish, and honey, I like three servings a day. Thanks and welcome aboard.