For the past few weeks I've had to decide whether or not I should stay in Vancouver or else move somewhere the gay men aren't such total stuck-up bitches. Recently, I decided it was either Victoria, BC, Kingston, Ontario, or Titan, one of the moons of one of them big planets. (Jupiter? Saturn?) Honestly, I could look it up, but this is funnier.
Or, as a third option, I could figure out how to spend the 5 grand it would cost to move house across country to make things more bearable for me here. You know, a couple of local trips, some new amenities, maybe a larger apartment.
Maybe staying put has won. For five grand I can do alot to fill up the empty hours I spend alone because every single one of my friends is too busy to go for coffee with me for half an hour six or eight weeks in a row. Hell, maybe I can even find some new friends who actually want to spend time with me. It could happen.
Whenever I'm down there are two things which never fail to cheer me up: The Queen, and puppets.
Ever since I was a little kid, it's always been that way. When I was talking to my mother the last time she told me she noticed that whenever I was upset and the Queen came on the news I cheered up instantly as young as four years old. I was five when the Muppet Show started, but prior to that Sesame Street used to do the trick.
Even those namby-pamby puppets of Mr. Rogers' used to get me giggling. So that's what I'm going to do now.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Fed Up With Facebook
It seems like the more ways we have to connect with each other the harder it is to actually do it. The corollary of this, in personal terms, is: the more ways there are for people to ignore me the more ignored I'll be.
I've given up on Facebook, and I'm about ready to call it quits with blogging and friendships and the lot. After all, what's the point of even trying to be out there for all and sundry when nobody even bothers to reply to your emails? Or your voice messages, or any of it?
Especially since my own friends don't even seem to have the time for me anymore. The same friends who are constantly moaning about how they never have anything to do refuse to respond to my offers of things to do whenever I make them.
Honestly, I think they just like complaining.
Not that I have a problem with complaining; I do it all the time. But then I at least try to do something about whatever it is that's caused my complaint. If I feel fat I exercise, if I'm bored I do something. It's not difficult to overcome a complaint, profiding you actually want to.
Facebook might as well be high school, and as poorly as I did there, I'm doing even worse at Facebook. In the great popularity contest called life I am still what I ever was: too old, fat, and ugly to matter.
In fact, if you have any left over rudeness that you don't know what to do with, you might as well send it my way. I won't know what to do with it, but you can rest assured I will take it personally. Especially if I don't know you.
I've given up on Facebook, and I'm about ready to call it quits with blogging and friendships and the lot. After all, what's the point of even trying to be out there for all and sundry when nobody even bothers to reply to your emails? Or your voice messages, or any of it?
Especially since my own friends don't even seem to have the time for me anymore. The same friends who are constantly moaning about how they never have anything to do refuse to respond to my offers of things to do whenever I make them.
Honestly, I think they just like complaining.
Not that I have a problem with complaining; I do it all the time. But then I at least try to do something about whatever it is that's caused my complaint. If I feel fat I exercise, if I'm bored I do something. It's not difficult to overcome a complaint, profiding you actually want to.
Facebook might as well be high school, and as poorly as I did there, I'm doing even worse at Facebook. In the great popularity contest called life I am still what I ever was: too old, fat, and ugly to matter.
In fact, if you have any left over rudeness that you don't know what to do with, you might as well send it my way. I won't know what to do with it, but you can rest assured I will take it personally. Especially if I don't know you.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Who Knew Hot Guys Got The Blues?
If ever I thought the Internet was an entity - which lives and thinks and acts - it's lately. Sometimes it's like the Internet is reading my mind, waiting until I know what I want before sending me just what it is I'm looking for.
While sitting here, wallowing in my own (let's face it) homemade self-pity, I have happened upon at least two guys - both my fellow bloggers - who, in some ways, have it worse than me, despite being everything I'm not. Why? But more to the point: WHY???
Because self-loathing is as prevalent on this planet as the stench of nitrogen, that's why. It seems that everybody has to feel bad for themselves or else the entire economy will collapse. Western Civilisation, after all, is based on consumerism. Oh, and Christian hatred.
Now I get why I have to feel bad for myself. After all, I am nominally homo despite being a) too old to be gay (which ends at age 24), b) too fat to be gay (damn my double digit BMI), and c) ugly (the gay cardinal sin) due to a minor birth defect which makes my mouth look like I've had a stroke - which is not a good look to begin with, and an even worse look on a giant Charlie Brown head.
Even if I should occasionally come up with a half-ways decent day (typically by accident), there's always some mirror and/or loudmouthed bitch ready to remind me why my self-esteem (and only mine) is verboten. For this reason, I tend to keep the good moods well-concealed behind a facade of bitterness and cynicism which is utterly rococo.
These guys are Library Muscle Guy and to an even greater extent Gay Canuck in the Capital. Now, I'm not denigrating anyone's legitimate right to have issues, or to be unhappy. After all, people are abused, told they're worthless, and generally spat upon every day of their lives - gay men especially - so some of it's bound to sink in.
I like these guys, despite the fact that if they were standing in front of me I'd not only refuse to talk to them but probably run screaming from their presence. I like that they are, like I am, using their blogs to get to the bottom of their yuck. I mean, how can you not admire that? If only from afar.
I guess it's just that I have nothing in common with them, despite our similarities. Reading their work, though, forces me to empathize, which is more than a little confusing. How, after all, can I empathize with a guy who can't choose which of the many men who are hot for him to go out with? To the best of my knowledge, I've never even had two guys who liked me simultaneously, and for the last five years not even one.
It does put my own self-loathing into perspective, though. Oh, don't get me wrong: I still feel my self-loathing is far more deserved (since I've always had multiple men loathe me as a troll, even when I was young and thin and still had a hairstyle). Maybe those guys were making themselves feel better by tearing me down. Maybe they were afraid of what the world holds for them when they become the thing they despise the most - namely me.
For what it's worth, guys, thanks for the thought that I'm not alone, even when I am.
While sitting here, wallowing in my own (let's face it) homemade self-pity, I have happened upon at least two guys - both my fellow bloggers - who, in some ways, have it worse than me, despite being everything I'm not. Why? But more to the point: WHY???
Because self-loathing is as prevalent on this planet as the stench of nitrogen, that's why. It seems that everybody has to feel bad for themselves or else the entire economy will collapse. Western Civilisation, after all, is based on consumerism. Oh, and Christian hatred.
Now I get why I have to feel bad for myself. After all, I am nominally homo despite being a) too old to be gay (which ends at age 24), b) too fat to be gay (damn my double digit BMI), and c) ugly (the gay cardinal sin) due to a minor birth defect which makes my mouth look like I've had a stroke - which is not a good look to begin with, and an even worse look on a giant Charlie Brown head.
Even if I should occasionally come up with a half-ways decent day (typically by accident), there's always some mirror and/or loudmouthed bitch ready to remind me why my self-esteem (and only mine) is verboten. For this reason, I tend to keep the good moods well-concealed behind a facade of bitterness and cynicism which is utterly rococo.
These guys are Library Muscle Guy and to an even greater extent Gay Canuck in the Capital. Now, I'm not denigrating anyone's legitimate right to have issues, or to be unhappy. After all, people are abused, told they're worthless, and generally spat upon every day of their lives - gay men especially - so some of it's bound to sink in.
I like these guys, despite the fact that if they were standing in front of me I'd not only refuse to talk to them but probably run screaming from their presence. I like that they are, like I am, using their blogs to get to the bottom of their yuck. I mean, how can you not admire that? If only from afar.
I guess it's just that I have nothing in common with them, despite our similarities. Reading their work, though, forces me to empathize, which is more than a little confusing. How, after all, can I empathize with a guy who can't choose which of the many men who are hot for him to go out with? To the best of my knowledge, I've never even had two guys who liked me simultaneously, and for the last five years not even one.
It does put my own self-loathing into perspective, though. Oh, don't get me wrong: I still feel my self-loathing is far more deserved (since I've always had multiple men loathe me as a troll, even when I was young and thin and still had a hairstyle). Maybe those guys were making themselves feel better by tearing me down. Maybe they were afraid of what the world holds for them when they become the thing they despise the most - namely me.
For what it's worth, guys, thanks for the thought that I'm not alone, even when I am.
A Change Is As Good As A Rest
The more I think about it, the more I think the problem is Vancouver.
I mean, every time I try to reach out here I get smacked down, which tends to make me reticent to reach out again, and so on. The birth of a vicious cycle...
So maybe a clean slate is in order.
I've already chosen the place and the time, so that's the hardest part sorted. Now it remains only to pay for it all. Saving money has never been my strong point, but it can be done provided I'm motivated enough.
And who knows? Maybe with my focus diverted towards moving I'll calm down and actually meet someone locally. Either way, it's nice to be able to put some momentum into a life that hasn't been going anywhere for years.
I mean, every time I try to reach out here I get smacked down, which tends to make me reticent to reach out again, and so on. The birth of a vicious cycle...
So maybe a clean slate is in order.
I've already chosen the place and the time, so that's the hardest part sorted. Now it remains only to pay for it all. Saving money has never been my strong point, but it can be done provided I'm motivated enough.
And who knows? Maybe with my focus diverted towards moving I'll calm down and actually meet someone locally. Either way, it's nice to be able to put some momentum into a life that hasn't been going anywhere for years.
Monday, August 6, 2007
No Longer Gay
The word "gay" implies alot of things. It suggests, for a man, an attraction to men. It must therefore suggest being attractive to men.
Yet another Pride Day has come and gone, and yet another humiliating bout of invisibility. There in that sea of diverse faces and diverse physiques and all I got was a smile from one guy who was holding hands with another guy. One unavailable guy out of what? A hundred thousand? Wow, I must be hot.
I give up. There's no point in trying to appeal for someone willing to overlook the physical - it ain't gonna happen. Especially not when, in my case, "the physical" looks like me. I realise that attraction is subjective, and that anyone can be attractive to someone. Which doesn't explain how I could be so unattractive to everyone.
I'm just lucky, I guess, to have the gay male friends I do have, because they have the best chance to understand what I'm going through. Only none of them quite do, given how much more popular than me they've always been. Besides which, they're mostly all in relationships. They've found theirs. I'm tired of looking for mine, especially since he doesn't exist.
This leaves me in a very strange place. Straight people I don't trust, gay men despise me... Which means more solitude than I know how to handle, and a slow, lingering death brought about by an acute lack of affection.
It's gonna be a great rest of my life, I can tell.
Yet another Pride Day has come and gone, and yet another humiliating bout of invisibility. There in that sea of diverse faces and diverse physiques and all I got was a smile from one guy who was holding hands with another guy. One unavailable guy out of what? A hundred thousand? Wow, I must be hot.
I give up. There's no point in trying to appeal for someone willing to overlook the physical - it ain't gonna happen. Especially not when, in my case, "the physical" looks like me. I realise that attraction is subjective, and that anyone can be attractive to someone. Which doesn't explain how I could be so unattractive to everyone.
I'm just lucky, I guess, to have the gay male friends I do have, because they have the best chance to understand what I'm going through. Only none of them quite do, given how much more popular than me they've always been. Besides which, they're mostly all in relationships. They've found theirs. I'm tired of looking for mine, especially since he doesn't exist.
This leaves me in a very strange place. Straight people I don't trust, gay men despise me... Which means more solitude than I know how to handle, and a slow, lingering death brought about by an acute lack of affection.
It's gonna be a great rest of my life, I can tell.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
