Sex addiction or just plain gay?

I think, by definition, I am probably a sex addict.

I mean, when I think about some of the crazy things I have done, it could only have possibly been done by someone who was going out of their way to fuck their life up. And when I often think about the sex for no reason thing, I think it could be down to a misguided need for affection or love.

On the other hand, I am a man. And I am also a gay man, and between gay men sex can often be the equivalent of a handshake. It's that underlying sense of you're horny, I'm horny and we're both men- let's fuck.

However, fucking often fucks things up, and whereas you might just be friends in normal circumstances, the 'sex question' always gets in the way. What happens when you can, but you don't because you know it would be wrong? And, more often than not, what happens when you can and you do then regret it later because things get too complicated?

It's a bit like Tracey Emin- if she pulled her knickers up, I'm sure that her issues would be solved. However, it's the fact that she's damaged and promiscuous that makes her and has made her interesting. Without it, there would be no art.

By admitting this label of 'sex addiction', I can see where I have gone wrong in the past few years. Having sex with your exs, sleeping with young boys when you should know better and going home with guys off the tube is not healthy, and you feel absolved of some responsibility if you admit to yourself that all you wanted was some attention. Everyone does- it's life. What's worse is knowing that you could do better, but being too scared to try, afraid that someone else could do the same thing to you or to not be in control of what's happening anymore.

Nonetheless, perhaps this is not serious sex addiction, but symptomatic of gay life. Boys are dumb, horny and often find it difficult to express their emotions, and that goes regardless of sexuality. So when you have two dumb, horny boys together- go figure. It usually collides in some fumbled expression of a true intention disguised with lust.

So are homosexuals maladjusted sex addicts? My inkling is to say no. I think most of them are just lonely, but it seems to manifest itself in a series of bizarre ways. Like sex clubs and random meets, Gaydar, internet dating and cruising. Yet a whole culture has been built up around this.

Sure, it's fine to have casual sex if and when you want it, but when you start having sex for it's own sake you have to stop and think. I remember there was a time when I was younger I heard myself say what a lot of younger gays bleat- you don't want sex to lose it's 'meaning'.

The fact is it can be meaningless on its own, and attaching meaning to it often leads to guilt, rejection, disappointment, shame, frustration and anxiety. Or, in my case, labelling yourself with a mental illness every Tuesday afternoon. But the throwaway sex of gay life has left us looking for something more that cannot be fulfilled. It's not necessarily love, but perhaps a moment of solace or a minute of pleasure that makes being who you are a little bit easier to deal with

Where have you been?

Well, I've been rock bottom, I've been to Montreal (6000 miles there and back), I've been finding a new job and I've been completing the first year of my MA...

But on the love life front, there has been a barren desert of nothingness. No new lovers to speak of, and dates have been pretty average.

Average.

In fact, you get to the point where you wonder if they're worth the effort. I went on one recently and he said "We DEFINITELY have to do this again." Sure. Okay. Fine. When I text him to ask if he was available it was a different story; "Err... Sorry, the age gap is too much for me." (which was 10 years... I wasn't asking for his hand in marriage). It doesn't even bother me anymore. The quicker the say no, the less time you spend arsing around with all the other stupid stuff, like pretending to be interested in their knowledge of English monarchs, or their ability to tell you which line of dialogue is from a certain episode from Friends. I met up with another guy who was one of those "I'm not into you, but I'll give you a chance".

Guess what? I wasn't into him even after I gave him a chance.

Dating is a catch-22; if you don't go on dates, you're less likely to get anything sexual/ intimate/ emotional with anyone, but if you do go on dates, the less likely you are going to want to date in the future.

And so the cycle continues. I have taken to chatting up the most unlikely people in the worst places then swanning off somewhere else. Kind of like a cat playing with it's food and deciding not to eat it after all because it would just be greedy and pointless. Still, some sparks would be nice, but all it seems I'm doing is bashing two pieces of flint together for the sheer hell of it.

Meeting your match

And not in the way you'd expect.

So after a couple of drinks, it seems that this guy was very talkative and tried to convince me how cynical he was.

"I don't think you're cynical at all," he said

"Erm... A lot of people would disagree with you there"

"Really?" he said

And then he went on to tell me how he didn't believe that love existed past the second year of a relationship and that couples who had been together for 10 or 20 years was little more than convenience or compromise. And while I agreed that a relationship's function changes after a long period of time, I had to also agree that I wasn't *that* cynical; function doesn't negate love. Love and care are things that always exist regardless of the frequency of sex or the intensity of passion.

And so bent on this point he was that I started to wonder why he was telling me all these things.

I later asked how bothered he was about seeing me again.

"I am not bothered. I mean, I would like very much to see you again; I like you a lot. But in London these things so easily fall apart. People lose touch or get lost or hide behind lies and their own little world here that dating becomes an impossibility"

And I think that about sums up everyone's dating life in this city.

After a long hug goodbye, I am left wondering if I will ever see him again, or if he is just another intervention; another lesson for me to learn. It's funny how the most beautiful flower can also be the most poisonous

New Year, New You?

Well having picked myself up off the floor over the New Year, 2008 started with a great big bang that gave me enough determination to carry on with the rest of the year. Within 4 days I had an interview for a much needed new job and I got laid by someone very new for the first time in (*hacks a cough over hsi own words*).

Which, you know, was nice.

I'd like to note I said "someone new". I haven't been celibate :p

And he gave me his number, and we're going on a date on Thursday.

So for all my infinite wisdom, I hate the fact that we always return to familiar ground; the "does he, doesn't he" dilemma. The signs are positive; I text him saying I had a great night. He text straight back saying he did too and he'd see me sometime for dinner, ending it with a "take care." Okay, back off, I think and I'll wait till I ask him for a date to text next. Two days later I say "So would you like to meet me before work one evening?" (working nights is a pain in the arse, sometimes). Again, text in 5 minutes "Sounds great. How about Thursday? Let me know what time." Again, punctuated with the eponymous "Take care". So now I'm wondering if I text him back a time or should I just "take care"?

I text him a time. He said "Perfect. See you soon"

I'm confused. We have a time, a day... But I have no idea where we're going or what we're doing, and I'm too scared to text because I should apparently be taking care of myself right now. Worse still, he's absolutely gorgeous. Really. I mean, I don't think I've ever laid someone as inarguably gorgeous as him. The kind of gorgeous where people wouldn't say "I don't know; he's not really my type" but more the kind of "Oh my God, just stick your penis inside me" type gorgeous.

So I'm even more confused; I left my ex because I thought I could do better and when I do I feel like I don't deserve it. I was quite happy to let it be a lucky one night stand, but it was him who asked me for my number and now I'm just in a sea of unfamiliarity.

However, the great thing about being a bit older and a bit wiser is that you learn to ride the rollercoaster and not stress so much about the details. But here we are... It all starts again: The Game. But I don't know who's playing it more; him or me?

I guess I feel in the weaker position again. Analysing every detail, wondering if he would have asked me out if I hadn't asked him, does he still have his eye on other guys, or is he thinking that this could work?

All this and not even a first date. I need some valium.

Complete and utter apathy

Have you ever been asked out by someone, only to wonder what the point is because you know how it's going to go anyway? Or has anyone ever smiled at you on the tube only to wonder what the point is because nothing ever happens? Have you ever been in a club and wondered what you were doing there because you're not even having fun anymore and the drink isn't doing anything? Has your fuckbuddy ever turned round and said to you "we need to stop doing this because I like you" and it didn't seem to register? Have you ever contacted someone online, for them to ask you on a date and you don't want to go? And for someone else to discount you offhand and you can't be bothered arguing with them anymore because you stand to acheive nothing?

No?

Me neither.

French Fancy? I'll Have Mine Iced With Jealousy, Please

I think we've discussed the fact that I believe in relationship karma; everything that you do in relationships will come back to you eventually. As it happens, I'm next in line for a bit of heartbreak.

Anyway, I went to the pub with a friend of mine and who should pass me on the stairs but some very hot French bloke I had a one night stand with. I remember at the time he had just split up with his boyfriend. So who else should be accompanying him but the very same ex-boyfriend. Who, it turns out, knows exactly who I am.

So, he came over to speak to me. Cue suspicious looks from ex. French guy continues to stare and smile at me. I, of course, continue to smile at him because I am evil personnified. Ex gets more and more wound up until he eventually explodes at French guy. I sit back and chat to friend knowing I have caused devastation on the other table.

I go outside to speak to the French guy while he smokes a cigarette. Ex follows and looks at me in disgust. I have to stop myself from laughing.

I've still got it :p

Life Is All About Taking Risks

Or you'd think, wouldn't you?

Well, after heading to Leeds festival and a much needed short break with my family, I returned to London more tranquil and relaxed. More at ease with the world... And much more aware of the fact that I've been single for 2 and a half years. It could only mean one thing; I needed to get laid.

On the day I got back, I already had plans to go out with a friend of mine, so I got dressed up to the nines and headed out. The club was empty and the music was bad, so I consoled myself with some alcohol. Never a good idea.

But not one to be put off, I took my chance on Saturday night to go out and bag some first rate gay.

But first, coffee with friends. It's always important to make time for friends. Especially when said friends suggest going to TGI Friday's to drink goblets (and I mean huge GOBLETS) of cocktails at 3pm. And then suggest going out to a bar at 7.30pm.

So we ended up at a bar where I very unfortunately knew the deputy manager. After another drink, my friend asked if the barman was gay or straight. She was interested for herself. So, I asked.

"We'd like to know too," said my friend the deputy manager.

Thus, I set about making it my business to know. As he finished his shift I sat down next to him and started talking. God knows what I said. I can't remember. I do, however, remember being outside with him, holding hands and doing a film quiz. However I managed to get from trying to help out a female friend to muscling in on this guy myself is beyond me.

Anyway, it was going well. We stepped outside. I suggested we go elsewhere and invited him back to mine. He freaked out.

I lost.

I went all the way home before I decided to go back to see if he came back. The deputy manager asked me what happened in an alarmed manner. Apparently he'd come back and drank 6 vodkas. Hmmm... I can't even remember if I said something he took badly.

I took the nightbus home and did something you should never do; pulled on the nightbus. He wasn't even attractive. I guess that's what desperation does to you. However, it wasn't tweo minutes before I was kicked out of his apartment. In a confused state I asked why, and he said I kept giving him different answers to the same question. I don't recall this at all. It makes me chuckle, though.

The next day, I decided to go back to the pub and say sorry to the barman and give him my number. I exited the station, and there he was; right in front of me drinking a coffee opposite the road. He tried to ignore me, but I just went over and said, "I was just on my way to the pub to speak to you"

He looked at me.

I froze.

I handed him the note and left.

He never got in touch.

The moral of the story is when you well and truly fuck up at a bar through drunken antics, never ever ever go there ever again.

If I Could Have Logged Into Blogger, I Would Have...

Well, my blogger account has been refusing to let me log in.

Anyway, it's been an interesting number of weeks, all culminating in the past couple of days. Have you ever heard of "The Secret"? Basically it's about positive thinking and cosmic ordering et cetera, so to change my fortunes, I decided to think positively.

It started off well; I got a job interview for one of my dream jobs (to be a music journalist) that went horrendously well. I thought I was a shoe in for a second interview. So I waited for them to call...

And I waited...

And waited...

And then my flat flooded.

So after fishing out my vintage shirts and brooches, and making sure nothing was damaged beyond repair, I took the night off work and went out drinking. Then I have a gap in my memory and woke up on my sofa. Then I went to Bristol the next day for a friend's birthday and started drinking again.

Return to London. Give up on job as it's now been 10 days when I finally receive an e-mail saying they wouldn't like to pursue it any further (thanks, guys). Resign myself to my mediocre and less than challenging job. Day off comes; I go for a drink with someone who's been hassling me from (hacking cough) Gaydar and, in light of the week's horribleness, I throw myself on him. I wake up and realise I have to go to work the next day in platforms and flares. I am ridiculed by work mates whilst still half drunk. Gaydar bloke texts me to say how wonderful I am; blood drains out of face when I realise I'm not *that* interested in him.

Another friend calls me to say she's broken up with her boyfriend, while I go out for work drinks and end up punching one of my work colleagues in the face. I run away to another bar for a whisky and coke to calm my nerves and bump into a random lesbian who invites me out. I go, and end up at said gay indie bar that I said I wasn't going to go to (you'll see that in a previous blog). End up spending the night with a music journalist from Manchester in an expensive hotel room.

Gaydar Bloke texts again the next day to see if I want to go out later. I agree until break up friend turns up and wants to cry on my shoulder. I tell him and he texts "So now two hearts are broken" and think to myself "Oh, shit. He *really* likes me. How do I let him down gently?" as I try to wipe the snot off my paisley shirt from crying friend.

Girl who's been escorted to Wolverhampton calls. Repeatedly. I stupidly ignore calls to avoid telling her she can't stay at my place if she runs away.

And for the third night in a row, I get blinding drunk whilst giving the "I hate men" speech to upset friend.

Wake up. Look around at the world and decide not to get up. Go to sleep. Wake up again and watch Kindergarten Cop and try not to consider how three days of drinking continuously has left a big pile of existential poo to deal with.

Go to work. Thank God I work nights and can have a night off from drinking.

Letting things lie....

I don't know about you, but I am absolutely terrible at letting things lie, especially when there are loose ends to be tied up. At first, out of foolish pride, I will ignore the situation, but it eats away at me until it becomes a compulsion. However, one of the major lessons in life I should learn is that sometimes things need to be left to lie.

So, cue the text to the famous "It's raining" guy... Well, I thought there was some genuine chemistry there and I will now admit out of foolish pride I rejected him. It has played on my mind since then whether or not I did the right thing. So I texted him again and said "Okay, I'll take a chance... If I'm not so stubborn this time perhaps we can go on that date?"

No answer.

Turns out I did do the right thing. However, I wouldn't have known for certain until that text was sent, so this is my only saving grace here.

Lately, I have fallen victim to Facebook. And I found someone's profile on their who I had a casual relationship with once; the kind where you end up more enamoured with them than they do with you. It ended quite acrimoniously, so I sent him a message saying "hey, nice to see you... It's been 3 years! Blah, blah, blah..."

It turns out that some people are not so welcoming or forgiving as myself.

Men, eh? You can't live with them, and you can't kill them.

First Date Etiquette

Recently, a friend of mine met a guy at a party. He said, in that sickeningly coy manner, "What would you say if I hypothetically asked you out for a drink?"

"Hypothetically I would say yes," he replied. (I know, I know... Try and keep your dinner down for now. It gets better)

So they talked and arranged to meet that Wednesday. Wednesday came and he hadn't heard anything, so he texted him and said "Hey.. So tonight, when and where?"

And nothing.

Then he tortured himself over and over by asking whether he should phone him or not... Would he look like a stalker? Wouldn't he? Would this guy go out on a date?

The simple answer is call him.

If he's being a wanker for not letting you know either way, then call. If he doesn't pick up, fine; make other plans. If he picks up and says no, that's even better; at least you know you can make other plans. I really resent the fact that we've all been reduced to being concerned about how keen we are. The fact is no-one is that desperate- that's the truth. I think anyone with the tiniest ounce of respect for you will let you get on with your life.

The truth is men like that are cowards.

So next time you find yourself in that dilemma, do not focus on the negatives; remember that if they're wasting your time now, imagine what it would be like 3 months down the line. And if they don't want to see you, they're missing out on being with a really rewarding person.

Move over, Oprah; I'm after your job!

Your culture over my nature

Recently, a very sad thing happened to a friend of mine. After she finished university her parents forced her, against her will, to go back to Wolverhampton. They told her her life in London was over, and that they would expect her to go through with her arranged marriage in the coming years.

Being brought up in the West, she thinks of herself as a Westerner and she doesn't want this to happen. In fact, she has a boyfriend who is white, and it would be frowned upon. I empathise with her plight; I know how tough this is.

Of late, my patience has started wearing thin with her. First she tells me she will stay there for 3 months to "sort things out". Okay. Fine. Then she starts calling me everyday telling me how miserable she is back home, so I said "Well, if you've decided you're going to stay there for 3 months, you may as well make the most of it. Why not take a trip to Birmingham? Go for a walk?"

Can't apparently "just because".

Then she tells me that her boyfriend is telling her to make the decision to come back to London for herself because he might not be there one day (which kind of gives me the hint that someone's getting ready to jump ship). So I said "Yes, you two may not be together forever so you have to do it for yourself"

And she said "Yeah, whatever."

So I said "Don't be naive; you could split up and you've made a decision you made for him, and then you'd really be up shit creek"

Now she's pissed off with me.

Why is my patience starting to wear thin? Well, this really isn't a dilemma that quite a few gay men have not gone through, including myself. When I was seeing my first boyfriend, the sheer guilt at having to face my parents and lie about where I had been or who I was with was horrendous. And then every day you would think "Should I tell them? Should I tell them? Should I tell them?"

And then you imagine telling them.

And then you imagine them going mad and your dad beating you up and telling you to get out of the house. So you try and plan carefully where you would go, who you would ask to stay with... Where would you live without your parents? Would you really choose your lifestyle over the care and security of your parents?

For me, the answer was yes.

I did make plans, and I asked my best friend when I was 17 if I could stay at her place if anything went wrong. She said yes, and she even asked her mother if it was okay. I decided to tell my mum first, thinking that she would be okay with it.

She wasn't. She cried for 3 days. She made me feel awful. I'd come downstairs from bed and she would start crying and saying "What did I do wrong?"

And I said, "Being gay isn't a personality flaw"

And she said "No; it's a developmental one"

And that's when I lost patience with my mother. I said, "You can cry all you want; things are the way they are and that's it."

She told me it had to be a dark secret, that no-one could know. She tried to make me feel even more ashamed even though I knew there was nothing wrong with it.

She didn't chuck me out, but it did change my opinion of my her.

So when my friend harps on about the "shame" she would bring to her family because she's Asian and could never date a white guy or live alone, I start to lose my temper. I know what it is to bear the brunt of family "shame", but I still confronted it head on, and I was prepared to do without their love and care. I was prepared to be tossed out into the streets, but I still faced it.

Coincidentally, I defied my mother and told my dad some 3 months later who was perfectly okay with it. To this day, my mother will still not discuss my love life, my boyfriends, my gay friends or confront anything about my sexuality. In fact, I think she partially hopes that if I don't find a girl that I will be a batchelor forever.

Aside from my family, I have had bricks thrown at me, I have been punched in the face and bled and I have still walked with my head high because I am me, and if people don't like what I am then they can deal with it.

I will always be ardently myself at whatever cost.

So you may think I'm harsh, but you can't tell me that you will suffer shame and anguish because of your culture because me and every other gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered person out there has also suffered shame and anguish for their cause; for love. And my Asian friend is right; she cannot choose who she falls in love with, but neither can we, and we have fought for our love and will continue to do so

Couples

As we've gone off the beaten path in the last couple of months, I decided to go back to ranting about those things that we should be more well informed about. Here I return to one of my old favourites that we haven't broached yet on this here blog; couples.

Now, I would say that when I was single, I still have a fairly positive outlook. Sure; we all get those days when we wish we had someone, but what the hell... You're single and having much more fun than having to listen to a whinging poof harp on about his 'feelings' and how you're not meeting 'his needs'. It's funny how 'his needs' were just copping off quickly at the beginning of a relationship, then suddenly turn into telling white lies about their insecurities.

That aside, there is nothing worse to a single person than a couple. And it's not because you're jealous, but because they're just so goddam weird. Here I'll take you through the stages of couple-dom and all it's strange rituals.

Remember those times where that crazy single friend you could always rely on who you would go out with and get trashed constantly seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth for a few weeks? It slowly dawns on you, being that you've been out having a laugh and suddenly paused to think "I wonder what happened to such-and-such... I haven't even had a text in a week" you sense that instant conclusion; a man. Yes, they've found a man, and you're back in Lonerville- Population: 1. In other words, you.

So why do people behave like such wankers at the start of relationships? Granted, they want to spend a bit more time with their new beau, but having been on the receiving end of this one too many times, I have now always always made time for my friends when beginning a new relationship. To those of you who think it's fine to swan off and get wrapped up in your own emotions and be all saccharine sweet while trying to swallow each others faces in public, spare a thought for your friend who's at home crying into a bottle of vodka and a Tesco Value microwave meal, probably tagliatelle with it's lukewarm white mush and rubbery pasta, for one. Yes, for one!

Then, after a few weeks or months, the first argument inevitably happens. And who do they turn to? That's right; their single friend. and you think "For fuck's sake, not only am I not in a relationship, I'm not in your relationship, so how the hell can I tell you what's happening, huh? Last week I was at home watching the Eastenders omnibus a good way through a bottle of Absolut, and now all of a sudden I'm your best friend again?"

And what happens after they've resolved the argument? We're back to crying about Dot Cotton's dilemma because we're fucked off our face on a Sunday afternoon.

Worse still is when couples get to years. After years of being together, they suddenly merge into one person. We're going to Montpellier this summer. We like Cherry Cola. We had an orginal thought the other day, didn't we? And so they start to talk to you about sofa purchases which, apart from that only being of interest to a DFS salesman, you've probably never had to consider in your life. And even if you had, you probably wouldn't be so boring as to talk about it. Besides, by this point you're probably so bored of the fact that every time you invite your friend out, their boyfriend has to be there, or them spending so much time with their other half that you've given up and gotten a new life.

Weddings mark the death of friendships sometimes...

So next time you get into a relationship, consider your single self and don't be so damn limp next time!

Ugly Sex

Ew.

I need a Brillo pad, some bleach, and a break from sex for at least 3 months.

Warning: Moody Bitch Alert!

Just like women have a menstrual cycle, I believe that once in a while, every man also goes on the rampage (except without the bleeding). Women blame hormones... I wish men could blame something. Perhaps it is hormonal. Who knows?

Well, I had a birthday box full of surprises, really. Like all the loose ends of my love life turning up to one party and throwing in a stick of dynamite (with a healthy dose of alcohol). It started off well; the presents were coming, the drink was flowing (and I wasn't paying), and there was laughing and joking. Then the ex turned up. You know, THE Ex. The one who proposed to me and said we would run away to Denmark and get married (Civil Partnerships weren't even an idea here 6 years ago!). The Ex who you acrimoniously broke up with, but only because it was so painful, but then tried to scrape a friendship back with afterwards. The Ex who, at various times, you wondered if things would be the same if you got back together, then realised you were two different people and were sad for it.

That Ex. We all have one, I'm sure.

He gave me a present, wished me happy birthday, bought me a drink and sat down and started chatting to all those friends he hadn't seen for a while. You know, myfriends. The ones who were obliged to lay their loyalties to me after the break up. Then of course, there were those new friends that he didn't know, and that didn't know him. One of those friends happened to be an old colleague of mine I had a crush on but decided it would never work out.

And then they exchanged numbers.

And then I flipped.

"You could have been a bit more discreet," I snapped at The Ex.

"We swapped for work purposes; we're both graphic designers."

What a cheap excuse.

"How dare you," he continued, trying to re-direct the blame onto me. I should have seen this routine coming; when we were going out and we had arguments he was always the martyr, and me... Of course, I was always the irrational one who got het up for no reason.

"If you feel so offended then go. I don't want you here," I said, seething in a jealous rage

"Fine," he said putting his drink down, "I will."

I sat there pouting, knowing that I was drunk and may have over-reacted slightly. Upset that even after all that time had passed, and I'm talking years, that the green eyed monster could rear it's head. After two minutes of silence, and my friends frantically asking what was wrong, I said, "Everyone has to leave... NOW!"

And I stood up from the table, grabbed my things, and left.

Yes.... I know; but I would openly admit that I'm a drama queen. Besides, it was my birthday. MY birthday. And it had been ruined. By me.

As I sighed and went home, I got a call from a person I hadn't heard from in a long time. A guy I dated who, on paper, should have been the perfect guy, but wasn't.

"Happy Birthday," he said in his Russian accent. He had remembered, and now I felt even worse that so many people who cared about me would make the effort on my birthday.

"Hi," I said "How have you been? Where are you?"

And as we chatted on the train home, probably very loudly and drunkenly, I remembered why we were first together. He travels a lot, and was in Lisbon when he called. I don't expect to see him any time soon, but it was enough that he remembered and wasn't afraid to call me. As he struggled to find the words (he speaks about 10 languages, and English is somewhere behind Russian and Portuguese), he said to me "If someone is in your heart, you will always think about them wherever you are."

So maybe The Ex was thinking the same thing. It didn't matter. I texted him the next day and told him I was stupid to believe we could ever be civil, or to build a friendship. I would always and irrationally be jealous of anyone who he was interested in. I guess I have to accept that it doesn't matter how enlightened you are, you have to remember that you're only human, and that humans are irrational.

I spent the rest of the weekend trying to put off thinking about it, and visiting an old friend, but somehow it just seemed to manifest itself in other ways; drinking too much, being snappy, telling friends all the things they've done that have irritated me over the past couple of months, trying to decide whether moving out of London was a good idea or not, considering throwing my mobile in the bin and ditching all my friends, or perhaps faking my own death and becoming 'someone else'. But why is it that none of these ideas would actually work? Running away from your problems doesn't work (or so I'm told... I've never tried it myself), trying to lose contact with everyone isn't fair on anyone at all and besides, they'd all end up figuring out where you were anyway and God forbid the police getting involved.

Right now I'm at work (I use the word "work" loosely), I have a cold, and I want to go home. And all I'm left wondering is what happened to the person I was last week?

I hate it when life tricks you like this. One minute you're fine. The next you're picking the bits of pavement out of your teeth when life ground your face right into it.

To Move Forward, You Have To Go Back

I think Carrie from Sex And The City was talking shit when she said "The worst reviews are the ones we give ourselves"

As my 24th birthday looms (it's only 8 days away; buy me something nice), nicotine withdrawals suck the rationality from my veins and the promise of romance snatched away as easily as it was offered in the first place, I'm forced to reflect on the year gone by in a most brutal and confrontational manner.

I met a friend of mine for lunch today, and having embarrassed ourselves on one of those dance machines in an arcade (why do they always put them by a window? Everyone looks in and puts you off! I feel like turning round and saying "I did contemporary dance once!"), I decided to take her to a bar I hadn't been to in ages.

The barmaid looked at me and lifted her head with resentment as if to say "What do you want?"

Hmmm... I thought. I had been going to that bar for 5 years and they knew my face.

"2 diet cokes please" (yeah, yeah... I know. Usually I would drink normal coke, but apparently changing your habits are good when you're quitting smoking) and as I turned my head I noticed a mistake.

It was a mistake that was slightly older, with long brown hair, a deep voice and an eccentric demeanour. It was a mistake that frequented that particular bar quite regularly, and knew the staff quite well... One might go so far as to say he was friends with them. And me? I was just lowly clientele.

"Shit." I thought to myself.

Now, believe it or not, I wasn't always this perfect (stop laughing at the back!). Roughly a year ago, in said bar, when my friend used to work there. I was DJing one night, and I threw myself at this long haired love in the middle of one of my sets (I cringe at myself sometimes), then went home with him. Long story short: Second date wasn't even worth mentioning, and an embarrassing incident occurred where coincidentally I was on a job at work and upon telephoning a point of contact, who else should answer the phone?

The embarrassment and shame caused me to make a fool out of myself twice more in front of him.

I thought it best after trying to be nice to him to just ignore him, or have as little contact as possible.

Unfortunately, about a week later, I walked into the bar and my friend said "(Insert name) is here".

And I said "Who?" and upon looking around, I went, "Ohhhh him! He was really shit in bed, you know"

And there we are; that phrase damned me as it spread round the pub like wildfire and right back to him. I am ashamed of myself for even saying it (no matter how much truth is in the statement!). So to bring it back, there I was having to face an embarrassing episode and, worse still, being made to feel ashamed about it by Ms. "I'm going to give you as little customer service as possible" as she thrust a crappy £5 note into my hand that she took out the till on purpose (you know; the kind that won't be accepted at any other shop) and Mr. Long Hair.

As I skulked to a corner of the bar, I wanted to move cities. Remembering all this past seemed too much to bear, and the fact that my reputation (and yes, it would appear I have one) preceded me made me think that my name may have been irrevocably tarred. Was it worth staying in a city where all I was known for was being a blabbermouth, possibly even a drunken fool and a promiscuous weirdo?

But then I thought if I was that barmaid, I wouldn't really care all that much. She has a job to do at the end of the day. And then I thought if I was Mr. Long Hair, I would be a damn sight nicer than he's ever been to me when I've coincidentally bumped into him.

But then again, I know I'm good in bed. :p

So it seems life has not snatched away chances from me of late, but has been trying to teach me a lesson perhaps.

Lesson number one; don't be a doormat. I think the whole episode with the guy from the wedding showed me that I have become stronger and more able to pick out the flaws in potential dates, rather than being impulsive and reckless with my emotions. Yeah... I didn't know him that well, admittedly. And also I may have over-reacted a little, but I stand by my decision which also shows I know myself even better.

Lesson number two; forgive yourself. So you made a lot of mistakes and.... So what? We could sit there and pick fault with everyone and everything all day. As long as you can face up to what you've done and recognise that even though a situation may be your fault, it can often be circumstances that conspire against you as well especially if you were acting 'out of character' at the time. So what else can you do but let go? Or face up to it and say "Yeah, I was a shit, but at least I know it. A thousand other guys wouldn't have admitted their mistake." Hence Mr. Long Hair acting like a wounded puppy when really he was an alcoholic underacheiver.

Lesson number three; who cares? Over the past couple of weeks, I really couldn't care less anymore. My final 'shyness' barrier with men has completely dropped. I was thinking today that I remember a guy checking me out at a bus stop when I was 22, and even though I was intrigued and followed him on to his bus, I ended up running away because I was too nervous. I always regretted that. Only a couple of days ago, I smiled at a guy on the street and I finally had the guts to do that without fear of whether or not the smile would be reciprocated, or even if he was interested. It was a guess, and it paid off (even if I didn't give him my number!).

So I think I'm going to really like it this year. With this new found confidence, I feel as though I have shed the last skin of the young me, and finally become the person I always wanted to be.

Game Over

To fill you in, he text me on Sunday a few hours before the date and said:-

"Is there any chance I can see you tomorrow? I have things to do and the weather is really bad"

Bad weather? "Stuff"? I'm not rearranging my schedule for some unsubstantiated 'stuff'. I've been waiting all fucking week for 'stuff'.

I replied "Put off by some bad weather? It's a shame. If you saw the potential I did, you wouldn't have cancelled. A real shame"

I was willing to leave it at that. Then my phone beeped...

"Mate", it said, making me instantly want to punch him. I picked the wrong week to quit smoking, "I have shit (I mean what does this 'shit' and 'stuff' mean? Is he smoking crack?) to do. Plus it's raining (Yeah, it's raining... Didn't we establish this before?)

"I didn't mean to make you pissy, I'm just being honest," I said trying to stay calm, "This just reeks of 'I can't be bothered, and if you're like this now, what am I to expect in future?"

I thought it was perfectly reasonable.

"Woah, you need to clam down," he said. Oh, here we go.... Playing the psychobitch card because you got rejected? "I was going to rearrange but now I don't think I'll bother"

What? Hello? Did I not just make it perfectly clear in my last two texts that I wasn't interested in seeing some loser who cancels because his hair might get wet? He's the kind of person that says "You can't fire me because I quit" right after their boss has handed them the pink slip.

"Look, I've just been honest. I'm not mad at you at all. I hope we can be civil when we next see each other," I said, trying frantically to say "For fuck's sake, I don't give a shit. You blew it, mister!"

He asked me to post him back his cufflinks. I'm thinking of sending an umbrella along with them and a note saying "Just in case next time you arrange to meet someone and rains, you'll be well prepared..."

I'm evil. I know.

The Game, The Rules and The Clause

I remember someone once saying to me "I lost 'The Game'".

And I thought, "What is The Game?"

Then I realised that The Game is actually the intricate game of cat and mouse chasing when starting a relationship with someone. Texting, not texting, calling, not calling, not letting them know you like them, but giving them just enough to lead them on. And of course, with every game, there are The Rules. The Rules seem to be along the lines of this:-

Rule 1) THE GOLDEN RULE- Never reply to a text message that doesn't require an answer or can't be replied to in 3 days time

Rule 2) In the intervening time it is important to either not care, or pretend not to care

Rule 3) Never, ever pay them a compliment or let them know you like them

Rule 4) Live your life like you're chained to your diary, constantly unavailable and ever elusive

Well, I say fuck The Game. Fuck The Rules. If I want to text someone, I will text them. If I want to think about someone, I will and if I like someone, then why not go out there and get them. A man who can't take you for what you are is not worth your time at all, and no matter how gorgeous, talented or rich they are, remember that someone somewhere is already sick of them.

I have a date tomorrow and The Game is being played. I'm sick of The Game; too old. The problem with The Game is that it doesn't make someone interested, it actually makes them lose interest in you because if you're never available, never contact someone and never let them know you're interested, then why would any self respecting person bother to continue in a relationship like that?

So fuck The Game; it's time to go out there and grab what you want.

Here Come The Pink Squishies...

Awful term, isn't it? I'll explain. Once my friend turned round to me and sighed heavily and I said "What's wrong?" and she said "I've got the pink squishies." I laughed and I said "What?"

And she said, "There's a guy I really like, and I hate it. I really, really like him and I hate it."

Like all embittered fags, being single is really, really easy for me to cope with. Making snide comments at couples, other people's relationships, how untrustworthy men are... They're safe, and what's more it's a defence mechanism. I'm open and self-aware enough to know that it's all in self defence.

And now I have the pink squishies. And I hate it.

So bad are these ones that I broke the horrible golden rule and called him twice in one day. And suddenly you start to empathise with all those guys that never stopped hassling you, or that you may have branded a stalker. It's not an act of desperation, it's the fact that this feeling sends you so nuts and you behave so out of character that you wonder what the hell you're doing. Rationality is thrown out of the window for an impulsive high.

The worst thing is, he still wants to go out on a date with me, which means I haven't scared him off. Which also means there's a chance that he might really like me too.

So I'm sat here with love-sickness and absolutely hating myself for it. Ever the true Gemini, part of me is allowing myself to fall, and the other half just wants everything to go back to normal again. Half of me is airy-fairy and romantic, the other half is wanting to laugh at myself.

Because the worst thing is we all know that the pink squishies are a prelude to a heartbreak.

Life Is Not a TV Show

Stating the obvious, isn't it?

Talking to a friend the other day about 'culture' (I know, it's deliciously pretentious. I can't help myself sometimes), the main question was why are people so averse to contemporary art, or fringe theatre? And from fringe theatre, we started talking about the next logical progression; the Jeremy Kyle Show. I actually can't watch this show because it makes me feel like I'm squeezing cotton wool whilst having to listen to someone scrape their fingernails down a chalkboard. There are two problems I have with this show:-

1) If I'd done something so despicably bad like gotten pregnant (granted, chances are low) by another man, or conned my partner into thinking we were in much less debt than we actually were, or was having an affair, there is no way in hell I'd parade my misery publicly for the entertainment of the British masses.

2) The guests are chavvy, the audience is quite chavvy, the viewers at home are probably quite chavvy, and Jeremy Kyle is such a self-righteous bastard that I wonder if he will ever get a date again (except with a chav) because of his smug sense of patronising self-satisfaction that his 'tough love' stance always works. Just imagine him having an argument with his wife; he'd never admit he was wrong, but probably bombard her with platitudes until she finally submitted and decided that leaving the petrol tank half empty wasn't worth him harping on for hours about how hard done by he was and how he managed to pull himself out of it.

Poor woman. By the way he's been divorced; I would probably have to say enough is enough at some point as well.

Anyway, the cringe-worthingly poor display of daytime television seeps from TV into the real lives of people. I hope it's not just me, but don't you always have that one friend who always has a drama in their life? A drama that seems so utterly simple to sort out (because, usually, it's by their own blundering fault they've got into the mess), and yet it merits harping on for half an hour about how confused they are?

Of course, as friends, we lend an ear and give them our honest (sometimes sugar coated, sometimes giving Jeremy Kyle a run for his money) opinion and hope they learn. Pat them on the shoulder and send them fresh, back to their dilemma. The only fault with this is that people are obsessed by drama and scandal.

I honestly wonder what happened to the days of the good, old British 'stiff upper lip'; where everything was kept in dignified silence. This, of course, excludes times of real dilemma and emotion. I'm not vindicating bottling everything up forevermore. But since the emergence of soaps and daytime chat shows, people seek excitement by getting themselves into messy predicaments.

Anyway, you can hardly blame them sometimes. Life can be so utterly dull that creating stress can add a bit of zing to what was an otherwise boring lifestyle. But I cannot, in fact I refuse, to believe that with the amount of cheating that goes on is solely a development of modern society. In fact, I also refuse to believe that those people who have cheated were so 'deeply in love' with their partners in the first place.

There are always exceptions, and I think it's important to note. Like sleeping with someone drunkenly; we can all make a mistake. Or perhaps it takes someone to make someone realise that they weren't in love with their partner in the first place.

I think it points towards a depressing ideal perpetuated by shows such as Sex and the City and Ally McBeal; we need someone to be someone. Without someone, you're no-one. So people often 'settle', claim they're 'in love' and then someone who really knocks them off their feet and they think 'Boy, how wrong was I?'. And how often have you told someone you're single and they look at you like a leper? Or your friends try and fix you up so you can be 'just as happy as they are'?

Also, people are under the misguided notion that they will be saved from themselves eventually.

"Oh, it doesn't matter if I smoke this crack; someone's bound to save me from myself eventually"

"Oh, it doesn't matter if I put this one thing on my credit card; someone's bound to save me from myself eventually"

Just like in the Hollywood films, right?

Right?

(One of) The Problems With Romance in the Gay World

Someone said a long time ago that romance was dead. I'm not sure to what extent I believe this, as if a lovely new beau surprised me by buying me a CD (I can never have too many CDs) I would take it as a romantic gesture. I also describe myself as having a 'romantic viewpoint' on life, meaning that I walk around and go "Oh, look at the Thames, look how the raw sewage really compliments the contrasting murky grey... Oh, how I love London".

And, as misguided and brainwashed as I am, I believe that one day someone could waltz into my life and sweep me off my feet.

However, this is misguided. Take for example the BRAND NEW homosexual drinking establishment that has just opened in London; 'Profile'. This bar has been set up by the people who run Gaydar (come on now boys, don't look at me and say "What's Gaydar?". If you don't have a profile, you've almost certainly heard about it) and, may I add, replaced a rather lovely cocktail bar called '6 Degrees' (cocktails were expensive but lethal!). Profile boasts FREE INTERNET ACCESS LOLZ

So what's the betting that 'Profile' is now going to remove ANY social element of going to a gay bar, sometimes the last bastion of hope for those in singledom? Who are you going to be making eyes at if their eyes are permanently glued to a computer screen?Call me a technophobe, but this isn't just about 'Profile', this is a phenomenon that sweeps the gay nation.

No-one talks to each other.

Okay, okay... So there might be the odd time where you throw yourself in the direction of the desired object (and please, for those of you who just attach yourself like a leech, can you provide sick bags for those around you? It may feel good to do, but it's disgustingly nauseating to watch), and ask their name et cetera, but it does take A LOT of guts to do that. Kudos to the boys out there reading who feel comfortable enough to do that. But generally, gays are very timid and judgemental. I have made eyes at so many people in bars, but following through? It very rarely comes from either side.

Additionally, if someone were to approach you in a bar, you either go to mush and they walk away, or warning sirens go off in your head saying "Abort! Abort! Abort!". And when you approach someone else, you get that feeling, as you crack a joke, that you're going down as well as a knackered lift.

And what about on the Tube? Isn't it a bit sad that they have those 'missed connections' boards because we've reached a day and age when no-one communicates. Alarmingly, in the gay community, we are also becoming more and more technologically dependent. A lot of people meet their dates through various websites, chat forums, text based services et cetera... Unfortunately for us, that's because we can't ask the question "Are you gay?" for fear of someone taking mortal offence.

So your eyes meeting across the room with some tall, dark and handsome stranger as 'Close to You' by The Carpenters plays, and you suddenly move towards each other in a conveyor belt motion in soft focus? Forget it.

But equally, you can probably forget meeting the love of your life on the internet. Sure; it works for some people, but weigh up the amount of times you've chatted to someone for ages and been disappointed in real life with the amount of times you've fallen madly, head over heels in love?

Exactly.

So basically, romance in the gay world? Well, the odds are against us. With only 10% of the population describing themselves as "of alternative sexuality" and only 6% in total likely to be gay men, it suddenly seems a lot to ask. Considering you have to find them attractive, and they have to find you attractive, be compatible personality-wise, share common interests, and then trust them, love is a very small statistic for us, if you bear in mind how many people we have to choose from.

To bring me back to my original point, Hollywood has given us all (gay and straight) false expectations of romance and romantic feelings. We hope for awkward chance encounters, and what we get is usually structured, pre-planned formality, especially where 'arranging to meet off the internet' is concerned. Because the gay population is so small (even smaller in some more rural parts), our chances of romance are small, and our failing communication skills and shyness are a hinderance.

But the worst aspect of the human condition keeps us all going; hope.