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It's good to have connections sometimes, I guess. Heather's parents' friends Kit and Lang own a condo in Oceanside which they rarely use, and when they heard we were making our way to the west coast, they were more than happy to let us take it over. After an exciting day of driving and eating Japanese food and listening to trance music (YAWN - sorry Heather) we arrived at the condo. The night progressed rapidly from singing opera (Heather has a beautiful voice, and I could give Charlotte Church a run for her money, if I was, you know, 16 and British), to playing Don't Spill the Beans, to watching gay porn while drinking Gatorade and vodka.

The next day we took a long walk on the beach,

then headed into San Diego to go to the zoo. Wow. As anyone who has ever read my nerve.com profile will know (and I'm sure you all have, right?), I love zoos in a way that borders on the obscene. We saw koalas and wild kee kee cats and flamingos

and bears and elephants and gorillas

and we had fun and looked pretty all day long!( Well, except for right here. )

One of the saddest realizations I've come to recently is that, while I would never have gotten as involved with David as I have, had I not known for certain that the relationship came with an intractable expiration date, the fact remains that I am much more involved with him than I thought I would be. And I am leaving in three weeks, and neither of us wants to be tied to the phone for five years.

I am going to miss him like crazy.

Ever since that disturbing firing-squad meeting with my uber-boss, I've had a bad taste in my mouth. It's the thick, cottony sensation that no matter where I turn now, no matter what I do, I will end up dissatisfied.

Perhaps I'm too swayed by what other people think. (It's part of the burden of being a high self-monitor, my greatest strength and greatest curse.) But I just want someone to be happy for me about going to Georgia. Every time someone (including my parents/family members) asks, "wait, is that a good school?" or "are you really going to be happy in Georgia?" or says, "wow, I never thought you'd go there..." the cotton in my mouth swells until I can't move my tongue to respond.

The sad thing is, if my uber-boss had told me, "we love your work, we appreciate what you do, here's some more money, why don't you stay?" I would have been seriously tempted. Instead he said, "your choice of grad school sucks, you obviously didn't get good advice because you don't know what you're doing, stick with me and I'll write you a letter so you won't have to go somewhere sub-par." My Leonine pride cannot accept that. He couldn't pay me enough to stay, now.

Maybe I'll end up hating Georgia. (I still question my own motivations for accepting their offer, honestly - am I really as logical as I tell myself I am?) Maybe I will regret not staying in this job (though I doubt it). At this point, I'd rather figure that out there than here. I just have to survive these next two months of doubt.

Friday - Leave from a weird day at work to go to the Slide, a bar in Chelsea, with beautiful Matt (an act which caused me to unintentionally reject nikui; sorry Jean!). Manage to remain sober enough to have an actual conversation with Matt's boyfriend; come to the realization that while he may be more physically attractive, I think I have a better personality (and isn't that more important?). Get asked out by one of Matt's friends, a high school teacher who looks like Tiger Woods.

Saturday - Get invited to a party by the Tiger Woods guy. Unfortunately, am already double-booked; leave for Neta's birthday party at Chez es Saada. Some bellydancing, a couple of mojitos and a little drama later, the party crew (Heather, Dave, me, Diana) leave for Arc. Am apprehensive, given last experience with $5 cover night was me, Heather and half of Canal Street; however, while evening is still on the A-Train, the Asian Invasion is not as pronounced.

Sunday - Initial dinner of the OPT-ECT conference. Thanks to the power of self-presentation, talk out of my ass for three hours about such topics as refried beans, my cats, and Hebrew University. Ask my boss about my job; much vagueness. Get a call from Jeff only after the nuns are in bed and it is too late for me to return it.

I swear some day soon I am going back to making intelligent posts.

Another day, another blow job.

I finally had my long-awaited second (or third?) date with Jeff. At some point in my development I probably would have had issues with quasi-seeing three men at once, but for me right now it makes perfect sense. I hang out with (redacted); I make out with Patrick; and I share a deep, intellectual bond with Jeff. I guess ideally I could find one person with whom to do all three, but I am content. Of course Jeff and I also hooked up, at his (silent) insistence, and afterwards I eloquently explored my post-modern crisis via instant messaging. I was astonished not so much by my actions as by the fact that I am nothing like the way I thought that I would be. I thought sex would be completely tied up with emotion for me, that I would hurl myself bodily and spiritually at anyone even remotely available; this is why, for so many years, I held myself back. In fact, I am very...free. It's a little like (I imagine) being high on acid (would be): I'm actually freaked by how liberated I am. I have completely transcended personal boundaries.

Intoxicated by this sensation of finally getting past my romantic issues, I collapsed into bed and dreamed. My family was going on a luxury cruise that cost 792 British pounds, and with the logic of dreams they had invited Aaron to go along. But he couldn't pay, so I ended up paying 400 pounds of his fare. When he found out he tried to chase me to give it back, and then somehow I was chasing him, and we were running up and down through the ship, we made out in the cargo hold underneath a lifeboat, got caught in a student rally on the pool deck, and ended up in a lounge with my parents. He started tickling me and I fell off the couch where I was sitting, and we were lying on the floor in front of my mom, who asked, "So how are things going with your Jewish boyfriend?" And I answered, "Well! Really, really well..." He leaned over me and we kissed, and I woke up smiling...

...until I realized what had happened. Then I sat bolt upright, grabbed for my head, yelled "Oh FUCK!" into the darkness of my bedroom. Again, my own mind has betrayed me. Even after having sexual contact with another man (someone I actually care about, which made it infinitely better than the time before), I still dream only of him. So all of my feelings of emotional and sexual freedom were a lie. I can afford to divorce myself from the physical act with Jeff because I have no emotion left over to invest in him. I don't know how to stop loving Aaron. Maybe I can't.

No. I will get past this. No matter how long or how many men it takes, I still believe that I am capable of anything. It's just that there's a part of me (a big part of me) that doesn't want to let go of it at all.

It has come to my attention recently that a large number of gay men are, in fact, socially retarded. A theory was put forward to explain this, claiming that as homosexuals are the only minority which is almost universally raised by parents belonging to the dominant majority, there is a very short span of time during which we can develop as individuals belonging to a particular culture - that is, gay/queer/bi/whatever. In general, I agree with this, but there are certain skills which are fundamental, which shouldn't vary from culture to culture. For example, if you have been openly staring at someone for several hours, and he moves over close to you, doesn't it seem common courtesy for you to introduce yourself? Especially if he is talking to your friend who is standing right beside you?

Not that I really have any room to talk; I'm just as socially retarded as anyone else. I suppose it takes a certain amount of blind faith, or stupidity, or supreme self-confidence to say hello to someone you don't know. The club atmosphere doesn't help, as it is loud and dark and lends itself to anonymity. Beyond this, however, it seems gay men look toward a prince-and-princess ideal for relationships, and everyone wants to be the princess, everyone wants to have love charge down and sweep them off their feet. No one wants to be the one to do the charging. In a club, this translates into "the game": "I'm looking at you! Oh wait no I'm not. Yes I am! No I'm not. Are you coming over here or do I have to look at you again?"

As an interesting aside, the only person I actually did make out with on New Year's was Heather. And it was nice. I guess this means I'm firmly back in the bisexual camp...are bisexuals as socially retarded as gay men? Is there hope for me yet?

I have been sleeping on an air mattress for four months now; in pursuit of a Zen lifestyle, my bedroom contains only said air mattress, two suitcases, a dozen or so sheets of poetry, eight origami birds, five origami butterflies, and two origami nuns flanking a picture of the Pope. To be fair, it is a really nice air mattress, as air mattresses go. It's self inflating and has support coils and a "FabriGrip" top to keep my sheets from sliding off. But nearly three months of dealing with sharp, hyperactive kitten claws would be enough for any inflatable bedroom product, and I regret to say that my air mattress has finally given up the ghost. At this point, if I inflate it before going to bed, I will invariably wake up two hours later lying on the floor. I would try to find the puncture wound, but that implies there is only one puncture wound, which, given Moishe's penchant for kneading the mattress with his claws, is probably not the case. And so I am forced to break down at last and make the pilgrimage to IKEA.

I cannot really understand New Yorkers' fascination with IKEA. I've heard, "It's SO cheap and SO cool and SO Swedish..." As far as I can tell, the quality of their products is far from excellent. However, it is on the cheap side (at least cheaper than buying, say, an actual bed from an actual furniture store), and since I only want a futon to last me eight more months, Swedish manufacturing seems like the right option for the moment. Now all I need is a car to get me there...

I would also like to report that my normal self-biasing tendencies have re-asserted themselves, due largely to a mental slap in the face I got yesterday afternoon when I reminded myself that I believe I am capable of anything, personality-wise. My emotions are completely protected from all external stimuli! I am a psychological ubermensch! Any low I experienced on this weekend I am going to blame on the physical after-effects of my endless New Year's Eve.

Beyond the window where we do the shocking the Hudson uncoils
itself in steely grey between the teeth of towers –
once I saw anemic glints of sun caught on the river’s tongue to
dart away like fish.

Beyond her mind, the doctor’s hands draw near, a day arises
from the fog – clear as Saturday,
seven years, a cake with four layers and cream, her mother stitched
her dress and someone laughed – the third
long jolt and then the dream pulls back like eyes within her skull.

Beyond, the sadness spreads itself
in steely coils – the seizure wipes her clean, her Saturdays a flash
of sun too soon snuffed out as eyes pull back
and once more cease to dream.

I flirted with many people during my 22 consecutive hours of New Year's partying, had two gaydar malfunctions and made three people uncomfortable with my sexuality. But the only person whose attentions I actually responded to, who danced with me and later invited me to "chill," proved to be yet another link in the inescapable chain of my destiny.

20 minutes or so into the "chill" phase, when we were awkwardly moving past hand-touching, his friend came up and said, "lol u guys are a cute couple," and then as an aside to me, "u kno he has a boyfriend rite?" I laughed, the guy I was with laughed, and then I froze and turned to him. "Wait...is that true?" To which he responded, "yah lol :\" Thankfully at that moment Heather came over and said, "It's almost five (in the evening of the 1st...we had started partying at 7 the night before) and we're tired, do you want to go?" Why yes! I am an ass, kkthxbye.

I am sick of shoving emotion at people who are already attached, even if it is reciprocated. And if this weekend did nothing else, at least it showed me how horrible I've been to encourage such feelings. I am yet another gay man who doesn't respect the sanctity of relationships (unintentionally or otherwise). For a self-professed romantic, that is (or should be) a high crime.

So my New Year's resolution is this: find love or don't, care for all equally, and let other loves bloom where they're planted.

Thank God we have cats to remind us that no matter what revelations we come to, and no matter what boys do to us, something on this earth still thinks that we deserve to be loved. <3 <3

Let's be honest: New Year's is my least favorite holiday.

I forgot to mention...I also lost the big "V" of my virginity last night. It was hot (actually, it was really hot), but it made me realize two things. 1) Sex is a LOT of work. I think I still prefer kissing and cuddling - also, you share a much deeper connection with someone by spooning and talking with them than you do moaning unintelligibly. 2) I am a burgeoning FREAK. I always kind of suspected that I would be bizarre in bed (16 years of Catholic schooling will do that to you), but I really had no idea...

Anyway, lest anyone think this was a random decision on my part, I would like to remind you that it was heavily premeditated. Eventually I came to realize that no one cares about my uber-virginity, myself included. In fact, by the end, it was more of a barrier to my personal growth than anything else. And I am by no means going to throw all morals to the wind; I am still holding a lot back for the person I love, and by Ohio law (yay for Ohio), I am still technically a virgin. So the journal's staying as it is, and I'm staying as I am, just a little wiser and one step closer to living the life of Bright Lights, Big City.

There is definitely something wrong with me. I don't think normal people are turned on by the sight of their computer-generated Sims making out. But I am.

I'm currently attempting to convince myself that it is possible to live a life without boundaries. This is proving difficult mainly because there are very significant boundaries; they're the boundaries of self-definition imposed by the mind to grandfather our experiences into some semblance of meaning. Of course, once one realizes that the personality is a construct of the self and not some inalterable TRUTH handed down from a higher power, it should be easy to subvert the structures that limit one. But I've already run into two big barriers, myself, and though I suspect I can overcome them, it's going to take some time.

What is it about New York that simultaneously makes me happy and yet causes me to yearn for death?

LOL sex joke: HAY WATS ^???
Charlie: AARON
LOL sex joke: HOW DID U NO IT WAS ME :-((
LOL sex joke: I WAS TIEPING IN CODE

Actually, the whole thing with my family turned out...better than I had expected. My mom apologized to me the next day. And my little brother (while we were watching Queer Eye for the Straight Guy) came over to sit next to me, and said, "Charlie, I'm not really prejudiced against gay people. I was just so shocked when you told me." Then he gave me a big hug, and things went back to normal.

My brother Frank and my sister Linda have said nothing to me about it, but I know they've accepted. Ted teases me about it (mostly due to my restrictively tight wardrobe choices), but he's a lot more tolerant than I would have expected, given that he is a testosterone-fueled jock machine. And little by little my parents are becoming completely comfortable with talking to me about my love life.

When the love is there, especially in a family, there's very little that can't be forgiven, accepted, and moved past.

I love my family. I always thought I could live with them forever, if I needed to; that my parents could be my best friends and my siblings, my playmates. I had forgotten how much fun Frank and I have together, and even Ted, distant in the past, has gotten a lot warmer since going to Notre Dame.

It makes me sad, therefore, this realization that I don't belong here. Out of the blue, earlier tonight, Joseph came up and asked, "Charlie, are you gay?" I had warned my mom years ago that if anyone in the family asked me directly about my sexuality, I wasn't going to lie, so I said, "Yes." He then told me, "Oh no! Don't you know I'm horribly prejudiced against gay people?" When I asked him why, he just said, "Because they're weird." Then he went to tell my mom how deeply offended he was that I was gay. My mom of course was upset that I had told him, and pulled me down the basement to "discuss" it with me. "Discuss" might be too strong a word. We whispered, and when I raised my voice to make a point she said, "I can't talk to you about this if you're going to be so loud." Even though at this point everyone in the house knows about my sexuality, she still feels like it should somehow be kept a secret.

I accused her of having issues with me being gay, and she denied it, but said she didn't want to talk to Joseph about his bias because he "wasn't ready." I said that if he was old enough to be homophobic, he's old enough to know that being gay is something natural, not "weird" and disgusting, as he seems to think it is. She couldn't really say anything after I steamrolled her arguments with my liberated New Yorker philosophy. I ended by saying, "I'm so glad I live in New York...I couldn't survive in this environment any more." Then we both went upstairs.

It is sad. But it's true. I've progressed too far for this stupidity. I could never move back to Cincinnati, the only city in Ohio with an anti-anti-discrimination law. And I guess I will just have to deal with feeling repressed around my family...I love them enough that I can handle it, for a little while at least.

Gus: "Hey, I've got some (raggedy stamped-over ostentatiously grey) sample fabric...LET'S MAKE CURTAINS!"

Me: "...every gay nerve in my body is rebelling. I'm sorry, I just...have to go."

So this is the long and short (mostly the short) of the conversation I had with Allison on Sunday. We're both Catholic virgins, we're both seeing multiple people, and we both have a lot of sexual hang-ups. First and foremost, both of us (whether or not Allison admits it) have staked a disproportionately huge part of our self-definition on our virginity. I don't know the reason for this, exactly, even for myself. I'm sure religion is in there somewhere...and the pride that always comes from being unique. I am, after all, the only gay Virgin (with a big "v") I know. Advocate magazine had an article on gay virginity. The guy, Eric, featured in it was very open about his virginity. I was all happy, since he is 24, and so I figured there was still hope for me. Then he says, and I (para) quote, "I think virginity is a sliding scale...it's all about not going as far as you want to go. A few years ago, I had done everything I wanted to do, so I didn't consider myself a virgin. Now I want to have anal sex, but I'm not letting myself, so I'm a virgin again." Wow Eric. I didn't realize it was so easy. I don't drink every night, even when I want to...does that mean I can call myself abstinent? :D

But the more and more I think about it, the most interesting people I know are the people without sex issues. Freedom, unconventionality, great stories; I doubt they come from clinging to virginity. Allison and I agreed we have no moral reason not to experiment with our sexuality. She wants to wait until she has a reason to experiment, and I think for her, the only sufficient reason will be true love. I do want to wait until I'm in a committed relationship to do some things, but certain others I feel are more negotiable. The only reason I need (and it is a reason which Allison took on board as well) is self-growth. I feel that I (and she) have reached a certain plateau in my development as a person. In order to progress beyond this, I need to know what I'm capable of, how I am in certain situations, especially sexual and relational ones (which St. Xavier High School and the University of Notre Dame have left me ill-equipped to deal with). So for me, and for her too I guess, the only question remaining is, how far can we go?

This then is my dilemma. Is oral sex still considered sex? If I got to that level with someone, could I still consider myself a virgin? By Ohio law, I still would be...but in the eyes of the world? In my own eyes? I'm not sure. Neither is Allison, and I'm glad to know that at least someone else out there is struggling with these same issues.

As always, any feedback would be appreciated...