twenty-something

Every morning, as I approach my new native T stop, Oak Grove, I am filled with a sense of dread. When I enter, I will be faced with two options -- Metro or BostonNOW, two of Beantown's free commuter paper offerings -- and a very high-stakes choice.

There are other options, of course -- the Phoenix, Improper Bostonian -- but these are the free dailies, and these are the papers that hire people, real live people, to push the latest issue in your face. And therein lies the choice.

I simply do not know how to meet people in real life.

Michiganian Transplant at Malden Stop & Shop? - m4m - 27

Ah, symmetry.

Hard to believe that, one year ago, I was counting down the days before I left Vermont to move in with my best friend in Manhattan. One year ago, I was four days away from that big move. One year later, I'm four days away from another big move -- this one to a newly-renovated-but-very-familiar apartment five minutes north of downtown Boston with my other best friend. Yes, after three months living on E. 14th Street, a block from Union Square, I'm fully settled in Red Sox Nation and ready -- not just ready, wicked psyched -- for my next move to, technically, the 'burbs.

Is this where I would have foreseen myself when I left the Green Mountains for the Big City last year? Not a chance. My life's not particularly glamorous and it's far from perfect, but I'm a heck of a lot happier than I've been in a long time. And that, ultimately, is why I left Vermont -- which, for the record, I miss desperately, but I was desperately unhappy there. Those three months in New York and the last nine months here in Boston have been exactly what I needed, full of those things that my old life was so devoid of -- experience, excitement, mistakes, old friends and new blood -- and missing the things that took so much energy -- drama, stress, Duncan. And after a year of moving around, of new people and places, of practically non-stop dating, a year of good-byes and hellos and more good-byes, I am ready to settle down. To stop and smell the summer. To stop jumping and finally let myself fall.

Am I satisfied yet? Hell no. But I'm living a happier, healthier life here, one virtually free of oppressive blood drives, Chicken Charlie's, and a certain bad ex-boyfriend, and that's worth celebrating.

Danielle and I saw Josh Kelley at The Paradise here in Boston last Friday.

Though we were in the midst of the St. Paddy's Day nor'easter (which cancelled my NYC trip the following day) and Yelli's knee was in a brace, the show was fantastic. Josh was great, as were his opening acts (but where was Jennifer Paige?!).

This is not a bomb, but it's now an eBay auction.

Yesterday, Boston was gripped by fear because of an ad campaign for the Cartoon Network show, Aqua Teen Hunger Force, worried that light-up cartoon characters were actually the work of terrorists. Me? My office had a little buzz and we saw a couple helicopters circling, but mainly I was afraid the Red Line would be shut down or backed up by the time I left for home. (It wasn't.)

Hey Boston -- over-react much? Clearly Beantown is unlikely to ever be the target of an attack, be it by Mooninites or terrorists.

It's cold here in Boston today or, rather, freakin' freezing. And while most are complaining (Yelli is annoyed that everyone is asking her "Cold enough for ya?"), I'm downright thrilled.

Yes, it is cold enough for me -- because, I have to confess, I love cold and I love cliches. It's not winter until it's in the single digits or lower. The end of January is simply too late in the season for this. Spring won't feel earned when it finally arrives in a few months.

So I'm happy because the cold is what I'm used to and it reminds me of home -- but I'm really thrilled to be wearing my favorite one piece union suit for this first time this year.

There's something about the form-fitting second skin under my civilian clothing that makes me feel like a mormon lumberjack, and I like it. I feel warm, practical, sexy, and turned on, just by my underwear.

And in case you were wondering -- mine's red, too.

It's the first snow of the season here in Boston. Though not much fell, and it's already quickly melting, it feels like an old friend has stopped by for a short visit...

It's amazing to me how much snow feels like home.

I was only out of the office for three days, but what a difference it's made. This morning's commute felt like a different experience, and not just because I left an hour early. My daily ride on the red line was refreshed and the T felt like new. I'm sure it'll wear off by the time I head home tonight, but this AM, it felt damn good.

My trip home to Vermont was excellent. Awesome. Super. Allergy-filled. It felt great to be back north, but it felt even better to return to Boston. I suppose that's the measure of calling a place home.

It's now my eighth day of gainful employment. After only working two weeks since early June, it's been a bit of a transition. Getting up in the morning. Wearing khakis and button downs (and dress shoes, no Crocs or sneakers). Putting in 40+ hours. Falling asleep before seeing a single minute of Studio 60 (and me without a DVR). It's all taking some getting used to.

Now that I'm in my second week, I'm getting the hang of it again. I'm starting to feel like a real human, contributing to society. My social life is beginning to take shape, little by little, as I find myself with some energy at the end of the day to do something besides sleep. And, hey, I'm getting a paycheck on Friday!

But the best part so far is that I'm developing a routine. I haven't had a routine in many months. And I'm kind of loving mine.

Every morning I take the eight minute walk to the Savin Hill T. I usually have just missed an Alewife-bound train, and by mere moments. I then swear to myself and I wait for the next one. But the delay allows me to scope out the platform and find a handsome stranger to stand near. This is usually a hot straight boy in a Sox hat, or a well-put-together young professional who's bubble butt looks so good in his tight dress pants. But inevitably, there is some young man who I am drawn to, some smokin' Boston boy, and I will follow him onto the train and steal glances as we face further delays together on the Red Line towards Cambridge and I listen to Mat Kearney or Snow Patrol on my iPod.

Every day, two stops from mine, as I gaze at my new love, as I listen to melancholy music probably featured on Grey's Anatomy, the robot train announcer interrupts with the most ridiculous statement I have ever heard.

"Entering Andrew," he says.

And I giggle. Andrew is a T Stop. Andrew Square, I think. But the stop is simply called "Andrew" and that automated conductor simply says, "Entering Andrew." Ridiculous, to me, considering that Andrew is my favorite name in the world. It's the name of my high school "sweetheart" of sorts, and the name of this dude I dated and liked and messed things up with last fall. And while I've technically never entered an Andrew before, there have been many times when I have wanted to... and there are parts of me that hope that, maybe someday, I will. For now, I just smile on my daily commute and think, "how fucked up is that?"

The rest of the train ride usually will pass with nothing of note. We peak above ground for a moment and cross the Charles, and it's always, predictably, gorgeous. And then, before we descend back underground, I always think, "I live in Boston." This, in my own way, is a prayer of thanks.

Kendall comes -- if my handsome stranger is still there, or if I've found another to pine after, I give one last longing glance -- and I get off. I take the long way along the river, admiring the amazing view of the city from Cambridge on my ten minute walk to the office. Upon arrival, I usually get some coffee (as much as I've tried to resist, I think that I, like America, run on Dunkin) and hit the ground running.

Then I do the same thing, in reverse, sans coffee, on an Ashmont-bound train, about eight to ten hours later.

Sometimes the commute takes a half hour. Sometimes over an hour. But every day I fall in love with a handsome stranger. Every day I enter Andrew. And every day I'm a little more thankful for my brand new life.

I dig it. I *ahem* big dig it. (When in Rome...)

With my first week of work (and the satisfying premiere of Grey's Anatomy) behind me, I depart for Provincetown for the weekend. I haven't been to P-Town since '03, when my college roommate and I spent the week after graduation out on the Cape, so I'm fairly excited to return to this beautiful beach haven. Tomorrow's the first day of fall and I can't think of a better place to celebrate.

Boston feels good.

I've arrived in Boston. It's only been about eight hours, but already I feel like I belong. Earlier, as I approached the city and prepared to cross the (beloved-by-me) Zakim Bridge (above), "Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol (a tune which is currently a favorite song, but certain to be an over-played washout by October) came on WBOS at that very moment -- and it felt like I was in an ad for a TV show about my life, to premiere right after Grey's Anatomy. You know, The gay Vermont boy goes to Boston to find love and success... Yes, it was that dramatic and yet... somehow right.

Glory, glory... I have found housing in Boston!

I will be living in Dorchester ("the largest neighborhood within the City of Boston," according to wikipedia), on Jones Hill -- the very nice part of Dot, which is allegedly the "new South End" (for whatever that is worth). It's on the same color T line as work and its seeming close to everything. Plus the pad is pretty dang sweet.

Such a relief to have finally secured housing! Work starts a week from tomorrow and I was starting to get a bit anxious. But it looks like I've found the right fit.

I drive down from Vermont on Saturday. Then back to NYC for the day to pick up my remaining stuff there on Sunday. And then next week I settle in. And, you know, fret about the new job...

Much to do this weekend, but I think I may sleep soundly tonight, without obsessive craigslist scouring... at last!

I got a job offer yesterday. I accepted it today.

Within a month, I will be working and living in Boston.

It feels good.

Anxiety over finding an apartment? Moving stress? Bring it on.

I'm moving to Boston.

I quit my job today.

While it still doesn't quite seem real, and while it wasn't easy, it certainly seems right.

As of June 30th -- or perhaps sooner -- I will no longer be an employee of the University of Vermont, an institution that has been my home for six and a half years, as a student and then as a staff member. I resigned of my own free will, not due to blogging or other controversy. My reasons for leaving now are both personal and political, and while I may reveal them here at a later date, for now those reasons will remain my own.

This news also means that I'll be leaving my home state of Vermont. For my friends and longtime readers of this blog, this news should hardly come as a shock. I've had a conflicted relationship with Burlington for years. I've longed for something new, different, more urban. I haven't been able to thrive as a gay man or a twenty-something at UVM or in Vermont for some time. In fact, I've been downright unhappy with many aspects of my life, particularly in the past year. It was time for a change.

So it would appear that, after years of thinking, longing, and whining, I've finally taken action. My resignation letter has been handed in.

At long last I am taking the next step. I am moving to Boston this spring or summer. No turning back now.

I know that leaving won't solve all my problems. In fact, it won't solve any, really, and will probably cause more. I'm a little scared to leave a good job and a decent life -- comfort -- for who knows what, but I'm more excited. After six years at UVM, and over twenty in Vermont, it's time to go.

I was born here -- literally on the UVM campus, in what is now known as the Fletcher Allen Medical Center. I like to think that I began my life here twice -- first as a ruddy, redheaded newborn in 1980, and again as a transfer student in 2000. I think I learned more in the past six and a half years than in the nineteen before them, not necessarily from my studies, but from life. There have been great victories and crushing defeats, highs and lows... This place made me the man I am today.

I'm leaving now because I can still say that I love this place. I'll leave behind friends and family, a good job in an excellent department, and a city that feels like a part of me. I'll leave behind a life and many, many memories. In Burlington and UVM, I found, for the first time since I was nine years old, a place to truly call home. It's been an interesting ride -- amazing, conflicted, tumultuous. I leave now because I can still call this place home, because I know will always be able to, even as I search for a new place to belong.

Wish me luck. A new chapter -- a new direction -- for this twenty-something officially begins today.

My latest launt to Boston is coming to an end. My noon check-out time looms and though I won't be headed back to Burlington until Friday, this part of the trip is over.

I'm actually tremendously sad. It's been a good trip, per usual, but some suprises have me extra unwilling to leave. Though I'll be back here in just a week, and though I'm sure my trips will be more frequent than my usual monthly visits, I don't want to go home.

Home? Heh. Over the past six days, this hotel room has felt more like home than Vermont has in the past six months. It's taken me finally starting to find myself again to realize exactly how lost I've been lately.

What a downer.

But hey -- It's a sunshine day and there's two days of fun with Yelli ahead! Time to check out.

Well, not exactly blinding -- not at all, actually -- but to a northern lad like myself it's still pretty cool. In Boston for the next few days for work, and this is the sweet view from my hotel room last night (for some reason I really like taking pictures from hotel windows). I love this town.

Posted on 02/18/06 at 12:14 PM | Comments (3)
Tagged: Boston

This run is an annual fundraiser for the Ellie Fund, a Massachusetts breast cancer charity. Since 1999, Boston dudes -- both hot and not -- have been stripping down for the greater good.

Hot men with hot packages in cold weather aside, the run reminds me of the spirit of Boston that I love so much -- a city where its people will find a way to make money for a cause by doing things like pub crawls, motorcycle rides, and near-naked streaking in winter. That's a city that I love.

[Via, predictably, towleroad -- many more hot photos can be found over there, too. And visit the run's official site for other pics and, even, videos!]

I'm back in Vermont. The house is quiet, lonely. Even the dog is mellow, not demanding any attention tonight. I thought I'd dig having the place to myself, but after a social long weekend in Boston, I'm not eager to sleep alone -- be it alone in my bed, or alone under this roof.

It was a fine trip to Beantown, full of holiday-flavored Starbucks drinks, futher shopping procrastination, and even more beer that usual. Thursday I spent as I planned -- in a self-imposed exile. I spent it alone, in town, without my usual support or defenses. I strolled the streets solo, ate by myself, and ended up in my comfy hotel bed before midnight.

Friday was spent out and about, some of it in frigid rain, much of it with my ex-boyfriend. Ended up in Fanieul Hall that night for dinner and drinks with a few quality folks, including said ex and his older brother. A slightly awkward night saved by a decent cover band at Paddy O's. Straight people are so weird.

So I did see Brokeback Mountain on Saturday with Yelli, Natalie, and Matt. We chased that with dinner at Fire + Ice (yum), sipping caramel apple martinis and sitting next to a plump, odd British woman whom we dubbed "Nanny 9/11" (That one's for you, Nat.). With full bellies, we ended up an odd house party in Somerville (where I got to see a few familiar faces, ones I don't see very often these days). Got back to my hotel at 4AM. Ugh.

I'm a tired boy this evening, but it was worth it. Good times.

So here are five quick thoughts on the much-hyped cinematic event of 2005:

1.) Harvard Square is a cool place to see a movie, but the seats suck. My butt was numb before any on-screen buttsex -- and that's no good.

2.) I need to get this out of the way next: seeing The Princess Diaries' boobs was disturbing. Very, very disturbing. In fact, anytime Anne Hathaway (Lureen) was on screen, was I was fighting hard to suppress giggles, even in her final, powerful scene. Giggles. I think it was all of the ridiculous hairstyles. And that Disney thing, too. (See also: 2005 Guide to Modern American History As Told Through Anne Hathaway's Hair in Brokeback Mountain - via towleroad.)

3.) Everybody else can go on about Jakey (so over him, the actor) and Ledger (so powerful, the actor as Ennis). They rocked. The film was breath-taking with the two leads together on screen. But how about the supporting cast? I thought everybody put in stellar performances -- despite the fact that the female casting in general was distracting for me. Besides Princess Diaries (as I mentioned above), you have powerful parts played by actresses best know for very silly parts -- on Dawson's Creek (Michelle Williams), and in Scooby Doo (Linda Cardellini) and Scary Movie (Anna Farris). They all did great -- especially Williams (ex-Jenn) and Farris (in a brief-but-delightful surprise cameo) -- but the giggle factor, which not as high as it was for Hathaway, was always in the background for me.

4.) I'm shocked that I haven't seen more blog-ink spilled over David Harbour, who plays Randall Malone (Anna Farris' husband). Granted, he only shows up in one scene, but he's a fairly important character -- and really, really cute. Considering the gay blogs that I read (check the blogroll), I'm really surprised that I can't recall a single mention of this hunky, bearded man (on the right, clean shaven). He was much hunkier than Jake and Heath (but maybe that's just me). He looks kind of like a lost Fisher brother from Six Feet Under. I hate when people say "woof" about hot scruffy guys -- really, really hate it -- but Harbour kinda makes me want to say it. Is that a good thing? (Anybody have any other pics of him?)

4.) The hype -- and expectations that come with it -- will ruin this movie for many folks. It didn't ruin it for me, but it might have.

5.) The two straight women in our party were the ones crying. Heartless Matt was dry as a bone. My eyes were misty and I shed a single tear. I wanted to be sobbing. I wanted the film to take hold of me, bend me over and make me it's bitch, but it didn't. It was emotional, powerful, really good -- but it just didn't hit me the way I wanted -- expected -- it too. Ultimately, I found Annie Proulx's tale in its original, print form to be much more affecting. Is it because I'm a reader? A writer? Because of The Princess Diaries' tits? I don't know. But I read the story three times in the past week. I cried the first time. The film is effective and well-done, remarkably faithful to the original material -- but the prose, man. You gotta read the prose.

Alright. It's time to sleep.

I'm back in Vermont -- and not by choice. I would've stayed away another week, or maybe forever, if I could've.

My jaunt to Boston proved to be longer and better that I had originally planned and imagined. It was my last visit to 51 Bartlett Street -- Yelli's home for the past five or so years, which was not only my second home for that time, but my primary one for a summer back in '03 -- and it was a bittersweet goodbye to such a great place as Yelli prepares to move this month. The weekend itself wasn't crazy-vacation-y, but it was some sort of perfect.

The only problem is -- now I'm back. And while I'm happy to be back at home, in my bed, I'm missing Yelli, the apartment, and the North Shore. I love Vermont, I do -- but I love Boston, too. And, perhaps for the first time since turning down that Boston job offer this past winter, I'm feeling drawn back to my second home, caught right back between Burlington and Beantown.

While the trip might have been just the refresh I needed right now, I'm more than a bit worried that it may be a source of more angst to come.

[Via Towleroad.]

Between moving into my new spaces both personally and professionally, starting a new job, and (back-burner) dealing with my first real separation from Duncan, I feel a bit like I'm drowning. It's stressful -- but somehow a good stress. I'm overall excited by all this change. It's movement, growth... A week ago I was rolling into work at 10AM. Now I'm rocking out to VPR on the 7AM drive in my shiny Volvo.

I am a new man.

Of course, there doesn't seem to be enough hours in the day for this kind of growth... I miss sleep, and sleeping in. Last night I got to relax and unwind for what felt like the first time in forever (it had only been since last weekend), with my new housemates, some pizza, Granny Smith flavored hard cider, and Big Brother. It was heaven.

Speaking of heaven -- and the photo above -- this afternoon I hop in the Volv' and speed down the highway towards Boston for my favorite event of the season -- the third annual "Baustin" Pub Crawl. Although I'm scared to leave for the weekend in the midst of so much stuff on the home front, I am thinking and hoping it will prove to be just the break I need before things really hit the fan next week.

Good company and good beer should hit the spot right about now, providing me with one last chance, this summer at least, to be, well, twenty-five.

So cheers to a good weekend. Here's hoping we'll hear three different cover bands at three different bars sing Bon Jovi's "Livin' on a Prayer." It's tradition.

Excitement rises as this weekend's Third Annual Baustin Pub Crawl nears, and one Ms. Natalie May (she of LiveJournal fame) wonders:

Who Called Me on Sunday Morning? So I get this mystery call from some chick being all I miss you and can't wait to see you blah blah blah and let me look for my new cell phone number for 234987239478 minutes and then SEE YOU SATURDAY. And then let me, dumbass, delete that message by accident. I pulled the cherished dial 5 during the message bit that The Bebe taught me and the call is coming from an Alison Carey...but I don't know an Alison Carey. BUT PAT R. KNOWS ALISON CAREY WHO'S GONG TO THE PUB CRAWL...but she has a different phone number than the one that calls me....so, needless to say, it's a mystery that needs solving. Suddenly I feel like Nancy Drew! The Hardy Brothers! But maybe not as dramatic or brilliant...but I have endearing charm to back me up where they are just Punk-Ass-Know-It-Alls...yes, I went there.

I'm back from Boston, tired, sweaty, and smiling. For a brief trip that I was kinda-sorta dreading, it turned out to be an excellent surprise. Good company. Good food. Lots of laughs. Both mind-blowing and mind-clearing...

Yeah. It's like that, y'all.

And for those wondering: I wouldn't call the trip -- or anything that happened on the trip -- a rebound.

I would call it a renewal.

Some difficult times still lie ahead. I know that. But fuck -- I haven't smiled like this in ages.

I'm obviously not very excited about this trip as I keep forgetting it's happening -- but I am going to be in Boston this week for a work trip. I should be excited, though. The comp time reaped from it allows me to take a couple long weekends! And, like, all my friends live in Boston! And I get to eat for free and spend two nights in the (allegedly) swanky Park Plaza Towers! Giddy up!

Not a bad deal. Three (hopefully painless) days spend doing work-type-things. Two (hopefully fabulous) nights spend amongst old friends in Beantown. I'm hoping it turns out to be a good visit -- it feels improptu, by my own doing, for lack of thought or planning. Hopefully I will get to see some buds. Hopefully I won't waste too much time or energy trying to find a well-picked rebound guy to share my (allegedly) swanky hotel bed with -- because we all know that Boston gays, with few exceptions, are bitches. (Boston readers: send applications -- quickly -- here.)

*sigh* Bitchy guys and work aside, I could really use two amazing nights in Boston right about now. I really could.

Tomorrow morning (err, Saturday, whatever) I head to the Greater Boston area for the Fifth Annual "Flip Fest" BBQ Blowout, the gala event of the summer social season. Hours of sun, good friends, orange-soda-and-vodka, keg beer, lots of grilled meats, and -- of course -- a very competative flip cup tourney! Don't you wish you were invited?

This year may not have it's own logo, but I'm confident that it will be the best Flip Fest yet!

Opportunity knocked. And I said, "No thank you."

Today I withdrew my candidacy from that Boston job I thought I wanted, the one I sent a bad resume to, the one I had a lukewarm interview with. And after all that fuss, I ended up pulling out before seeing it through.

I had been invited back for a second interview last Friday, and I spent the days since on the fence. My sense is that I would've gotten the job. All I had to do was win over a Dean I wasn't able to meet at my first interview. It would've been a decent job at a good school, in the city I love, and I decided to pass.

My gut was saying no. I figured I ought to listen.

Afterall, my gut has gotten me where I am now, which, despite the fact that I am looking for a change, is a pretty good place.

My gut told me not to go into massive amounts of debt to study journalism at Boston University back in 1998. It had me leave the University of Rhode Island, where I ended up instead of BU, after a wild Freshman year. It forced me back to Vermont, back to school, after a semester off spent working at a grocery store. And, finally, it made me to quit a respectable job as a high school English teacher, just a month before it was to start, and come back to Burlington, in hopes of landing the job I currently have.

I have to trust that my gut knows me better than I know myself.

The job I passed on would've been great, I have no doubt. And I would've done well in it.

But I know it wasn't me.

There's nothing like a week away to make you realize, hey, I might actually still like my job. I'm back in the office now (working hard, as you can see -- blogging, listening to iTunes, and downloading some music from kids in the dorms). I'm finding that I actually missed this place -- my co-workers, my iMac, my view, my job -- and it feels good to be back.

So it's been a nice, lazy homecoming and I feel recharged. What does this mean for my job prospects, for my desire to move? Ultimately, I think it just means that I'm comfortable here and, in many ways, I am happy. But a big part of me still wants, needs, a big change -- and so it's going to be a big bitch when it comes time to ultimately decide between the status quo and the shadowy future.

Why can't this job and most of my co-workers just magically transport itself to Boston? I want my cake, and I want to eat it, too. But that isn't possible, is it?

*sigh*

At least it's good to be back. For now.

(Funny thing: Pat McGee's live cover of "Love The One You're With" just came on shuffle. Hmph.)

My interview went OK on Friday. The stock answer I've been feeding people when they ask is: "It was lukewarm. I don't know how much they liked me, or how much I liked them, but we'll see." And I suppose that's the truth.

I don't know how I did, so I think the worst, naturally -- just as I did with my phone interview. And as for the job/workplace itself -- there was good, there was bad, and there was a lot of in between. It's very different from what I'm used to, and I do have it pretty good, job-wise, back in Vermont -- so it's going to be a big change. Which, afterall, is what I think I want/need...

I'm a bundle of thoughts and emotions on the subject -- and I'm choosing to repress them until I have to deal with them, which will be when I hear back about the position. I cannot tell you if I would say yes or no if I was offered this job on Monday. I really can't.

It's now 1AM and it's my last night in Boston for who knows how long. I'm fairly buzzed and barely articulate, in Yelli's living room, with Duncan asleep on the couch next to me. I don't know much else -- but this feels right.

Quick note from Yelli's kitchen on the North Shore:

I'm all dressed up in my brand-new suit, and I'm chopping at the bit to hop on the T and do this thing. Interview starts in a little under two hours. I'm not quite nervous -- more full-of-dread. My Engligh snafu forced my confidence to take a nose dive for a few days, but now I'm over it and ready to be amazing and get this damn job.

(After thinking of many Seinfeld-ian fixes to this resume problem, I realized that my life is not a sitcom, that woman was unprofessional, and I'm human. I made a mistake -- albeit it a huge, horrific mistake -- and all I can do is bring a new copy of the thing. It'd call the misspelling of my English degree a bit ironic, but I was such a bad student that I'm not sure if that's the correct use of the word, or Alanis'. But I digress...)

I guess what I'm really worried about is not wanting this job after all this. I'm getting a worse and worse impression of this job, these people, this school -- and though it sounds ideal (I'm qualified; it's up my alley; it includes housing; it's in Boston), I'm starting to think that maybe it's gonna suck.

Either way, wish me luck... Chin up. Happy face. Let's do this.

So tomorrow I leave for a conference in sunny Minneapolis, Minnesota until Wednesday. Then I'm home for a night. Then I rocket down to Boston for the President's Day weekend -- beginning a fancy-smansy job interview on Friday. Pat me on the back later.

It felt good to be able to change my voicemail and email auto-reply to state "out of the office until Tuesday, February 22nd." Lord knows, I need this break.

I can't bring myself to pack for tomorrow, though. I couldn't even bring myself to do laundry this week so, out of desperation, I had to go to Wal-Mart today to buy a couple packs of clean underwear so I wouldn't run out this week. Luckily I only have to wear t-shirts, jeans, and hoodies at this conference, but still, I'm lacking the motivation to throw them all into a bag.

Now that you know my packing status -- my blogging status is up in the air, true believers. I'm bringing my computer, but I'm not sure what's up with internet access at the hotel or what my schedule looks like. But rest assured -- I am too damn addicted to this damn thing to go two long without logging on (especially since hits here hit an all-time high today).

Wish me luck as I head out west -- and let me know if you need anything at the Mall of America. Yee haw!

Remember that job I applied to in Boston exactly one month ago? After a tepid phone interview last week, I got a call back today. They're "very interested" in having me come to campus for an interview. Which means I'm a finalist for the position. Rock! Boston, here I come?

Of course, this all has happened in a voicemail so far. I need to call and schedule something. And get new clothes. And print resumes. And just when I was about to start thinking about moving to NYC...

It's 11 and I'm home. That was interesting, I suppose. I'm fairly drunk -- surprisingly articulate for how drunk I am. My Friendster meeting turned out to be fine. Fine if you like listening to someone else talk a lot about boring and unimportant things, treating them like they are the most important and crucial bits of info out there in the world. He was nice enough, but not my cup of tea. For a friend, or a date, or a fuck-buddy, or whatever. He was cute, I guess, but not quite like his picture. And though I went into this without any expectations, I guess I am a little disappointed. Towards the end, I was actually thinking, "I need to fuck him or ditch him" and, thankfully, I was able to get rid of him through the latter means. I'm home now and I'm waiting for some take-out. Might go to a party, might not.

I miss Yelli. I miss Malden and Boston. I miss college. I miss the way things used to be with Dunc. I miss having a life. But on the bright side: Duncan aside, I think if it ever comes down to it, I am ready to start dating again. And doofy little Friendster meetings and the like are thickening my skin for it. That's an up, eh?

I suppose this is exactly why part of me hates all this online blog/journal stuff from unqualified folks like himself. Unnecessary posts about unnecessary things. Forget drunk-dialing. I'm drunk-blogging.

This is on my mind:

Polo shirts. Rugby shirts...

My obsession of the moment (and I do mean moment, as I have just been stuck on this idea for about thirty minutes) is gay mens rugby.

Oh, yes. For the uninitiated, there is such a thing. And, apparently, it's big in Boston. There's a real team, the Ironsides, and its all gay guys. And they play for real. This totally rocks. And, apparently, there's a whole gay sports community in town (PrideSports Boston). Who knew such things existed?

The city is a place of wonder and magic, and I am a wide-eyed country mouse.

Anyway, I was "recruited" for the team on one of my visits to "Boys Town" in Boston last February. Well, let's just say some of the guys were there, and they talked to me, and were disappointed I didn't live in town. (I was so flattered that I carried around their business card for about nine months until I finally took it out of my wallet not long ago.) And I suddenly realized, today, that I could be living in this magical, wonderful, gay-jock city this year!!

So I visited their website today. It's filled with pictures of cute men, camaraderie, acceptance, and open-mindedness. (They even start their season with a pub crawl! I love pub crawls!) Here's an excerpt of their mission statement:

A Diverse and Committed Group of Men
The men who make up Boston Ironsides come from wildly varying backgrounds both on the field and off. We have players just out of college, and players who have lived half of their lives since college. Some of our members have been playing Rugby for years, while others have only just started. We celebrate the differences that make us strong as a team, and look forward to continuing to add new diversity to our ranks.

Of course, these things will never happen. But it's a nice thought, eh? Me on a rugby team, even a gay rugby team? It'd probably be worse that episode of Friends where Ross plays the game to impress his British girlfriend. The fact that I am resorting to Friends references in a post about a manly sport shows you my potential. I may have "the build" for it, I may be fairly masculine, but do I really have the demeanor? At least I'm open to the idea. Look at me. Mr. Open-To-New-Things.

Ok. Maybe I can just be a groupie. Mmm... groupie...

More "Boston Snowblogging" at Carpundt.

The big news, I suppose, is that on Friday I got a call about that Boston job I applied to. I got a voicemail, actually, but I didn't get to connect with the person who may or may not not have been calling for an interview.

So not only have I had to suffer through the weekend, wondering why she called (and I've analyized the situation from all angles and, come on, she had to be calling for an interview), and convicing myself that I need to pack and find a subletter because I already have the job -- I also just learned that said college in Boston has already decided to close tomorrow (Monday) due to the snow.

Good Grief. Don't these people realize how these things affect me?!

So Friday, the day of the call, was a good day for me, here in Vermont, in my job, aside from the Stella snub. One of the high points of the past year and a half, if you will. And so the timing was a little -- odd. I was excited about this voicemail and the promise it held, but as the night wore on, it all sunk in, and I wondered how I could leave. I have been at this school forever. This is my home.

Yesterday, I got all scared about this potential change. Moving away again... will I hate it? What bridges will I burn? What would my life be like? All that unknown, that brand new start, that had attracted me to apply to this job started to terrify me. I convinced myself that I was leaving, I was going to hate it, and nobody would miss me. (Except my grandmother, who almost cried when I told her the news, because I would be "so far away" -- a whole three hours.)

And then today, I looked through some pictures from last summer's Pub Crawl down there, and it just made me long to be back down there. With my friends. With a life. With lots of gay people. With tall buildings and the Texas Roadhouse. And I sold myself on the idea, and I've resigned myself to a happy medium of "wait and see." No counting of the chickens, no premature good-byes. I'm just opening myself up to the possibility. Let's see where this goes after I get to call them back and talk to them.

On mother-fucking Tuesday.

A lot of emotion over a voicemail and a job I'm far from having. I need to calm down.

I walked out of the Waterman building today, and outside, it was just beautiful. Mild -- cold, but mild. Snowy. Beautiful. The bells started ringing almost immediately -- 4:30 -- over at Ira Allen Chapel. Almost enough to make me want to stay here forever. Almost.

I had just dropped an application in the mail. To a job in Boston. A carefully crafted cover letter and my resume (along with a bag of microwave popcorn and a whole lot of hope and fear) is now on it's way to some office in Beantown that could, maybe, just maybe, become a big part of my near future.

Now it seems that everything is screaming, "You're gonna miss me!" Buildings, sidewalks, trees, bars... But in a good way, ya know? Almost telling me, it's great here -- I will miss it terribly -- but now is the time to go.

I know I'm counting my eggs. But I'm excited. Terrified -- of rejection, of acceptance -- but excited.

Fingers crossed.

(It's a recycled image, but you get the picture.)

This is my future home in Boston's South End.

*sigh* If only...

Well, happy New Year. I'm back from Boston. (Remember: Duncan and I went down for the long weekend.) Spent some much-needed quality time with Yelli, and visited "Boy's Town" for the first time since February. I had fun and, perhaps, learned something in the process. But who knows?

Bottomline: I want (need?) to move down there. Tomorrow.

Maybe I'll write more later. But right now... All is quiet, all is well, as I settle back into my little nook of an apartment here in Burlington. We made it back in safe and sound (not an easy feat, driving home in the thick of a nasty ice storm that nearly gave me an anxiety attack). But here I am. Dunc's home. The Housewives took the night off. And I'm enjoying the quiet.

The important thing: Jack Johnson has a brand-new single from his forthcoming album. (Hence the title of this entry.)

2005 is off to a great start.

Ah, Sunday night. Had a romantic dinner at Quizno's, then spent a chunk of the evening "apartment window shopping" for Boston places on craigslist with Duncan. Ok, so maybe I got a real estate boner... but I liked it.

If I were moving to Boston for Jan 1st (and believe me, sometimes I wish I was), here are my top three places, based my extremely limited rent-and-the-city knowledge and an uncomprehensive online search.

#3. Tree-lined street.
#2. GLEAMING hardwood floors.
#1. Look at those MF-ing windows!

No Housewives tonight. And I miss Dead Like Me. So does D.

Hopefully my life in Boston next year will be a bit more exciting. And there will be huge, beautiful MF-ing windows!

Allison Carey and I are going to be roommates come September 2005. We are moving into her family's place in Charlestown. There is a two bedroom in the basement with a spiral staircase, and a three bedroom upstairs. Either the two of us will live alone downstairs, or bring in a third party for the upstairs -- perhaps one of our boyfriends.

Sounds pretty set in stone, huh? I am quite excited by the possibility, I must say, but I can't figure out if this was just a "let's play house" plan that the two of us came up with in the heat of the moment, if this is a set-in-stone gonna-happen plan that I can't get out of, or if it's something in the middle -- a very real possibility that will bring us both back to the greater Boston area if the sun, moon, and stars align just right to make us into roommates. I cross my fingers than it can and will happen, because the more I think about it, the more excited I get.

So I went to Malden this past weekend, and it was just what I needed. It was the first time I'd left Burlington since the Pub Crawl back in August, and the first time I'd really done anything but work on a weekend since the semester started. I needed a vacation. I also needed to celebrate Halloween and, in my gay way, the Sox's World Series sweep. I just needed to get out and get some North Shore lovin'. And I got it, big time.

Bus ride down sucked. Packed. Sat with a small kid from Montreal who read from a "Math for Engineers" book the whole way. Listened to my iPod and read from Augusten's new book. This sorta-cute St. Mike's kid in the seat across from me made an instant connection with this young Tina Fey lookin' Canadian beauty and (I think) dumped his girlfriend for her over the course of the trip. Not sure. I am sure that there was little eye candy for me to take in on the trip. I had nary a fantasy about any of the other passengers, and simply stuck to my book and music.

Upon arriving, I met my new "nephew," Gavin, technically Yelli's nephew, who was a lot smaller and infant-y than I expected. I guess I really haven't been around babies since my brother and sister were born, because I honestly was kind of expecting the one-month-old to be walking and talking. He was cute nonetheless and actually ended up smiling at me once during the weekend.

Went out to my new favorite place, the Texas Roadhouse, and Yelli and I drank such a steady stream of Miller Lite that we put the kibosh on our early morning Sox parade plans. So we drank it up, Halloween-style, and ended up at Hugh's, grinding like a couple of heteros in heat. At the carwash, baby!

Saturday would bring the big roommate plan from an also-visiting Allison, who was home from DC to celebrate the Sox victory. After ditching a crankier-than-usual Sean, Yelli, Allison, Jess, and I went into Boston for Halloween/Sox crazniess, eventually ending up on the patio of the Quincy Market Cheers, chatting it up under some heat lamps, low-key and fabulous. It was one of the Top Five out-in-Boston experiences, and was just so awesome and drama-free.

So the next day I went back on the bus, this time next to a hot outdoorsy St. Mike's kid, and sadly left my once and future home.

The trip was very short, but quite possibly perfect. A great break from my status quo. And perhaps more importantly, it gave me very real hope for the future. I potentially have another "in" down there, one closer to the city, and a "out" from my easy-to-feel-locked-into life here in Vermont. I'm sure pretty soon, I'll start freaking about it all, but for now, I list it as a maybe... something that was just what I needed.

Sex and the City is over.

And I am pathetic. But I didn't cry.

To know me is to love SATC -- or at least know that I love it. The show for me, like many gay men 'round the world, has been the bestest of the bestest over the past six years (or since 2001, when I started buying the DVDs and obsessively watching the show). A phenomenon that has touched us, tickled us, and truly entertained. Almost every one of the 94 episodes, a classic. Blah-dity-blah. You get the idea. I love the show. And I could go on and on about its fabulous-ness for days and days.

But ya know what? I didn't shed a tear for the end of Sex -- neither the actual final episode nor the end of this era. But it all sure did affect me.

So it made sense for me to go to Boston to watch the Grand Finale. I needed to be around friends for this milestone. I had to share it with someone I loved and who loved the show as much as I. So, of course, obviously, I picked Yelli.

It was good to be back in Boston, and for the most part, I had an awesome weekend. I made the mistake of spending Friday night in what I call "Boys' Town" -- a.k.a. the closest thing Boston has to a gay ghetto, which has become my once-best-bud, Tommy. It's sad to see how far he's sunk -- everything in his life revolves around his homosexuality, and not in a positive way. Gay sex, gay drugs, and gay rock n roll -- scratch that, that's actually techno, dance clubs, and "fashion" instead of RnR. Even sadder, perhaps, is that I was having a good time for some of the night. The bar/club we went to was OK in places and I ran into my infamous Mr. Big-Mistake, Adam, a man whom I had shared a brief but intense connection with last summer.

It was amazing to see Adam again, and I felt an instant reconnection. And an instant confusion, which was characteristic of our "involvement" last year, when me and Duncan were briefly not together. See, Mr. Big-Mistake is everything that Duncan isn't -- confident, comfortable, stable, successful, out, etc etc. And he's, apparently, wicked into me. And so, that Friday night at Machine, I was back in full-torn mode, torn between the man I love and the man I think maybe I could love. But it's more complicated now. Duncan and I are now over a year into it, and getting potentially more serious. And Adam has his own boyfriend these days, who he seems truly happy with. So we drank and talked, and he confessed how much I hurt him last summer, and I felt truly horrible, and it became an odd, odd situation.

And he kissed me.

Oh fuck, he kissed me. And it was good. Electric. And for a second, everything made sense. And then suddenly, it didn't. I was more confused than ever. But one sobering thought came into my mind. I love Duncan. I could love Adam, but I do love my guy now. And I'm with him. And Adam's with his guy. And it's too complicated and too many people would get hurt. And this can't happen. Because...

I think I became suddenly drunker then, as the rest of the evening is a blur. Tommy was off scoring drugs in bathrooms or something. Adam and I talked and argued, and tried not to kiss. And then the club closed, and I was literally stuck between a cab with Tom, headed back to his place, and a super-cute looking Adam, offering not sex, but friendship.

And I picked the cab.

And in the cab, I foolishly took an Aspirin from Tom because I had a headache. And I don't remember much else.

I'm still processing my night in Boys' Town. I'm not entirely sure what happened, and I'm not sure I want to know. But, hey, it was like a very special episode of my own TV show, Gay Sex in the Mountains. I learned a lesson. Boys' Town is a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there. Or go back anytime too soon.

So... back to Sex and the City. The show, not the sketchiness of Friday night.

The rest of my weekend of so much fun with Yelli. We went to Ned Divine's for dinner and drinking on Saturday night. And there was an fantastic (and semi-cute) little Irish guy that was singing covers. AND HE SANG DAMIEN RICE! And Yelli and I were singing along, the only fools who knew the song. It still rocked.

Sunday came and went. As did the finale. I won't say much except it was some kind of amazing. We watched it at Page's beautiful new house with Lauren, and it was an alright venue for it all to go down. Yelli and I clutched each other, and us four girls"squealed and screamed through the final 45 minutes of the best show on TV.

I left Malden and headed home on a Vermont Transit. And I already miss it desperately.

On another random subject: I thought a lot about my estranged friend Dan, with all the hype surrounding Carrie's swan song. I think more than any of my friends, the show was a central part of our friendship. Right after 9/11, Dandy and I bonded over the DVD boxed sets and had a pretty great friendship -- before I flaked out and ruined everything.

I miss him.

Song? Let's go with Gary Jules' cover of "Mad World." Why? Because it's very apropos right now. I'm not entirely clear what apropos means in English or in this context, but I feel like it's the word I want to use, just as this is the song I want to go with.

I knew "Mad World" from Tears for Fears, but in the past few weeks, this cover has popped up in various places in my life. At the Ohio conference. On my iTunes. And on popular radio in Boston, which was perhaps the most surprising of all. I was happy to hear it in Yelli's car, and to hear that both her and Sean enjoyed it (I'm sure by the time this is read, they'll already be sick of it due to overplaying). It made me miss being in Malden with them, being in the "know" with all the good music before it's ruined.

Fuck. How the hell doth one wrap up such a long and spanning journal entry? I'm gonna be gay and go for the obvious.

Later that day I got to thinking about relationships. There are those that open you up to something new and exotic, those that are old and familiar, those that bring up lots of questions, those that bring you somewhere unexpected, those that bring you far from where you started, and those that bring you back. But the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous.

With goose-bumps. That's how.