twenty-something

My old friend Meghan is back in town, after two years abroad in Thailand. Went out to dinner with her, another dear old friend, Kelly, and Duncan. And, guess what? It was awesome.

Yeah, its a little awkward reconnecting with a long-gone friend, but after that -- it was killer. It felt like old times a little, like college, browsing the cheap and tacky clothese at Old Navy. Going to Ben and Jerry's. Talking, laughing, yadda yadda. It was the same - but different enough to feel like it was something new. Renewed, I guess. A frien-esance, if you will. (Butchered that, sorry Pheobe.)

I'm still here -- in Burlington, and its nice, for once, to not feel like the only one. Meghan is back. Kelly's not far. And maybe, just maybe, I can convince them all to stay around for one more year. We can get a fun little apartment. And my last year in Burlington will kick lots of booty, Alias-style.

Oh yeah. Command decision: I am here for another year. Unless I get fired. Or have another breakdown. So you never know.

But I think that last year could be rockin'. I'm being social left and right here, and things are feeling a little better, on that front anyway. I'm looking forward to laid-back and fun summer. I'm hopeful that my life, and my return to Burlington will turn into something a little better than just an awesome job and a relationship.

Hope. Yeah.

So I turn 25 in 454 days, 4 hours, and 54 minutes... In that time, I not only need to get engaged, but married -- gay-married. Or so the plan I've had in my head for as long as I can remember dictates: married by 25, kids by 30. All my life, I've wanted to be normal -- to achieve that idyllic and very, very cliched white-picket crap that most of us buy into, the sort of life I never had when I was a kid. I think this was the biggest obsticle in conciously acknowledging my homosexuality for the first sixteen years, and caused some of the biggest internal struggles in accepting it. How could I be "normal" and be gay? How could I have a wife, kids, great job, success, that fucking fence -- if I was a deviant?

Well, I started looking around -- on the Internet when I was 16 -- for anything. And what I found were sketchy chatrooms, lots of porn -- and the homepage of one 32-year-old Australian doctor. He liked the same TV shows, movies, and music as I did -- he also happened to be gay, well-adjusted, and practically married to another man. He was a normal guy with a normal life. And that gave me hope.

It's funny, because up until almost exactly two years ago, I still bought into all that whole-heartedly. There were times, in the moment, during our relationship, that I thought Joe, my first serious boyfriend, could be "The One." That we'd get hitched -- Civil Unioned or whatnot -- adopt, live happily ever after -- just like our other couple friends. The slightly distorted mirror image of heterosexuality was sort of expected of us by others -- our friends and, to some extent, my family -- and so I guess we sort of fell into it. We were a cute couple and, at first, we had a picturesque, "perfect" relationship. But time, situations, graduations, and ACL surgeries complicated things a wee bit. We ended up on the tail end of one-year-and-three-months together both sort of hating each other. Forget gay-marriage -- we were practically gay-divorced.

But, I guess, even up to the day we broke up, I sort of bought into that idea that was forced on us by our liberal and supportive friends in BVT. PC terms like "partner." The go-to question -- "How's Joe?" -- which was like this conversation failsafe. Deeper questions about the relationship, the future, our plans... They forced it on me, but part of me was into it. Part of me sorta thought I might really marry Joe. And here's a confession: if we had made it to my senior year, part of me had it in my head that I'd buy a ring and propose right 'round my graduation day.

How the hell did I go from THAT to a quiet, closeted relationship with my current beau? I really don't know. Part of it is the "Golden Retriver" in me -- I got burned by the last one, and I wanted something completely different. But I think that was only a small part of my transformation between Joe and Duncan, my current beau.

I can speculate that I fell into this relationship and found what I needed -- and that didn't include showing off my new boyfriend, double-dating, or most of that horrid couples stuff. Because the relationship existed, especially at first, only behind closed doors, I learned that I could meet my needs and be happy, truly happy, without any of the trappings that they have always told me I need. Sure, it was (and is) hard to have a closeted relationship -- but its refreshing not to have family members always asking home my boyfriend is and wondering if we'll get a civil union -- and that's in large part because many don't know Duncan even exists.

But the topic of cohabitation has been breached. And it's opened some combination of Pandora's Box and Trojan Horse. I don't know what I want, but I think I know what he does -- or doesn't -- want, or isn't ready for. And maybe the fact that I can't have it, but some days, I think it's an awesome idea. I think about how easy things could be, how nice it would be to come home to him every night, how practical it would be to be "roommate" instead of just closeted lovers. But what the hell do I know? I don't know what I want or what I'm ready for in this moment I'm living in.

But I do want it, eventually, in some form. To live with somebody, to share my life. As a best friend -- but more. A companion. And that might not include coming up with new vows or creative solutions to the whole two dads thing. I'm pretty much resigned to the fact that I won't be married by 25, and that's OK. Because I don't really know what I want. Now. Tomorrow. Two years from now. Twenty. But I think it's somewhere between the two men I've loved.

I want love. I want my kind of love. And I'm starting to figure out that it's not going to be the kind of love that the straights want me to have, and it might not be the kind of love my supportive, liberal-ish friends and family want for me -- but it's going to be what's right for me and my man.

This is my relationship, and this is my terms. And, for now, it's good enough for me.

My life seems quite trivial as of late. Well, at least sometimes, when I reflect on it.

Friends are dealing with true losses. Friends have spent years abroad, doing service for the greater good. Friends are getting married, having babies.

And I'm always complaining about my boyfriend. Or putting up posters for Lord of the Rings film fests. Or ordering take-out and buying music from iTunes.

I'm living in the moment, but I'm not taking stock of that moment.

Went into work today - Sunday - to do some freelance work, but ended up getting caught up in, yes, trivial little things, like putting up posters and doing paperwork. Digging the job, but needing a vacation. Already.

But, as a whole, it's been another blah weekend, capping a busy week - I miss my friends. I'm missing a higher sense of purpose. I wish I was less selfish and superficial. Or, at least, I wish I felt less guilt about it.

Times like this make me grateful that I have a boyfriend who, as much of a pain in the ass as he can be, seems to genuinely care about me and accept me, selfish and superficial as I may think I am, and however I truly live my life.

And, I think beyond that, I do have some great friends that accept and love me too. No matter how dramatic or melodramatic I can be, no matter how distant or shitty I am, no matter what I do.

I'm thinking of a number between 22 and 24. Any guesses?

So in this New Year of 2004, I've been thinking a lot about being twenty-something. I'm going to philosophize on being the ripe-ole age of 23 and reflect from the lofty platform of wisdom such an age brings me.

Gag me.

But really, I'm thinking about the specific age of 23 and the strange new phenomenon that my bud Greg and I seem to have discovered -- the 23-year-old gay male.

What is the 23-year-old gay male, you ask? Well, we hypothesize, it's akin to a second coming out, if you will, a rebirth of a young man's homosexual self as they enter a new phase of their life. Gone are the ideals that these men held in their teens and early 20s -- thoughts of true love, meaningful sex, yadda yadda. Innocence is gone. All of a sudden, it's ok to be non-monogomous. It's ok to have emotionless casual sex. Yadda yadda. I don't remember exactly. But we developed the idea, and it made perfect sense a couple month ago.

I went through the phase at 22, as I bounced from one LTR to another. It was fairly brief, and it was fun, but it wasn't. I wasn't a whore, per se, but I really didn't care. For a brief moment, I could've been really bad -- but luckily, I live in Burlington, Vermont, home of one gay bar, where the pickings are so slim you really don't have a choice.

I watch as a friend (Tommy) in the "big city" sinks further and further into being in this phase. He's deep into drinking, drugs, clubbing, and fucking. But he's being stupid, unsafe. And I'm loosing him to the dark side of all that -- intoxication, unprotected sex, and having "boifriends" with names like "Fabio." It's sad. He's hardly my friend any more.

To state the obvious -- the twenty-somethings are a time of turmoil and change, and I'm in the midst of it. We're talking almost-quarter-life crisis here. And who better to speak on that idea than Jessica Simpson? "Twenty-three is old. It's almost twenty-five, which is almost mid-twenties." Immortal words, from an immortal airhead.

My immortal ass will be 24 in a couple months. Now that's almost mid-twenties. Yikes.

Now, onto a fitting forward from Yelli:

Being Twenty-Something

They call it the "Quarter-life Crisis." It is when you stop going along with the crowd and start realizing that there are a lot of things about yourself that you didn't know and may not like.

You start feeling insecure and wonder where you will be in a year or two, but then get scared because you barely know where you are now.

You start realizing that people are selfish and that, maybe, those friends that you thought you were so close to aren't exactly the greatest people you have ever met and the people you have lost touch with are some of the most important ones.

What you do not realize is that they are realizing that too and are not really cold or catty or mean or insincere, but that they are as confused as you.

You look at your job. It is not even close to what you thought you would be doing or maybe you are looking for one and realizing that you are going to have to start at the bottom and are scared.

You miss the comforts of college, of groups, of socializing with the same people on a constant basis. But then you realize that maybe they weren't so great after all. You are beginning to understand yourself and what you want and do not want.

Your opinions have gotten stronger. You see what others are doing and find yourself judging a bit more than usual because suddenly you realize that you have certain boundaries in your life and add things to your list of what is acceptable and what is not.
You are insecure and then secure. You laugh and cry with the greatest force of your life. You feel alone and scared and confused. Suddenly change is the enemy and you try and cling on to the past with dear life but soon realize that the past is drifting further and further away and there is nothing to do but stay where you are or move forward.

You get your heart broken and wonder how someone you loved could do such damage to you or you lay in bed and wonder why you can't meet anyone decent enough to get to know better. You love someone but maybe love someone else too and cannot figure out why you are doing this because you are not a bad person.

One night stands and random hook ups start to look cheap and getting wasted and acting like an idiot starts to look pathetic.

You go through the same emotions and questions over and over and talk with your friends about the same topics because you cannot seem to make a decision.

You worry about loans and money and the future and making a life for yourself and while winning the race would be great, right now you'd just like to be a contender!

What you may not realize is that everyone reading this relates to it. We are in our best of times and our worst of times, trying as hard as we can to figure this whole thing out.

I did laundry today, for the first time since February 1st. Isn't that cool? I officially have enough underwear to last me a month and a half. I am a god amongst men.

So today officially ends Spring Break for all the Groovy UV kids. Which means tomorrow is back to life, back to reality. I enjoyed this week of laid-back work and home, having extra time to goof off at work and to spend QT with Dunc at home. I look forward to seeing those students that are a regular part of my life and whom I actually like -- but I am not looking forward to the status quo.

I've really enjoyed having the past two Friday nights off. Not that I've done anything eventful. It was just nice not to be doing events til after midnight. Plus, I've gotten into Wonderfalls, which is just an amazing new show, and anyone who is home at 9PM on a Friday night should tune to Fox because, goddamn it, its sweet. I think that even if you aren't home then, you should go home or at least get to a TV and turn it on. It's that good!

Spring Break was a nice break for me, even if I didn't really do much of anything. My big plans to go to both Boston and Montreal were sadly scrapped last minute. But it was nice to rest and catch up, because lord knows the next six weeks will be hell. Events every Friday night until May and TONS AND TONS of design work to do. I look forward to the peace and quiet that I'm promised come with summer.

Goddamn it, I'm a geek. Want to know how I know? The song today is Andy Partridge's "I Wonder Why the Wonder Falls" which, you guessed it, is the extended theme song of my new favorite show.

Tomorrow - back to the grind. Until then - Home Movies!

So my apartment appears to be haunted by something that drops pennies on me in the shower. I don't want to get into that right now. But let's just say that, yes, it appears to be pennies and more now.

So Duncan left for work this morning at 6AM. I went back to sleep. And I had the freakiest dream that somebody was holding me down to the bed, and I was trying to wake up, but they wouldn't let me. I was sort of awake, but sort of asleep - hard to describe. I couldn't see the person, but I felt them, holding me down, and I heard them say, "I won't let you wake up," and things of that nature, repeatedly. I guess eventually it went away.

So, obviously, I did wake up eventually. But I woke up hours late, at almost noon. The power went off in my apartment and my cell phone alarm didn't work. So what woke me up was this loud sort of banging, which was coming from the apartment above me and the other two apartments on my floor. I didn't really think much of it, but it was annoying. So I go into the bathroom, and not only are there two new pennies in the tub, there's this green smile goop on the tub, toilet, sink, and mirror. I have no idea what it was or where it was from -- it wasn't mold or cleaner, and it wasn't poop -- but luckily it cleaned up easily. I also had the thought that the building is usually quiet during weekdays, as I think all the other tenants have dayjobs. And there was no maintenance work going on that I'm aware of, and all was quiet when I left for work.

And then I realized that there isn't an apartment above mine! There is my loft, and then the roof. And it sounded like there were people walking around and talking directly above my living room.

And last night? I was talking to Dunc about moving out and we, for the first time really, seriously talked about living together and sorta tentatively started looking at apartment listings.

Could my maybe-ghost be trying to make me leave, or get me to stay? Enquiring minds want to know!

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.

So this week, V-Day came and went without much of a bang this year. Did the dinner thing earlier in the week, since I left Saturday (2/14) for a conference in Ohio (more on that later)... No cards or gifts, and nearly no utterance of the V-Word. I did come to the realization that, out of the last four years, I've had a boyfriend on this Hallmark Holiday. I tend to notice things like that more than most people. Since 2001, I've had two serious boyfriends -- Mr. Ex, Joe, who lasted nearly a year and a half, and Mr. X, Duncan, the mystery man I've been with since last January. Somehow the fact that I've had built-in Valentines for the past four years carries more weight than the fact that I've had two long-ass-term relationships, each lasting over a year, since turning 20. Perception is a fickle little bitch.

Regardless of Valentine's Day, this past week was full of tiny celebrations of love, and one big celebration item: a clean bill of health.

Remember the gloominess that was the last entry? Yeah... the Big Bad was a cancer scare. Testicular lump. Which now isn't looking to be cancerous, so I get to keep the ball and skip the sickness. Rock on.

I'm ok.

Song of the week? Damien Rice's "Volcano." Thanks to the fabulous Yelli (indeed, I seem to be using the "F" word with increasing frequency) for turning me back onto the song and putting it back into heavy rotation here at Radio Free Roscoe (for your sake, I hope you don't get the sad, sad reference).

Not much happened since Laundry Bowl. My new IKEA dressers are all together, and my apartment is a disorganized mess, filled with boxes upon boxes. Work's been busy, but I thankfully had no event this Friday, so I was able to kick back a bit. I continue to like my job a whole lot, which is something I'm grateful for. It's not perfect but, eh, what is?

So Friday rolled around, and I found myself without an event to work, and without alternate plans. 'Twas a lonely weekend here at Chez Crash. One that made me realize how far my best friends are from me. How much my social life is lacking here in Burlington. It was a weekend for drinking Bud Light and eating frosting from the can. It was a weekend for worrying. It was a weekend for thinking about up and leaving Burlington.

I went to the Laundromat today and you can tell its really the first time I've done that because I have no idea if it's laundr-o-mat or laundry-mat or lawn-dri-mat or whatever. Don't chalk that up to my accent ("I'm sorry"), just my ignorance. Get used to laundromat, because that's what I'm using. And today, I'm going to talk about cleaning clothes a lot.

For some, today was Super Bowl Sunday. For me, it was the Laundry Bowl. (Yes, I went there.)

The other day, on the way to work, my iPod randomly played Jesus Jones' one-hit wonder from 1991, "Right Here Right Now." Yeah, I know -- Jesus Jones. Not only do I have "Right Here Right Now" on my computer, I have it on my iPod. And my iPod thinks that I want to hear it as I walk up North Street to work in sub-zero temperatures.

But ya know what? As I get closer to my new 'Pod, as we move past our honeymoon period, I learn that it's not unlike all my relationships. There are good days (and playlists), and bad days (and songs I should just delete). And sometimes, sometimes, 'Poddy gives me not what I want, but what I need.

Strangely enough, Jesus Jones was just what I needed.

See, last week was a big week. There were milestones -- anniversaries, reunions, visits, big events -- all in the span of about 7 days. Here's the quick rundown:

On Friday, I had my first big, big event with work -- a big-ass concert that was the bane of my existence for about two months -- and a visit from my bestest best friend Danielle, for the show, and for her annual weekend Vermont visit. A few days earlier -- the 21st -- would've marked three years for me and Joe, had we not broken up sometime after year one. The same day was my Mom's 41st birthday, which means that (A) I have a young mother and (B) in nine years, she'll be 50 and I'll be 32. And a few days before that, my boyfriend returned to me after a short geographical break and, coincidentally, then celebrated our one-year anniversary in Montreal. And, last but not least, I passed one more marker last week. I have called Burlington, specifically The University of Vermont, my home for exactly four years now.

Lots going on -- past and present -- in my little life here in Vermont.

And you know what I realized, as I walked through the frozen tundra that is Burlington in January, as my 'Pod's wires stiffened and my beard became frosty, as Jesus Jones provided a soundtrack...?

Right here, right now -- there is no other place I want to be.

At 23, there are big weeks and little weeks. They go by so fast and I pass milestones -- graduations, moves, births and deaths -- along the way. I've settled into a groove, a life, here in Burlington, since graduating, moving, and returning.

I have a job that doesn't pay much. A cheap, tiny, cold apartment that gets lonely sometimes. All of my best friends are far away. But I do feel closer to many of those friends, closer than I've felt in a long time. My apartment's becoming a cozy, comfy home. My job is fun and I'm excelling at it. And my relationship continues to surprise me -- in good ways -- as time goes on.

I have a life. I know that most of this, maybe all of it, isn't forever. But it's now. And for now, it's more than good enough. Funny thing is, I'm not thinking about next semester much. Next year. The next step. I do sometimes, but it's not this constant voice in my head, like it's been almost my entire life. For the first time, I am in the moment.

And I am pretty much happy.

I know there will be changes. I know there will be grad school. I figure there'll be Boston. I know that, sooner or later, there will be conversations that decide the future. But right now there are no plans. No expectations...

Life isn't perfect, and I don't think it's supposed to be. And if being a diehard fan of Sex and the City for the past four years has taught me nothing else, it's this: "That's the key to having it all: Stop expecting it to look like what you thought it was going to look like. That's true of the fall lines, and that's true of relationships."

I don't know much about fall lines (c'mon, I'm not that gay), and I may know even less about relationships, but I'm learning. At 23, I'm learning that I may not be married by 25, and I may not have kids by 30. I may not have all my friends physically in my life everyday. I may not be rich. I may not be where I thought I'd be at 23, but I think I finally get it. I wasn't where I thought I'd be at 18, at 19, 20, and so on. And I made myself miserable about it. It was only in hindsight that I realized, in almost every case, what I had in those moments. What I took for granted, what I missed, all because I didn't slow down, stop, savor...

Someday, I'll have it all -- whatever that means. There's plenty of time for the future, for the plans and the conversations, for the now or nevers. But right here, right now...

If you can be happy in a moment -- whether it be during a Gavin DeGraw concert, a cheesy 80s movie with funny cameos and a horrible soundtrack, random sing-alongs with obscure pop mp3s, or a quiet, drunken moment on an uncomfy futon in a overheated loft -- that's a start. And if you can be happy in many (maybe even most) moments, you've got something special. Something to savor. Something to believe in.

Right here, right now...

There is no other place I want to be.