twenty-something

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.)