Big Fat Hairy Living

I just had a trick over. He contacted me via my Bear411 ad. I wasn’t sure about him, but I invited him over anyway. The sex was decent, although not spectacular.

Afterwards, he actually said, “It was much better than I expected.”

What the fuck were you expecting? What the hell is that supposed to mean?

I swear, if I hear anything more about that frozen “miracle baby,” I’ll scream.

Today at work, the two student interns at work asked what foreskin is. I should have showed them.

Today at lunch, the department I work in went out to a restaurant that has crayons and paper tablecloths on the tables so that you can draw. I wrote “SUBVERT AUTHORITY - QUESTION EVERYTHING - DEFY THE NORM” (in crayon) on the table. My manager was there. I think I kind of shocked some of the people; one guy asked if that was my manifesto, and I said it was. My mother taught me not to trust authority, not to accept anything without questioning, and not to conform. I love her for teaching me that.

The more I think about it, the more it bothers that anyone could disagree with my ‘manifesto.’ Look at the opposite statement: “OBEY AUTHORITY - QUESTION NOTHING - CONFORM.” That sounds like Brave New World.

I’m not sure why I did it. I think part of me did want to shock them. Maybe it was an outlet for my frustration. The conversation and the people were so banal, so contentless, so vapid. There was no real human interaction going on, only the appearance of it. The restaurant was one of those suburban joints that tries to make out like it has personality when in fact it’s all manufactured. It was so grating, especially after the good weekend I had. I felt like I was going to burst.

I get so frustrated and I can’t stand it. It’s so confining. I honestly cannot express in words how awful it makes me feel. I don’t know how to stop being bothered by it; I know I need to find some way to deal with it on a philosophical and spiritual level, but I don’t know what that is yet. It’s so hard for me to play the game. And the stupid people at work. We were in the “Elvis” booth, so they kept on joking about my sideburns. Jesus, it wasn’t even funny the first time.

Him: “Dave, can you sing Elvis tunes for us?”
Me: “No.”
Him: “You’ve got the sideburns.”
Me (in an icy tone): “As is often noted, yes, I do.”
Silence.

It was awful.

I feel like I need a place where I can totally be me, where I can have a meaningful conversation.

Sometimes wonder if I just convince myself of how bad it is by writing about it more and more. But if it’s not that bad, how can I feel so good on Sunday, then feel so awful on Monday at work?

A cool new term I thought of on the way to work: Heteroburbia. It perfect describes where I work.

I respect blue collar workers a great deal. The work they do is very real and has immediate results. Much of white collar work involves simply shuffling paper and moving around words and numbers on a monitor. That and dealing with buzzwords like synergy, leverage, and paradigm. I wouldn’t mind working with my hands.

From the Toronto Sun:

Health Canada is promoting a youth conference on safe sex sado-masochism style, Canadian Alliance MP Grant Hill charged yesterday. Hill told the Commons a young Barrie mom was outraged to find a free youth conference on the Internet, supported by Health Canada, offered a workshop on “safer sado-masochism.” “I would like to know whether the Liberals think that is a good use of Canadian taxpayers’ funds,” Hill asked. “Sado-masochism, of course, is violence. There is no way that that can be safe. It’s an oxymoron,” Hill said later. “For taxpayers to be funding such a thing is unbelievable. I’d just like to know how this happened.”

He doesn’t even know what BDSM is. BDSM is supposed to be consensual. For taxpayers to be funding programs which teach people how to express their sexuality in a safe, sane, and consensual manner is completely appropriate. I wish the Canadian Alliance would go back to Alberta where it came from.

I have a very wise friend named Ron, whom I love very much. One of the things that he told me when I first met him still sticks in my mind, and I remember it all the time: when someone compliments you, don’t argue with them, just say “Thank You.” When he gave me that advice, I started following it. He’s right. If you learn to accept compliments, eventually you will start believing them.

So this morning on the way to work, I got my hair cut and my goatee trimmed just the way I want it. And looking in the mirror, wearing the stupid ugly white dress shirt that fits except for the shoulders where it’s too tight (the only benefit to that shirt is it makes my shoulders look broader) , I looked in the mirror and for the first time in a very, very long time, thought to myself, “Wow. I look good.”

Last night online I ran into someone I hadn’t seen in a long time, since we shared a room at Bear Pride 1999. It was great talking to him again, because he’s a nice guy. He was very new to the whole bear scene when I first met him, and he seems much more confident and sure of himself now.