Wants, but Needs…

I don’t know what I need, but I know what I want.

And what I want, isn’t always what I need. It oft-happens that I stubbornly fight my way towards certain things, achieve them, look back, and realize…wait, this doesn’t work. This isn’t me.

I still do this. A lot. I really don’t know how to change it. But I do know one thing.

I want everything I never knew I always wanted.

And that’s enough, for now.


So, today is Friday and I am determined to get a huge chunk of my certification studying done.

Work has been so busy, that I could only afford to spare a few hours on Monday to study. And it has become so bad, that I had to cancel on Angie and won’t be attending WEBB party this year. I’ve gone every year since 2009. It inadvertantly become a yearly tradition for us, but I really need that extra day to prepare for this exam. I don’t want to spend the entire month preparing for this exam. I’d actually like to live my life!

Well, I’d first have to have one. So, once I pass this exam, I’ll dedicate myself to just that.

One step at a time.

Losing My Touch

I remember why first semester at St. Mary’s University.

I was a 21 year-old living in a freshmen dorm. I hated my roommate. And I ate my feelings.

That was over 8 years ago.


I’m a 29 year-old living in my own apartment. I have no roommate. And I eat my feelings.

So, basically, I’ve become older, more alone, and fatter.

Within those eight years, I came out, had one terribly unsuccessful relationship, graduated from college, became a financial analyst for the state of Texas, and am working my way up. 

But it’s not fulfilling. Because, ultimately, I’m not living. I’m only existing. It’s such a struggle. And it shouldn’t be.

And it’s so easy to sit back and say, “Ok, tomorrow, things are going to be different. I’m going to change the way I live my life.” But, how can I make that change when I’m nowhere near ready in taking it on? I live a very formulaic life. I’m a lemming in a shirt and tie from 8 to 5, come home to nothing, and live for nothing. That right there is the truth.

So, in the end, what was really accomplished in those eight years?

There are some areas of my life, that I have completely let go, and I’m afraid I won’t ever be able to get them back?

Here’s a list:

  1. I used to write everyday. I had a blog that had several followers and it was complete a joy to share my life with people. I miss that.
  2. I was funnier. I am so not funny anymore, what the fuck happened to me? Does age dull the funny senses? It certainly has for me.
  3. I met people. I no longer put myself out there. Ever. And I make excuses for it in order to hide the harsh realities.
  4. I loved spending time with my family. Now, not so much, but not because I don’t care, but because I don’t know how to be myself around them anymore.
  5. I have lost my health. I’m not dying or anything, but I know I’m not living a healthy life. Far from it. In all aspects.

I’ve lost my touch. I want it back.

And hopefully, writing all of this down will by my first step back again.

I want myself back.

The Decision

He met him at a bar ten years ago. The man that would single-handedly change everything.

Every memory and every moment of that week is still so painful and real. I had so much to learn, so much to ask, and so much to love. But this one moment, this one circumstance, changed all of that.


Twenty years ago, she woke up from a long mid-afternoon nap. The sun was going down and realizing that she had errands to run, she drove to a nearby grocery store to pick up a few things. On the way home, she stopped at her bank’s ATM to deposit a check she had received as a Christmas gift from her parents. On her way home, she made a life-changing decision.


He was the kind of man my father was incapable of measuring up to and she was the type of woman you would have wanted your daughter to grow up to be. Both of them have three things in common: a bad decision, Austin, and Me

My Uncle Junior, I knew my entire life. He moved to Chicago right out of high school and lived there for about ten years. Even then, our connection was strong. He eventually moved back to San Antonio, got a degree in Computer Programming, and landed a job working for IBM in Austin. He was probably the only uncle I felt 100% comfortable being myself around. That’s not to say I don’t love my uncles. My family was so tight back then, that I felt as if I had six different fathers. Each of them taught me something important, but I knew what my Uncle Junior could teach me would inevitably be the most important.

You see, Junior was gay. Everyone knew it, but hardly anyone acknowledged it. I remember one year he brought a guy home to meet all of us. This guy was so flamboyant (he had polished nails for pete’s sake!) that he was practically telling everyone in the family, “Hey! You see here! This is who I am am! Deal with it.” I for one enjoyed how uncomfortable everyone got. Everyone didn’t want to bring attention to this glaring proclamation as they didn’t want to upset my Grandparents. The thing is, I’m pretty positive they had known for years. It just wasn’t talked about.

His pent-up frustration with having to hide who he was came up during our last one-on-one conversation. We were at my cousin’s quinceneara. I had just finished dancing with my Mom, brother, and sister and saw him standing alone to the side. I went up to him and immediately noticed a change in him. He was un-characteristically unhappy. Something was stirring in him and his eyes told me he needed to let it out. So, I went and stood along side him, we watched everyone dance for a few minutes, and he nudged me on my shoulder.

“You graduating this year?”

I immediately noticed he had had a few beers, but he was trying his best to hide it

“Yup, I’m almost done”, I told him.

“Well, we need a party as big as this one for you, mijo. We’re so proud of you.”

I looked at him and smiled. I really had no idea what to say. Then my Uncle went on…

“You have so much to look forward to. Everything’s beginning.”

“Yeah”, I said, “It’s a little scary.”

“It’s suppose to be.”

My Uncle took a long look at me, and then looked back to the dance floor.

“Just be who you are and fight for what you want. Don’t ever compromise.”

“I won’t”, I told him

“I hate that. Compromising. Hiding.”

As he said those words, I could feel it was something he begrudgingly had to do time and time again. He went on…

“I was seeing someone special. And last month I had to end it. And do you know what? It was probably the best decision I ever made in my life, even though it didn’t feel like it at first.”

“Oh?”, I replied

“Yeah, it hurt like hell at first. But God damn it, I was tired.”

His voice began to shake.

“He had the nerve…the fucking nerve…to introduce me to his parents as his best friend.”

That was the first time my Uncle had ever sworn in front of me, and the first time he had openly acknowledged to me that he was gay.

“I’m too old for that shit”, he said.

“So, do you know what I did?”, he asked me while smiling.

“What?”, I asked smiling back.

“I told him right there in front of them to fuck off, threw my soda at him, left, and never looked back.”

At that point, my mother came up to us and asked Junior to dance with her. He did. And I watched as they laughed and danced across the floor. He was her rock on my Father’s side of the family. My mother trusted Junior with all her heart. And seven months later, her heart would be shattered…


She was on 60 Minutes, Unsolved Mysteries, and a variety of other Crime programs on TV.

But before all that, she had lived in Louisiana. She moved to Austin where she was working as an accountant and had been dating my Godfather Oliver for a while. Oliver had gone through a terrible divorce with my Godmother, but Colleen had mended that. She was beautiful, intelligent and full of life…and I know this, I remember this from our one and only meeting in the Summer of 1991.

It was a typical hot July day. My Mom’s side of the family had all gathered at my grandparent’s house for a BBQ. This occassion was especially important because I was to see my Godfather. Everytime he would come to visit, he’d bring me something. I still have a few collectible coins he brought me to commemorate my holy communion. Anyway, my Father told me that he was brining his new girlfriend, and that she would potentially be standing in for my Godmother when I received my Holy Communion the next Spring. It never happened.

Nine months later, in the Spring of 1992, my Godfather returned to visit…alone. It was time for my Holy Communion, and I was the only one without a Godmother to take part in the services. It didn’t bother me. I was proud of the Godfather I had. He was bright, honest, compassionate, and lived the city life in Austin, TX. All small town boys like me, especially the gay ones, dream of breaking out into the world. When you come from a small catholic socially-conservative town like I came from, you can only hope that the world beyond the borders of your current life can provide you with the path you prayed existed: a path to something better; a path to connect yourself to something fulfilling. My father had a catalogue of UT-Austin in his library. I loved flipping through it every now and then. It gave me hope. And it was while flipping through those pages, that I realized that college would be the only way past those borders. It was my only chance.

After Holy Communion mass, my Grandparents held a party at their home. I still remember the sign my Grandmother made and placed on her front porch with the words “Congratulations, Josh!” written on it; it was surrounded with balloons. We had a BBQ, and I caught my Father and Oliver talking in private away from the others. Oliver was saying, “It should air on Sunday in about 2 weeks.” He then noticed me nearby, smiled, and furtively changed the topic of conversation. Later, I questioned my mother about it, and she begrudgingly told me.

“He’s talking about Colleen. Do you remember her? She visited last Summer?”

“Yea, I do”, I replied.

“Well, she was killed earlier this year. She’s going to be on “60 Minutes”.”

I was stunned. No one had told me this.

“Can I watch it?”, I asked.

“I’ll have to ask your Father.”

He agreed. And our family watched it together.

Colleen was a popular CPA who worked for the Lower Rio Grand River Authority in Austin, TX. Oliver was her supervisor, and when he left for a better opportunity in the private sector, they began dating.

Below is what was reported by 60 Minutes:

On December 29, 1991, she awoke from a nap to Oliver calling her. It was Sunday, and Colleen wasn’t feeling well. She had spent the morning doing volunteer work as the Austin area had been subject to some recent flooding and she was helping work the phone banks. On the phone, she told Oliver she was upset with herself because she overslept and had errands to run. She needed to deposit a check in the bank, had grocery shopping to do, and her car was filthy. Oliver told her those things could wait until tomorrow. She agreed. However, after they hung up, she changed her mind. She decided to get them done that night.

Later that night, a group of individuals were discussing dinner plans on their front porch on Fifth St. in downtown Austin. As they were discussing their plans, they heard a woman screaming in the night, a car door slamming shut, and a car speeding off the wrong way onto Fifth St. They realized the car came out of the car wash nearby, and they drove over to check the place out. When they got there, they discovered an abandoned Mazda Miata covered in soap suds. There were car keys, a purse, and freshly bought groceries sitting on the passenger seat. They called the cops.

It was discovered month later, after fruitless efforts in finding her, that Colleen was the victim of serial killer Kenneth McDuff. He came across her at the car wash, decided he wanted her, drove into the bay next to hers, snuck up behind her, and took her. She was never seen alive again. The only reason he was caught was because he had an accomplice. And he sang like a canary. He divulged all the disgusting details regarding the horrors Colleen went through as they drove her to a rural part of Texas that night. Her body wasn’t discovered until about 7 years later, shortly before McDuff was put to death.


May 6, 2002 – My Brother’s 24th birthday and senior prom week for me.

I got out of school early as I was enrolled in a program at school that allowed me to do volunteer work at a local elementary school library for physical education credit. At the time, I didn’t have a car or a driver’s license, so I depended heavily on my Grandparent’s to take me to where I needed to go. I didn’t really appreciate this as much as I should have. In fact, that day I was upset, because by Grandfather hadn’t shown up. He was late. So, I called him from the school pay phone. He picked up, and told me he’d be there right away.

When he arrived, my Grandmother wasn’t with him, which was odd, and he seemed completely distracted. I was just anxious to get to work, but when explaining why he was late he told me, “We just got a phone call from Austin about Junior. Terrible stuff.” I figured Junior may have been in jail and I didn’t think it was my place to ask for details.

After work, my Grandfather was late again. I waited for over an hour, and upon realizing he had probably forgot about me, walked about a mile to a nearby grocery store, and called him again. This time, my Aunt picked up. She seemed frazzled. She told me someone would be down there to pick me up as soon as possible. About 20 minutes later, my Grandfather showed up. He was eerily quiet in the car. The next few minutes would change my life forever.

After what seemed like a lifetime, my Grandfather turned to me while driving through town, “I need to tell you something.”

“Ok.”, I responded realized something serious was going on.

“What I’m about to tell you, isn’t going to be easy to hear. But I need you to be a man, and stay strong for your Mother and your Sister.”

“I will”, I responded.

“Your tio Junior was murdered. They found his body in his apartment.”

My stomach twisted and my heart sank. I didn’t know what to say.

“They’re still looking for the guy. The police believe it was someone who was living with him at the time.”

I was breathless. No words came to me.

“I need you not to tell your Mom until she gets home tonight. I don’t want her driving under duress.”

“Ok”, I promised.

It was a promise I had to break. It was eating me alive.

As soon as he left me at home, I called my Mother. I needed her. I needed someone.

I just lost a lifeline. I just lost my greatest ally. My Mother was all I had left and I needed to know she was okay.


The man responsible was found the next day. His trial was held in 2004, and my Grandfather refused to give us any details. We knew he was hiding something. When I became older, I searched the Austin Statesman archives, and found the answers:

My Uncle was a generous man. And it was that proclivity for generosity that cost him his life.

He met a man who was on the outs with his parents and needed a place to stay. My Uncle often helped out friends and allowed them to sleep on his couch for a month. During that month, they were to find a job, and get back on their feet.

This is the part that will be the hardest for me type down: My Uncle seemed to have a drug problem. My brother told me he witnessed it, and it really upset him.

Well, according to Bishop’s defense, the night of Junior’s death, Bishop, Junior, and a friend were out a bar in Austin drinking and doing cocaine. Bishop claimed that he had to defend himself from my Uncle’s advances. And it got worse when they arrived home.

The next week, Junior’s neighbors became worried when they hadn’t seen or heard from him in a while. His friends then stepped in and went to his apartment. They could smell something foul emanating from the apartment and called the landlord to let them in. They found the home in disarray and found my Uncle’s body wrapped in a mattress cover with extension cords wrapped around his neck and a belt around his ankles. He was stabbed 20 times, had been robbed, and his truck was missing.

The defense claimed Bishop killed Junior in self-defense. Feeling that there was little evidence in proving otherwise, the prosecution struck a plea bargain with Bishop and now he’s presently out of jail and free to live his life.

My family was left in shambles. Nothing would ever be the same again.


Clearly, my Family’s history with Austin has not been a fortuitous one.

And here I am: A gay single man living in Austin who works for the State and also hopes to become a CPA one day.

My Mother was clearly not overly-thrilled about my moving here. I could sense the fear in her heart. I hated putting her through that. And I couldn’t let her see that I too hold those same fears.

I know it may not be logical, in fact, it’s all emotional. But the scars are still there.

And I’m writing this all down for one purpose: To show myself how illogical this type of fear is.

After a year in Austin, I felt those protective walls coming down and I began to pay no mind to any history that is not personally mine.

However, this past month, there was a another story in Austin about a single gay man was who killed in his apartment because he was too trusting.

It sent me into a tailspin of emotions and brought everything back. And I hated it. I don’t want to live in fear of something I can’t control.

The only way I have learned to get through all of this is to understand that every action I take will have a reaction. And I can’t be afraid of that. Otherwise, I’m robbing myself.

Otherwise, I won’t be living at all. So, what’s the difference?

We make hundreds, thousands of decisions everyday. And even the innocent ones–as in running errands or helping someone out–can change your entire World.

I’m going to choose to live with my decisions. And if I ever make bad ones, I will fight to survive them. And I refuse to stop living for the potentially adverse outcomes.

And this entry will be my reminder of that.

The Words I Couldn’t Say

So, I have this friend. And no, I’m not actually referring to myself. I have this friend who I met about six years ago. We met through a mutual friend on MySpace (Which I’m kind of hoping would make a comeback lol) and became good friends. About 2 months into our new friendship, I realized he wanted more than friendship from me. But I wasn’t (and I’m still not) attracted to him. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great person, but he just doesn’t have what I ordinarily look for in guys. And although I knew in the back of my mind that this friend of mind had a thing for me, I refused to acknowledge it.

Then one drunken night….he kissed me….and I idiotically kissed him back.

The next morning I knew what a fucking stupid mistake I had made, but I was determined to undo the damage. I hated that I gave him the indication that I was interested. The only way to fix it was to be upfront about it, I told myself.

So, that opportunity came….and I wussed out.

Later that night, we went to the Saint. We got drunk off of bourbon and danced all night. Toward the end of the night, I saw him looking at me “in that kind of way” and I knew I had to do something to put at end to all of that. So, in a drunken stupor, I went up to him and told him that I really liked him…as a friend….but I didn’t want him as my boyfriend. He looked at me, eyes full of hurt, and asked, “Why not?”  I’ve never forgotten that moment as that was the first moment I ever broke someone’s heart.

Despite the pain, we got through it. We became great friends. And we really enjoyed hanging out. I was actually pretty surprised at how natural things seemed. I had thought things would become awkward and inevitably the friendship would end. Naturally.

But it continued…until I met someone.

This someone become someone very special to me. And this friend of mine became very bitter. He became so bitter that after one dramatic altercation at The Bonham Exchange, our friendship ended. And on MySpace six years ago, I wrote this:

I’m Burning this Bridge

I kissed him. Twice. So I can understand why there might be confusion and I can understand that despite me telling him incessantly that I have no interest in him, he might think otherwise. I can understand that he might think the only reason I say these things is to protect the relationship I’m starting with Eric.

Then when I decide not to be understanding, I’m faced with someone I really don’t think I would want in my life. He is all kinds of shades, and can change his attitude the second something happens with me and another guy. He’s able to deal with Eric and I being together. That’s not a problem for him anymore. But if any other guy comes up and poses interest he immediately draws into himself, puts up a steel wall, and acts as though I’ve commited an unforgivable sin. A question I have is, why is he no longer threatened by Eric? Eric is the closest thing to a relationship I have right now and <name removed> is NOWHERE in the viscinity. I remember a few months ago, he said that he was thinking of breaking someone up. He looked straight into my eyes when he said this. He made great strides to accomplish this on Tuesday. He intentionally took advantage of a situation. So much that he hurt people in doing it. But it was all done in the hopes that he’d get what he wants. Not only did he insure himself of that NEVER happening, but he’s made it clear that he’s nothing but a bitter, insecure, selfish, impersonable backstabbing sorry excuse for a friend.

And I’m happy to know it.

And here I am, about to burn this bridge again. And not because I’m angry. But because I’m tired. I’m tired of trying to make a friend of a Frenemy. Because that’s who he’s been all this time. And THOSE are truly the words I couldn’t say.

To Say Goodbye

So, I love my new apartment. When I came to Austin looking for a place, I chose the first apartment I was shown. I walked in and instantly new. At that moment as I stood at the center of what would become my apartment, I knew that Austin and I were meant to be. But if these past few months have shown me anything, its that things are never that simple. There’s far more give and take than that.

When I moved here, I went from being utterly excited about my new life, to in complete pieces when my old one drove away. It was heartbreaking. It was suppose to be heartbreaking. Change is never simple. And as I walked around my apartment again…alone…I realized that there were some serious changes ahead. For me personally….and for my apartment. I slowly began adding things every week. Flowers, lamps, rugs….but I knew the biggest change would be to the the walls around me. For a few months, I considered which walls I wanted to paint…and what colors would match my beautiful new furniture.

A month later and little had changed. I had added items here and there. My restroom was exactly as I wanted it (an egyptian theme). But my walls were still the boring white-tanish color that really added zero personality to the space I was trying to create. So, a few weekends ago, I pulled my lazy ass out of bed one Saturday morning and made my way to Home Depot. I have probably been to Home Depot about three times in my life. One was to buy a gift card for one of my former co-workers, another was to buy a magnolia tree for my Mom on Mother’s Day, and then that day…the day, I had decided I wanted to paint three walls in my new apartment. I don’t think I realize how lucky I am to have the apartment I have. It’s only when I’m in other people’s apartments do I realize what a great decision I made. I know that sounds completely big-headed of me, but I think it says something of my state of mind rather than my vanity. I don’t think I truly believe I deserve my apartment. I think in my mind, there’s still so much I need to do to make it mine.

And take it from me, there’s something very empowering about walking into a Home Depot. I mean the place in itself it all about improvement. Everyone that walks through its doors is looking to improve upon something. And so was I.

So, I walked to the Paint Department and started looking at various samples. I had an idea of what I wanted, so it didn’t take me very long to pick out the three custom colors I wanted for my three walls. I inevitably chose an avocado green for my living room (as it goes very nicely with my gray couch), a cinnamon brown for my dining area and an NYPD blue for my bedroom.

$134 later, I got home. I laid out the plastic protective sheets on my carpet, blue-taped the adjacent walls, and decided to start with my living room. I poured the avocado green into the paint tray, placed it on the plastic sheet, and found myself sitting on my couch staring at the walls. I was second-guessing myself. It was all suddenly happening too fast for me. But why? I had been so eager. I mean I got up early on a Saturday morning for this!!! Come on. I realized I was psyching myself out. And I also realized this apprehension was nothing unusual at all. In fact, I had faced it down many times before…and had folded to it…too many times than I’d like to admit.

It was Change. I remembered moving into the University of Incarnate Word dorms in the Fall of 2002 and moving out the very next day. I remember attending St. Mary’s University on a full-scholarship in the Fall of 2005, only to return home to Uvalde in the Spring. The change of it all had shook me. I think that’s what unfortunately stops a lot of us from doing what we know is better for ourselves. It’s the struggle between the old and the new, the complacent and the unexpected.

So, in my effort to get over myself, I got my ipod, put on my headphones, and painted my wall avocado green to Robyn’s “Dancing on My Own.” And as I painted, and the green strokes took charge of that once mundane space…I realized how good it felt and how much I needed it. But it wasn’t until my paint brush met that blank wall, that I realized it.

The Age of Entitlement

(This is something I wrote a few years back….it still applies.)

There was a Friday night a few months back in September where I found myself at Cheddar’s having another buzzed conversation over margaritas (and let us not forget the chips and queso) about life in your late-twenties. I found it fitting that while I was having this conversation, San Antonio was getting hit hard by a system of thunderstorms that turned the night sky jet black that clashed of thunder and lightning. Ugh. Life in my late-twenties. I don’t like being late to a teeth-cleaning, let alone being late in my age bracket. But that’s my reality, isn’t it? And yes, I’m doing my best to accept this reality while shedding the delusions. But man, let me tell you, I have some pretty solid delusions about myself. Choosing to believe it clear and starry that night definitely wouldn’t have spared me of the downpour awaiting me outside. But that’s what us quarter-lifers tend to do.

There was a waiter, not our waiter, but a waiter that would pass along our table occasionally that seemed to catch the attention of Ang and I. We both certainly thought he was cute. As he left our sight for the third time that night (while hoping for a fourth), I looked over across my table as the following realities began to quell this dreamboat of ours:

“Too young”, I said.

“Too short.”

“A Waiter”, I finished.

I’ve found that being officially in your late-twenties adds a certain apprehension that has much more to do with age than anything else. I mean, I’ll probably have to deal with this in my thirties, but one identity crisis at a time, please!! The issue for me–as it is for others my age, I have noticed–has more to do with the fact that I feel late to my age. I struggled and erred for a bit there in my early-twenties, and it certainly didn’t help to have to work full-time to pay bills while trying to pursue an accounting degree that left little for any semblance of a personal life. The decisions of your early-twenties come swift and tough, everyone doesn’t have the same emotional and financial support systems that can expedite a smooth transition to adulthood. And fucking Facebook, man. If there’s anything that sucks more regarding the advent of social networking, it’s the details your old high school friends get to throw in your face about their lives. Bachelor degrees, Graduate degrees, trips overseas, marriages, children, homes, boats! Boats!! I mean, COME ON!! Boats at 26!!?

Where did I go wrong? I don’t want a boat. But it would certainly be nice to have the power to mull one over, ya know? Ultimately, though, I feel the only wrong here is feeling I’m wrong for not being in the same place at the same time as those my age. So there it is, huh? A truth uglier that anything I could ever wake up next to after a late night of heavy bourbon and trance music: We feel entitled to it all. And that’s the grand-daddy delusion of them all.

I think it’s pretty clear that relationships dominate most of our minds. And I’ll admit that I haven’t dated anyone in a while. But that’s a choice after a few tough lessons learned. As those in my life know, graduating from college has been my focus for awhile. I could barely make time for myself. So, as is the trend, I joined a few sites aimed at dating a little over a year ago. When I was filling out a profile for one of these sites, I felt like I was applying for a job.

“What are your interests?”

“Where have you worked?”

“What are your goals?”

“How would you describe yourself?”

“What positions are you most interested in?” (I guess this one could go two ways)

And while sipping on our slushy margaritas, we lamented on our most recent dating trials and errors. The no-call-back, only attracting one-note dead ends, and the aggravation of not being able to win over the one with potential. So, I asked, “Is there more we could be doing?” Is there really much of a difference in how we are professionally hired and romantically desired? If you do the whole online-dating deal (and don’t lie, you fools know your asses do!), you probably have profiles (applications) up on a few sites, you go through the obligatory first phone call (phone interview) to  weed out the losers you really don’t want to waste your time and four bucks for coffee on, then you have your first interview (first date) which are normally used to gauge the possibility of a second date (second interview), then you’re normally either hired at that point or you’re asked back for more interviews depending on the level of the position, and in the dating realm you date until you mutually decide to be exclusive.

As we all probably know, the hardest part of the hiring process is getting the second interview as the hardest part in dating life is receiving that coveted call-back after a first date. So what’s the point? Just take a look at your Facebook page. Your best photos, your likes, your dislikes, personality, interests, education, occupation, goals, and dreams do one big thing: They market yourself. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat in front of my computer with my hand on my mouse (ok, that didn’t sound too good, so mind out of gutter people, please lol) while considering the consequence of liking a certain friend’s status, or admitting to being an avid fan of Pee Wee Herman (I was fashioning pull-ups at the time, ok?!!). Every decision you make on Facebook is seen by other people. Drunk facebooking is the social equivalent of walking out onto your front yard at 9am in a snuggie, boxer shorts, and socks with sandals for the morning paper.

So, why not take a casual business approach toward dating? Yeah, it doesn’t sound sexy, but I’m willing to bet I’d have a much better opportunity of having the chance of being sexy for someone in the future by being more thoughtful of the dating process rather than merely hoping he likes me based on the minimum effort I put forth. And this may take time. Invest in yourself. Salons, gyms, bookstores, therapists…do whatever you have to get yourself good and confident. Just because I might like to have someone, doesn’t mean I’m ready for someone and that is still a far cry from deserving anyone. Personally, I know right now, I ain’t looking too hot, hah. Not only because school has drained me of all energy, but because I feel that way about myself too. I wouldn’t date me. And I’m not dating, until I would.

Let it Go

It drives me crazy when people feel the need to give obvious advice.

I’m smart enough to know what I need. I think, for the most part, we all are. But things are never that simple. If they were, life would be a whole lot easier.

I remember reading “Eat Pray Love” about three years ago. The most compelling part of that book for me was when the main character was put to task for failing to see the truth of her struggling life.

She hadn’t let go. She hadn’t forgiven. She struggles because she allowed herself to. She wasn’t letting go of the old in order to allow the new in. She needed to create a space and let the universe do the rest. After that moment, she went a long journey toward a new life, a better life….a renewed life.

Unfortunately, that latter part (after the admission that you’ve been a total moron and have deluded yourself into thinking your problems are bigger than you) is the hardest part. It’s the part I struggle with. It’s the part I am going to devote myself toward from here on out.

I kind of came to this realization in a bar this past Saturday night. We went to OCH on 4th and had a few vodka 7’s. One of my best friends from San Antonio (who plans to move to Austin this fall) was visiting and we decided to hit the town (as you do in Austin) and meet up with a few friends. It had been awhile since  I had been to Austin, and I quickly noticed how much things had changed. Everything seemed improve. Everything except me.

When we first got there, the place was pretty dead, but as the people began to trickle in I noticed a stark contrast between the people of Austin and the people of San Antonio. Austinites seem more laid back, matter-of-act, and far more comfortable. I really like that. I wish I could take part in that.

Hopefully, one day, I’ll allow myself to. But I’m not going to delude myself into thinking that “letting go” is as easy as deciding to do so. It’s a process. Sometimes, a long one.

And finally…I welcome it.

Independence Day

I moved to Austin, TX about a month ago.

The majority of my family reside in San Antonio. I had never really left home for a substantial amount of time (aside from a semester of college), and had never really felt what it was like to REALLY be on my own. To depend on myself, to shelter myself, pay ALL the bills, clean house, and to really MAN up…well, it’s all very new to me.

I’m a 28 year old gay man with a bachelors of business administration degree in accounting. Oh, and I’m a virgin! Well, it comes to that one technicality, but I’ll get into that later.

I worked for a non-profit before being offered a job with the State of Texas as a Financial Analyst. When it comes to my career, I’m always on target. I have a seamless work history, never been fired, and I’ve been fortunate to not really have to worry about landing a job. It’s just the one part of my life that I always seem to know how to manage.

My personal life, however, well…that’s never been easy for me. Does anyone watch Girls on HBO? Well, the show is about about a group of girls (obviously) in their mid-twenties who in their effort to figure out who they are struggle to come to terms with who they’re becoming. I love the show because I can seem myself in each of those characters. Ultimately, when I look back at my early twenties, I begin to see that there’s just so much pressure to be someone that sometimes we slowly become projections of people we think we should be instead of the person we’re meant to be.

I’m just tired to trying too hard. I’m done with that.

I feel that now that I’ve moved out on my own, into a new city…with new people…I may have a chance to actually try this out.

It just feels like a new day, a new life, and a new start.

It’s Independence Day.

The Virgin of Me

It was March. And a few weeks after we had become official.

We were sitting next to each other, and finding ways to furtively touch, at a San Antonio Spurs game. I don’t remember who my Spurs were playing that night, but I do remember the excitement of it all.

The tension, buildup, countdown, and  the release. The game came down to those final seconds. My team was down two points and my favorite player Manu Ginobili had the ball. Everyone was on their feet and I was nervous as hell.

Some find it unusual that I’m so into sports. And I find it unusual in those that aren’t. How can you not love sports? There’s drama, pride, high-stakes…cute guys. Ok, it’s because I’m gay that they find it unusual. But there are other unusual things about me as well.

Anyway, before I get to that, back to the game.

Manu, atypically, passes the ball to Michael Finley, who dribbles from the top of the key toward  the left wing and shoots up a prayer. It clanks off the front of the rim. The crowd groans in shock as the opposing team celebrate their rare victory over a team that hardly ever loses on their home court (ever loses, period! To be honest).

I put my hands on my head in a classic “dissapointed sports fan” kind of way and looked toward my boyfriend next to me. He smiled, put his arm around my waist, drew me close to him, and kissed me quickly–yet gently–on my neck. I smiled at him and looked around half-nervous about the reaction this kind of display would get at a sports arena in South Texas. Even though I’ve only experienced one moment of gay hate in my life, I still get nervous.

The crowd started to file out and my best friend led the way out of the arena. Angie (the best friend), had gotten a Spurs ticket package from her parents for Christmas and this was the final game of the four games we got to attend. He (the boyfriend), hardly knew anything about basketball aside from the fact that they had won more than a few Championships, was all the city really had to be proud of (sports-wise), and that I called Manu Ginobili my husband.

As we drove back He and I sat in the back seat as Ang and I listened to the post-game on the local radio as we tried to escape the congested parking lot. While Ang and I discussed a few players…He put his hand on mine. I smiled at him, kissed him, and put my legs across his lap.

We had all met up at Angie’s apartment and rode with her to the game. When we got to her apartment we said our goodbyes and Angie went in to call it a night. He walked me to my car. As I got to my car, I turned around and hugged him. He squeezed me tightly, pressed his lips against my neck and kissed me up to my lips. The kiss was beautiful. It was like every other kiss we ever had, sweet, hot, and sensual. I placed my hands on his sides as he placed his on the sides of my face as if trying to hold the moment for as long as he possibly could. After every kiss we normally pressed our foreheads together and looked into each other’s eyes. He finally smiled, groaned, and hugged me tightly. Something seemed amiss…

“What?”, I asked half-laughing.

“I don’t want to leave, that’s what”,  he said.

“Then don’t.”

He kissed me on my neck…and continued to do so a little too aggressively…so I pushed his chest off mine.

“What? Geez”, he said smiling.

“You know I can’t afford getting a hickie. I work at a bank. And band-aids may hide the problem, buuuut people still know that it’s there. And honestly, that’s the worst part.”

He looked up into the night sky smiling, and looked down at me.

“Well, I know for a fact that you like it. Those little noises of pleasure you make…well, they turn me on..so when I start it’s kind of hard not to stop”, he said.

I looked at him and smiled knowing he was right, and said “Well, you’re just going to have to give me one where only you and I will ever know where it is.”

He looked at me smiling, looked around the parking lot, and kissed me gently as he lifted my shirt.

He slowly licked the side of my stomach in tiny circles, kissed it a few times, and then pressed his lips hard against my skin. So hard in fact, that I had to take a few steps backward in order to lean back against my car door. I placed my hands on his head and actually started to laugh a little, because if anyone had been looking out their apartment window it would have clearly looked like I was getting a blow job out in the open in a parking lot. And earlier I had been nervous about a little peck on the neck…gosh.

We slowly stopped, kissed the new mark he left me, and then proceeded up to kiss me on my lips.

I smiled at him and told him we’d better go before someone called the cops on the two pervs getting it on on the hood of a car. We laughed and hugged.

“Call me when you get home, ok?”, I told him while hugging him.

“I’m actually not going home”, he said.

“Oh?”, I asked.

“Yeah, Greg asked that I feed and let the dogs out for an hour or so.”

His best friend was in Dallas with a group of friends for a Britney Spears’ Circus Tour.

“Oh, ok. It’s kind of late, don’t you work tomorrow?”, I asked.

He gently nodded while giving me a few pecks on the lips and said, “But I don’t mind. I don’t need much sleep, you know that.”

“I do!”, I laughed. I’m a notorious sleeper. When I was in my early twenties, my friends would give me hell for maintaing a nap schedule. What they refused to understand was that my schedule warranted a nap! I had to be up at 5am for work, work till three and get to night school at about 7pm where I would stay till about 10pm. I did this four days a week. Power naps were vital! But anyway, I digress. I found it so endearing when after figuring out my sleep schedule, he would text me “Goodnight, Handsome”, right before I got into bed (naps included). It’s the little things that win me over.

Anyway, He smiled, and said “Well, you can sleep over at Greg’s with me.”

I looked at him. He looked determined. We were both very turned on by one another and spending more time next to him was just too great of an idea to turn down, however…

“Well, I won’t be able to stay. I don’t have my work clothes with me, but I can go for a bit.”

He smiled, kissed me with his hand pressed under my t-shirt and against my back.

“Follow me”, he said as he kissed me again and then walked toward his car.

As I watched him walk away I began to fully understand the implications. I was scared and nervous, but still I felt safe, protected, and happy.

I got into my car and followed his. He stopped at the apartment exit and took a left.

I then paused at the exit. Took a few extra seconds…and took a left as well.

It turned out to be a defining night for me. It would be the night that I would place a band-aid on my relationship.

To be continued…