I was working in a cafe in the Gay Village today - it has been a while since I've ventured into the Village.
This occasion was a steady reminder that when I'm not surrounded friends in the Village, I get very self-conscious and uncomfortable. I get the constant impression that people are checking me and each other out, creating some over-sexualized atmosphere. I become over worried about looking around and making eye contact with others, because it could be misinterpreted as me hitting on them or they would look at me with disgust.
Uh, it's annoying because I know this is all in my head. If I'm with friends, that entire paranoid feeling disappears completely. My friends become a figurative barrier against peoples' wandering eyes and judgement, or more like they stop my mind from creating these false impressions. In "straight" cafes, bars or any other public setting, I feel perfectly at ease. It's only when I'm in a "gay" identified environment.
I suppose my psyche does use my straight friends as a shield or reassurance to my self-esteem. They're familiar, there's nothing sexual between any of us, it's comfortable and it's a sure thing. But with gay people, there's potentially ways of socializing I'm not used to, mockery or rejection and just generally unfamiliar stuff.
An hour into my stay at the cafe, I got much more into the music I was blaring through my earphones and became relaxed.
Am I the only person who finds it so easy to be gay around straight people and finds it so hard to be gay around other gay people?
Showing posts with label maybe I'm a pussy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label maybe I'm a pussy. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Coming Out to Mike
And then there was one: Mike.
Over the last two posts, I wrote how I came out (or how I was outed) to Tim and Xav. They both took it better than any of my expectations. I'll admit, I tend to be pessimistic with regards to queerness and acceptance of others, but anyway...
When talking about how Tim and Xav found out, I (hopefully) conveyed that I felt let-down by myself. Instead of actually being pro-active and facing my fear of coming-out, I just kept hiding it when it was obvious that they would both find out sooner rather than later. A friend outed me to Tim, by accident, and I didn't even bother being up-front with Xav when I was almost sure he knew. I preferred to let them deal with the confusion and wait for their reactions, instead of just going directly to them and saying it.
Neither of those situation compare to how I acted with regards to Mike. Mike finding out I was gay was the real disappointment in myself. When it happened, Tim had already known I was gay for 1 year and I had confirmed my sexuality with Xav 6 months before. Although we were all really close, I kept Mike in the dark for 6 months longer, even with Tim and Xav on my back to go through with it. Although Mike is one of my closest friends, he was effectively the last friend of mine to not know I was gay. All the insignificant acquaintances and even friends I didn't like so much knew before him. To top it off, like Tim's situation, I waited for Mike to find out from someone else's mouth.
Pole dancing in the metro
From how the conversation was retold to me, it went something like this:
Mike: I think Thomas and Liz might be dating.
Mutual Friend: Haha! Are you joking!?
Mike's Girlfriend: No, really. They're always hanging out alone...
Mutual Friend: He's gay!
Mike: No he's not.
Mutual Friend: Ha, yes he is!
Mike: No.....?
Mutual Friend:....OH SHIT.
Later that night, we were all at a party. Mike and his girlfriend arrived separately from Tim, Xav and I. Mike's girlfriend came and found me almost straight away. She told me that Mike knew I was gay and explained how it happened. She said I needed to talk with him because he was really confused about it all, especially since he had asked a few of our other mutual friends about me maybe being gay. Mike found out that all our friends already knew I was gay but they had just never talked about it (again, the unsaid taboo of talking about my sexuality back then).
Mike and Girlfriend (now ex)
And what did I do when Mike's girlfriend told me this?
Nothing.
I just pretended as if everything was normal, although I did speak a little less to Mike that night. I did care, but I decided to fuck all that and let the situation sort itself out.
And I kept that up for 2 or 3 weeks.
Fast forward to Mike's birthday party at a club 737, on top of one of the downtown skyscrapers. Great night. Really warm outside on the roof, looking out at the city. Lots of booze. We were all super drunk.
Toward the end of the night, Mike sits next to me, plastered out of his mind. He then looks at me and says:
Mike: I know...and I don't understand why you didn't tell me. Everyone knew but me, and... even then you didn't care. I'm OK with you being this...but you should have told me.
Likelihood dictates that he doesn't even remember telling me this since about 20 minutes later he was vomiting everywhere and then passed out.
What he said stuck with me though. The next day, when I could process it all, I felt like shit. I had kept one of my best friends in the dark until he was the last one to know. Mike, the one friend I've known longer than any other friend, was the last. And by at least last by 6 months, to boot.
He's never been the type of person to care much about me being gay or straight. He didn't really have any questions, like Tim and Mike had. He just accepted me as I was and moved on.
It's sad to say that our friendship did suffer. It suffered because he felt like I didn't trust him. I didn't tell him soon after Tim or Xav and even for those 2 or 3 weeks when he wasn't sure what to think, I remained silent. We grew apart for a good year. We still hung out in our gangs, but we never saw each other 1-on-1. We stopped talking my messenger and didn't call each other. Mike is the classic straight guy in that respect - if he's hurt by you, he won't say it. He'll just deal with it and pretend everything is alright, even when it's not.
All of this, I regret. I wish I had the balls to have said it myself, even if it was only as damage-control after my outing. I had 3 chances: I fucked up 2 of them and then I went and ruined the 3rd.
Clearly, there was and still is something I need to learn.
Over the last two posts, I wrote how I came out (or how I was outed) to Tim and Xav. They both took it better than any of my expectations. I'll admit, I tend to be pessimistic with regards to queerness and acceptance of others, but anyway...
When talking about how Tim and Xav found out, I (hopefully) conveyed that I felt let-down by myself. Instead of actually being pro-active and facing my fear of coming-out, I just kept hiding it when it was obvious that they would both find out sooner rather than later. A friend outed me to Tim, by accident, and I didn't even bother being up-front with Xav when I was almost sure he knew. I preferred to let them deal with the confusion and wait for their reactions, instead of just going directly to them and saying it.
Neither of those situation compare to how I acted with regards to Mike. Mike finding out I was gay was the real disappointment in myself. When it happened, Tim had already known I was gay for 1 year and I had confirmed my sexuality with Xav 6 months before. Although we were all really close, I kept Mike in the dark for 6 months longer, even with Tim and Xav on my back to go through with it. Although Mike is one of my closest friends, he was effectively the last friend of mine to not know I was gay. All the insignificant acquaintances and even friends I didn't like so much knew before him. To top it off, like Tim's situation, I waited for Mike to find out from someone else's mouth.
Pole dancing in the metroFrom how the conversation was retold to me, it went something like this:
Mike: I think Thomas and Liz might be dating.
Mutual Friend: Haha! Are you joking!?
Mike's Girlfriend: No, really. They're always hanging out alone...
Mutual Friend: He's gay!
Mike: No he's not.
Mutual Friend: Ha, yes he is!
Mike: No.....?
Mutual Friend:....OH SHIT.
Later that night, we were all at a party. Mike and his girlfriend arrived separately from Tim, Xav and I. Mike's girlfriend came and found me almost straight away. She told me that Mike knew I was gay and explained how it happened. She said I needed to talk with him because he was really confused about it all, especially since he had asked a few of our other mutual friends about me maybe being gay. Mike found out that all our friends already knew I was gay but they had just never talked about it (again, the unsaid taboo of talking about my sexuality back then).
Mike and Girlfriend (now ex)And what did I do when Mike's girlfriend told me this?
Nothing.
I just pretended as if everything was normal, although I did speak a little less to Mike that night. I did care, but I decided to fuck all that and let the situation sort itself out.
And I kept that up for 2 or 3 weeks.
Fast forward to Mike's birthday party at a club 737, on top of one of the downtown skyscrapers. Great night. Really warm outside on the roof, looking out at the city. Lots of booze. We were all super drunk.
Toward the end of the night, Mike sits next to me, plastered out of his mind. He then looks at me and says:
Mike: I know...and I don't understand why you didn't tell me. Everyone knew but me, and... even then you didn't care. I'm OK with you being this...but you should have told me.
Likelihood dictates that he doesn't even remember telling me this since about 20 minutes later he was vomiting everywhere and then passed out.
What he said stuck with me though. The next day, when I could process it all, I felt like shit. I had kept one of my best friends in the dark until he was the last one to know. Mike, the one friend I've known longer than any other friend, was the last. And by at least last by 6 months, to boot.
He's never been the type of person to care much about me being gay or straight. He didn't really have any questions, like Tim and Mike had. He just accepted me as I was and moved on.
It's sad to say that our friendship did suffer. It suffered because he felt like I didn't trust him. I didn't tell him soon after Tim or Xav and even for those 2 or 3 weeks when he wasn't sure what to think, I remained silent. We grew apart for a good year. We still hung out in our gangs, but we never saw each other 1-on-1. We stopped talking my messenger and didn't call each other. Mike is the classic straight guy in that respect - if he's hurt by you, he won't say it. He'll just deal with it and pretend everything is alright, even when it's not.
All of this, I regret. I wish I had the balls to have said it myself, even if it was only as damage-control after my outing. I had 3 chances: I fucked up 2 of them and then I went and ruined the 3rd.
Clearly, there was and still is something I need to learn.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Now's the Time
This past weekend, I had some very good 1-on-1 hangout time with my friend Liz.
She's a new addition to the list of friends whom I have named in the blog. Liz isn't a new person - we met years ago and became close when she developed a crush on me (the standard story of my female friends' lives). Her eccentric character matches mine perfectly, so our meeting was clearly meant to be. She's watched me go from closet kid to what I am now and I've watched the lows and highs in her life go by. We also bonded over both having stalkers - oh the things that bring people together.
That evening we stayed at her apartment, drinking wine, eating muffins and talking about our lives. Having gone through a lull in the frequency with which we saw each other over the summer, the last 3 weeks have been us seeing each other pretty frequently, although always amongst other friends.
I'm very impressed with her right now. She told me that she's tired of waiting for the right guy to come around and talk her up, so she's gone on the offensive over the last few weeks. Whenever she finds a guy attractive, whether at a bar or breakfast restaurant, she jumps right into the flirting game with stares, smiles and eventually approaching them to quickly hand out her number. No waiting anymore. She's even joined a dating website, had a few dates, and and answered a Craigslist add. Surprisingly, the Craigslist-guy and her got along really well and have become friends.
Her exact words come to mind when introducing her new mindset:
Right now's the time I should be meeting guys and having lots of sex.
And she also added:
You too.
I should be taking a page from her book and put my self out there. God knows my flirting needs practice and my self-esteem needs a kick in the ass, to get into the driver's seat.
Liz tried to get me to join the same dating site as her, but I haven't soon forgotten the people I met/talked to last time I tried to do that a few years ago (which is briefly summarized here). I admit that I do need to hit some climax point, like she had, to set myself into gear for being proactive for meeting other guys, but that day has not yet happened. In the mean time, I was content to look over people's profile in the dating registry and make fun of them with Liz.
1.5 wine bottle later, my narcissistic tendencies took hold of my body and I decided to take snap shots of us as we laughed about it all.
And then we simultaneously passed out on her bed.
PS: I didn't mention to her that The Guy I Met on the Abandoned Building will be back in Montreal this Friday. I am very excited for that.
She's a new addition to the list of friends whom I have named in the blog. Liz isn't a new person - we met years ago and became close when she developed a crush on me (the standard story of my female friends' lives). Her eccentric character matches mine perfectly, so our meeting was clearly meant to be. She's watched me go from closet kid to what I am now and I've watched the lows and highs in her life go by. We also bonded over both having stalkers - oh the things that bring people together.
That evening we stayed at her apartment, drinking wine, eating muffins and talking about our lives. Having gone through a lull in the frequency with which we saw each other over the summer, the last 3 weeks have been us seeing each other pretty frequently, although always amongst other friends.
I'm very impressed with her right now. She told me that she's tired of waiting for the right guy to come around and talk her up, so she's gone on the offensive over the last few weeks. Whenever she finds a guy attractive, whether at a bar or breakfast restaurant, she jumps right into the flirting game with stares, smiles and eventually approaching them to quickly hand out her number. No waiting anymore. She's even joined a dating website, had a few dates, and and answered a Craigslist add. Surprisingly, the Craigslist-guy and her got along really well and have become friends.
Her exact words come to mind when introducing her new mindset:
Right now's the time I should be meeting guys and having lots of sex.
And she also added:
You too.
I should be taking a page from her book and put my self out there. God knows my flirting needs practice and my self-esteem needs a kick in the ass, to get into the driver's seat.
Liz tried to get me to join the same dating site as her, but I haven't soon forgotten the people I met/talked to last time I tried to do that a few years ago (which is briefly summarized here). I admit that I do need to hit some climax point, like she had, to set myself into gear for being proactive for meeting other guys, but that day has not yet happened. In the mean time, I was content to look over people's profile in the dating registry and make fun of them with Liz.
1.5 wine bottle later, my narcissistic tendencies took hold of my body and I decided to take snap shots of us as we laughed about it all.
And then we simultaneously passed out on her bed.
PS: I didn't mention to her that The Guy I Met on the Abandoned Building will be back in Montreal this Friday. I am very excited for that.
The Call - Part 3
This is the final post, in a series of three parts that began 2 days ago. You should read Part 1 and Part 2 before looking at this post.
It was surprisingly difficult to recount the story of Talya's call. The whole time I was writing part 1, I was shaking a little. This obviously isn't a story that I tell many people. I don't want to go advertise that Talya is a prostitute to my friends or the fact that my friend and I put someone into the hospital (we assume). The fucker deserved what he got and if I was put in the same situation, I would have been the one of use my keys as a stabbing brass knuckles. The whole event shook me up because I'm just not used to any of my friends actually been hurt. Broken bones from snowboarding is one thing, but a friend getting the shit beat out of her and her having to fight for her life is another thing. This'll make me sound like a baby, especially since Talya's situation was so much more serious than my experience, but even me kicking the shit out of the guy freaked me out. I'm really not one to get into fights - people generally like me so I've never had someone want to take me on. I'm also 6'4 - I'm definitely no body builder but my height clearly intimidates people who would be looking for trouble.
After that night, we did think about the possibility of the police on the lookout for 2 young adults who beat the shit out of a middle-aged man. We doubted that the fucker would have notified police. He had solicited a prostitute, beat her up, and potentially wanted to kill her. If he wanted the police to know about 2 guys assaulting him, he had to risk us sharing our stories. There's nothing for him to gain. If anything, he might have called for an ambulance to pick him up, but he probably wouldn't have recounted what actually happened. We did check the newspapers and listened to newscasts for a few days, but nothing came up.
There needs to be a bit of clarification on Tayla's job as an escort/prostitute. She not a hooker on a street corners of Sainte-Catherine, at 2am. As she has explained to me, she uses a service where people get in touch with her contact, and she takes jobs from that contact when she wants to. She typically meets the clients at pre-specified places, knowing what they want in advance. She has encountered fucked up people before and bailed on them, but nothing ever close to what happened that night. If you were to run into her during the day, she looks like a normal, cute young adult. No hideous face scares, skanky/(hilarious!) clothes or creepiness. In her words: I'm higher-class fare.
Now, let's get to the part where she called the police - oh wait, she didn't actually call the police for help! In her call to me, she told me police were already on the way. I was bolting across streets and between people in hopes that I might get there faster than the cops, so that I could save her life. I believed that the guys in blue, who actually know how to handle something like this, would be coming so hearing her tell me she lied made me almost want to beat the shit out of her myself. I held it all in that first night, because I knew that she needed support right then. But later that week, I let her have it.
HOW THE FUCK COULD SHE JUSTIFY NOT CALLING THE POLICE. What if I couldn't get there before the fucker bashed the door in!? What if he had a gun, and my friend and I just barged in to have our heads fucking blown off!? I spent an hour screaming at her, 1 week after the incident, putting that into her head. Sure, risking her own life is one fucking stupid thing, but putting my friend's life and my own in the same fucking basket was brilliance surpassed only by a kindergarten retard class, shoving crayons up their noses. Her justification was that she didn't want the police arresting her as well as a prostitute, but of course that doesn't fly. What's better: a charge for prostitution or no charges at all, because your body's been dumped into the St-Lawrence river? Exactly.
After my scream-a-thon over her idiocy, I walked out on her. We didn't speak for a month but I eventually answered one of her calls. I know that you all probably think I'm dumb, but I did start talking to her again and eventually we started hanging out again. For a few months she was still really shook up from that night and I was the only one she really felt understood her, let alone one of the very few people with whom she could talk about it.
Do I value myself, if I could open my friendship again with someone who thought nothing for my safety? I hope so. I genuinely believe she understands her mistake. I told her that I never want to get a call from her like that again, but if it has to happen then I'll be there. Maybe I'm an emotional sap, who crumbles before teary eyes, but at least I'm loyal and want to help those in need.
She still does escorting. I still believe that it's her life to have and use as she sees fit. The reality of a sex worker's life is much too clear for her and myself now. Someone could be tempted to say she deserves what she got. A small, angry part of myself would be inclined to agree, but it's not that easy. Just because a woman might wear a short skirt, doesn't mean she wants some club-douchebag putting their hands up her thigh and playing with the beaver. Same justification for a hooker. A prostitute doesn't deserve a black eye, or worse.
And to the fucker, left naked on the floor covered in a bit of his own blood: yes, I feel bad for him. Well, pity is a better word for it. What could have happened to him during his life that led him down that road. The few who know about this story think I'm fucked for thinking like that - giving that guy some sort of "forgiveness". That's not it at all. Nothing he did was Ok, but, as with all things, I just wish I could understand how a person could get to that point. Why would someone think that beating the shit out of a hooker is Ok? Probably some sort of way that they feel powerful or that they can feel better than another person, I can't be sure. But how did he get to feel that need?
Like I said, nothing is black or white.
------
It was surprisingly difficult to recount the story of Talya's call. The whole time I was writing part 1, I was shaking a little. This obviously isn't a story that I tell many people. I don't want to go advertise that Talya is a prostitute to my friends or the fact that my friend and I put someone into the hospital (we assume). The fucker deserved what he got and if I was put in the same situation, I would have been the one of use my keys as a stabbing brass knuckles. The whole event shook me up because I'm just not used to any of my friends actually been hurt. Broken bones from snowboarding is one thing, but a friend getting the shit beat out of her and her having to fight for her life is another thing. This'll make me sound like a baby, especially since Talya's situation was so much more serious than my experience, but even me kicking the shit out of the guy freaked me out. I'm really not one to get into fights - people generally like me so I've never had someone want to take me on. I'm also 6'4 - I'm definitely no body builder but my height clearly intimidates people who would be looking for trouble.
After that night, we did think about the possibility of the police on the lookout for 2 young adults who beat the shit out of a middle-aged man. We doubted that the fucker would have notified police. He had solicited a prostitute, beat her up, and potentially wanted to kill her. If he wanted the police to know about 2 guys assaulting him, he had to risk us sharing our stories. There's nothing for him to gain. If anything, he might have called for an ambulance to pick him up, but he probably wouldn't have recounted what actually happened. We did check the newspapers and listened to newscasts for a few days, but nothing came up.
There needs to be a bit of clarification on Tayla's job as an escort/prostitute. She not a hooker on a street corners of Sainte-Catherine, at 2am. As she has explained to me, she uses a service where people get in touch with her contact, and she takes jobs from that contact when she wants to. She typically meets the clients at pre-specified places, knowing what they want in advance. She has encountered fucked up people before and bailed on them, but nothing ever close to what happened that night. If you were to run into her during the day, she looks like a normal, cute young adult. No hideous face scares, skanky/(hilarious!) clothes or creepiness. In her words: I'm higher-class fare.
Now, let's get to the part where she called the police - oh wait, she didn't actually call the police for help! In her call to me, she told me police were already on the way. I was bolting across streets and between people in hopes that I might get there faster than the cops, so that I could save her life. I believed that the guys in blue, who actually know how to handle something like this, would be coming so hearing her tell me she lied made me almost want to beat the shit out of her myself. I held it all in that first night, because I knew that she needed support right then. But later that week, I let her have it.
HOW THE FUCK COULD SHE JUSTIFY NOT CALLING THE POLICE. What if I couldn't get there before the fucker bashed the door in!? What if he had a gun, and my friend and I just barged in to have our heads fucking blown off!? I spent an hour screaming at her, 1 week after the incident, putting that into her head. Sure, risking her own life is one fucking stupid thing, but putting my friend's life and my own in the same fucking basket was brilliance surpassed only by a kindergarten retard class, shoving crayons up their noses. Her justification was that she didn't want the police arresting her as well as a prostitute, but of course that doesn't fly. What's better: a charge for prostitution or no charges at all, because your body's been dumped into the St-Lawrence river? Exactly.
After my scream-a-thon over her idiocy, I walked out on her. We didn't speak for a month but I eventually answered one of her calls. I know that you all probably think I'm dumb, but I did start talking to her again and eventually we started hanging out again. For a few months she was still really shook up from that night and I was the only one she really felt understood her, let alone one of the very few people with whom she could talk about it.
Do I value myself, if I could open my friendship again with someone who thought nothing for my safety? I hope so. I genuinely believe she understands her mistake. I told her that I never want to get a call from her like that again, but if it has to happen then I'll be there. Maybe I'm an emotional sap, who crumbles before teary eyes, but at least I'm loyal and want to help those in need.
She still does escorting. I still believe that it's her life to have and use as she sees fit. The reality of a sex worker's life is much too clear for her and myself now. Someone could be tempted to say she deserves what she got. A small, angry part of myself would be inclined to agree, but it's not that easy. Just because a woman might wear a short skirt, doesn't mean she wants some club-douchebag putting their hands up her thigh and playing with the beaver. Same justification for a hooker. A prostitute doesn't deserve a black eye, or worse.
And to the fucker, left naked on the floor covered in a bit of his own blood: yes, I feel bad for him. Well, pity is a better word for it. What could have happened to him during his life that led him down that road. The few who know about this story think I'm fucked for thinking like that - giving that guy some sort of "forgiveness". That's not it at all. Nothing he did was Ok, but, as with all things, I just wish I could understand how a person could get to that point. Why would someone think that beating the shit out of a hooker is Ok? Probably some sort of way that they feel powerful or that they can feel better than another person, I can't be sure. But how did he get to feel that need?
Like I said, nothing is black or white.
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