A Repost from Christmas of 2004

This was a letter I wrote to this guy I'm speaking with online for nine months now, and just two months ago, I found out that I was actually flirting with a straight guy. Well, it came as a big motherfuck of a shock to me, and and the first thing I had in mind was that I was barking at the wrong tree. I might as well terminate the correspondence for what it's worth.

I'm mighty impressionable by nature, and sometimes, that is a weakness.

By the way, I referred to him in the third person in this letter for the purposes of narration.

Wonald and myself are in good speaking terms again. He's straight, I'm gay, and maybe I'm just clearly stupid or whatnot, but I used to think we were flirting. It appeared to me, at least. What's even funnier was that I even overreacted to a situation brought about by my own reckless abandon.

Fortunately, I was able to pacify my frustration with a generous lamentation on my inexcusable lack of caution, and I apologized to myself, profusely, for almost allowing lightning to strike twice. Silly me, but I hope we're okay now, and I think we are. I even find it comfortable hearing him talk about his girlfriend, and thank God for that.

He's straight, damn straight, and the news is as comforting as a level-8 healing spell, to put it in RPG-talk.

I'm gay, he's straight, I'm a moth, and he's this enchanting flame on a dancing candle wick. But I'm a moth with a burned wing, so I'm smarter, and I know better than to get the other one singed. Straight people leave me flightless, and for the love of me, I'd rather be available crippled than to be permanently handicapped at all.

You do understand where I'm coming from, right?

Temptations are only interesting when they're delightfully attainable, but for the most part, the thrill of the hunt begins to fade as soon as the object of your attention withdraws all possible avenues of interest.

But hey, he is, for all the right reasons, a most fine gentleman, and he could never have stressed it enough himself. I still find it quite curious though, how two upbeat men of varying sexual orientations get to maintain a delightful correspondence online. And even more so now, when all polite restrictions, all in the name of common courtesy of course, have been established.

The question remaining is how wonderful will the spontaneity be in this kind of agreement? It might sound helplessly futile, but how do I let go of an understanding which aims to question my basic understanding of these matters. I have always led myself to believe that anyone you meet online is a potential love-interest, otherwise, they're simply a waste of my precious time. It's basically THAT black and white. But in this case, I have no other reason to cling on to, maybe that pleasant realization that there does exist an interesting alternative. Apparently, I've struck gold since no other gentle wisdom characteristic of this intelligent asshole would even bear to tolerate my gay and overflowing bitching.

But seriously, the question "where do we go from here," is also considerable, but that would imply terminating something as delightful for what it's worth. And I would like nothing better than to see how two bitching assholes of varying sexual orientations would tolerate communicating with each other on a semi-regular basis.

Basically, you're online, and you've pleasantly butchered all dwindling hope of an "extra-curricular friendship." You just love my honesty, don't you? Simply put, it's flirting online minus all the strict reasons with which flirting is defined. And though it was made so bleeding clear, I still go for it with a sheepish grin, wondering how in the world this will progress.

This post, however obscure, had a comment.

Lemme Put You On Hold

**You can only imagine what talk happens during that one minute hold. And this is just some of them. We are actually running your tests for you during that two minute hold, but we are mostly... distracted.

1. American Idol performance night
2. human swine virus
3. comparing lubes
4. comparing gaydar notes over which new guy emits the strongest gay frequency
5. where are we having lunch?
6. this godawful noob that's messing my cool
7. this godawful noob that's messing my cool for thirty minutes now
8. this godawful noob that's messing my cool for an hour now
9. what's a noob?
10. that fool Ricky Hatton going down on Round 2
11. the weather. Yes, the weather.
12. are we going out for a few beers?
13. are we going out for a lot of beer?
14. how many days left before the weekend
15. how many days left before the next payday
16. how was your pay?
17. some technical jargon
18. grammar slips
19. phonetics slips
20. pronunciation slips
21. B and V slips
22. P and F slifs
23. what time are we having lunch?
24. can we have lunch now?
25. what about now?

Criticism

**Click on the image to enlarge.

What About Gifts?

Do you finish reading a book because somebody gave it to you as a gift? What if it was around five hundred pages thick? What if it's all words and ideas and deep stuff with no pictures on it? What if it had size 8 fonts, single space, with very lengthy paragraphs set at two to three a page? What if the chapters were spaced so far apart you think you'd get tired just by the mere thought of it? What if it was something that never interested you to begin with?

What if it was given to you by, say, a family member? Or perhaps another beloved who only had your best interests during that wildly congested Annual Book Sale at the mall? Maybe a dear aunt that gave you the same pair of hot pink pants because she knew you were a fag, and you were into this kind of shit? What if the gift wrap was something straight out of Martha Stewart's workshop, all decked out like a window display because it's trying to send a message across?

It's a good thing my sister knows my reading material like the back of her hand. I wouldn't know, for the life of me, how to answer any of those questions.

How's the Embarrassment Like?

The funniest thing happened last Sunday. Ricky Hatton, after months of serving the juiciest trash talking over his fight with The People's Champ Manny Pacquiao, dropped dead, cold as a knocked out turkey only after two rounds of the most, shall we say, unprepared boxing to grace Pay Per View. He's knocked out on round two. And that's basically the long and short of this very short lived "put your money where your mouth is match," however much awaited.

I wonder how the embarrassment is like. I mean, what happened here is like training for Rhythmic Gymnastics for four years only to trip on the first few seconds of your routine. And what makes it less embarrassing is that gymnasts don't trash talk. Or they don't do it as loud as Hatton's entourage.