R.B. Winters's Blog: Rent (minus) Control, page 10
January 10, 2015
Cynic or Optimist?
Larrymore asked me yesterday about the “mystery man” I’ve been seeing. I say seeing and not dating, because it’s too soon to know if this is dating. We also don’t see each other nearly enough to call this dating…in my mind
So, who is the mystery man? For now, we’ll call him Bullseye. We met a little over a month ago and have been seeing each other occasionally during that time. He’s a nice guy, seemingly genuine and I think has an interest. I say seemingly because the cynic in me is always expecting the other shoe to drop when things go well. Can’t help myself. Then again, things are going well, but we don’t really know much about each other. Perhaps ignorance really is bliss.
Bullseye says those little things you want to hear. You know, the things which indicate the other person likes you and that everything is progressing in the right direction. Because most of these things end up coming via text, I grin, no one around to see, and then brush them off either with a comical response or none at all. As with all things, I over analyze. What does it all mean? Maybe something, maybe nothing.
I believe, Bullseye, being from the South endows him with certain manners. That, or he’s the most open and genuine person I’ve met in a long time. Which is why I stand on the line of optimism and cynicism. Trying not to get in my own way, I am cautious to not move too quickly as that blew up in my face the last time [Scruffy]. Being emotionally slutty (available) tends to be a problem and being emotionally distant (a jerk) is also a problem. Where to go from here?
I put this out into the world, if for no other reason than to exercise it from my head. Holding this stuff in will make you crazy.
January 3, 2015
New Year. New Urine.
New Year’s Eve is always a fun and crazy time. This year my friends all made the decision to stay in and drink at our Straights’ house. This meant no crowds, no lines and no bar tabs!
Being the wino that I am, I arrived three or so hours before the Russian and Larrymore. This provided my Straights and I time to work through the first few bottles of wine and begin snacking. Though, I must admit we weren’t bombed when everyone else arrived later that evening…which is a small miracle.
The remainder of the night brought on more wine, Cards Against Humanity and crepes. How I love crepes. Having bought myself the crepe maker and mix for Christmas this was my first attempt making a batch and I think we can successfully say everyone enjoyed.
After the ball dropped and kisses were exchanged it was time to make my way home. Arriving somewhere around two in the morning, there were three people standing in my hallway. I passed by going inside to order GrubHub and start working on the upcoming hangover. Then the yelling started in the hallway. A few minutes later I was in the hallway screaming at the three people. Something along the lines of, ‘Take it inside, take it outside, just shut the fuck up.” *Door Slam*
Twenty minutes later a knock at the door and the neighbor I had just verbally attacked was asking for the management building’s number. She and her two friends happened to be locked out, which is why they were fighting in the hallway. Feeling bad, because I’ve been there more than once, I let them come in to wait for the locksmith.
Four hours later as we stood with the locksmith, his drill burning through the door across the hall, I noticed the one male friend in this group of twenty-three-year-old kids was in my room. I looked away for a moment and then he was stumbling toward me. Door open, kids out and me back to myself, I stripped down and made my way to bed.
Flicking on the bedroom light, there was a glimmering puddle on the floor. Did the cat pee on the floor? This was my first thought, but I’ve never heard of a cat doing so, also, the amount of urine was so much it couldn’t have been the cat. Then it clicked. That kid stood up and pissed on the floor.
We’ve all been trashy drunk, but this is a whole new level of disgusting. I’m not sure if it’s a lack of manners or tact, but my feelings on the younger twenty-somethings and kids from Long Island are officially in the toilet.
Minus the urine we had a great New Year’s. And with my neighborly good deed done for the year, I have three-hundred plus days to be wicked and selfish.
December 31, 2014
While You Were Gone
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It’s been a long year. From the moment you left to this one right here. Ignore the rhyme, it’s unintentional, but helps make my point clear.
You’ve missed a lot since you went away; I met many of your friends, from Orangeville to Salt Lake, there are a lot of people out there who love you. Still, it was nice to meet the people, meet the faces that belong to the stories you told me over the years. Nice to hear stories you hadn’t yet shared and gain just that much more insight into who you are. Well, who you were.
I wrote another book, this one stands in memoriam to you. As you told me before, I did just what you would have wished, every dirty detail, every single moment. All wrapped up in a nice little package and out on display for all of the world. But I didn’t stop there. With all of your photos on CDs galore, I picked and poked and composed a little something for you. Forever your name will live in Internet glory. At least as long as Amazon maintains their dominance and authority.
But you also missed what you inspired. Content to stay in New York and not venture too far, I realized time is short and there’s no time to waste. A trip to Paris, seven days too short. An entirely different world with friends along for the ride; one truly incredible time. You made that possible. Thank you. Though I wish you were around to laugh at the drunken photos.
Oh, and you’d like to know, my friends have finally found a wine glass large enough to satisfy my thirst. It fits an entire bottle. Yes, the whole thing. I’m sure there’s a beer mug equivalent we could have found for you. Though you’re not here to share the drinks, I’ve grown closer to my dad, as he does his best to fill two roles. Though I’m an adult, I’m a needy adult. I require constant attention and accolades, of which you had no issue. Though your cheers have faded, his cheers have risen, so I can’t complain.
And on this day, as we count down the hours to the end of 2014, it comes to mind that things now have to change. I will never have known you in this new year, we’ll never have spoken, even though it’s been months since I’ve tried to call. Rather than let sadness dampen the day, I say, cheers to you and for all that remains. So this is goodbye, at least for this moment. And until next year and our next conversation, I’ll do my best to fill every moment.
December 26, 2014
Breathe Again
You knocked the wind from me.
I saw the apple fall,
Hitting the ground,
with no sound at all.
The shrivel. The shrivel
The fruit can no longer grow.
The fruit will no longer grow.
I try to understand,
try to comprehend,
watching the apple tree.
It sways in the wind.
That wind.
That wind from the past.
It’s long gone like my breath.
I can’t breathe.
The hit. It hit.
Such ferocity.
No catching or stopping,
just take a breath.
I’ll wait. I’ll wait.
Air in the lungs,
Hit the ground.
We’ll both be done.
Micro-Dating
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Recently I had the opportunity to pick any old topic on which to write a thesis paper. Dating was an easy choice as there is so much going on all around me when it comes to dating. Friends provided me all the feedback and data needed without even being solicited. We’re all a little on the gossipy side.
The official topic/question: Are dating apps and websites encouraging individuals to endlessly seek first dates in an effort to find something better?
As you probably have noticed with the relationship between smart phone and user becoming evermore entangled, almost all dating is taking place via app. From hookup to hangout, everything you can possibly want is available at the tap of a screen. And with every tap you can find a seemingly endless supply of people.
Smiling faces, clever headlines and then there are all of your left swipes.
What I found to be at least partially true after a month of observing friends using dating apps is that we all seem to be unwilling to settle down, even if the person is exactly what we claim to be looking for. The spectrum of daters ranges from the causal, once-in-a-while person, to the three dates a week person. The personalities range from skeptical and bitter to overly eager and ready to wed.
I’m terming all of this micro-dating. As we individually continue to invest more time into dating apps the number of dates rises accordingly, but the number of repeat dates declines. Meaning we are truly becoming a one and done society where a relationship lasting long-term is beginning to sound like the stuff of fiction that only takes place on television and in books.
A few hard facts you may enjoy from my research: The odds are in favor of the men. There are just more ladies out there, meaning it’s easier to be a playboy. If you’re using a gay dating app the odds of you finding “the one” are slim as hookups are too easy and too common. Your best bet to find love on a dating app is to have low standards and accept the occasional date. The less you date the better your chances of making something work. Go figure.
Of course, you can argue all of this any which way, but it did encourage me to remove any of the hook up apps from my phone and keep only OkCupid. I mean, if I can’t research and torture myself a little, what’s the point?
December 3, 2014
You’re Too Young
Have you ever met someone you really liked and they weren’t interested? Of course you have, we all have. What I mean is more like this: When I was in my early twenties and would meet someone in his older twenties or early thirties, the reason they weren’t interested was because of my age. This perplexed me for years. I mean, old men are paying for young girls. Doesn’t someone of an older age want the youth of another?
It turns out, no.
Only recently did this begin to make sense. Not feeling old, but clearly being older than a large chunk of the millenials who are beginning to clog the bars and coffee shops, it makes sense. When a twenty-year old asks if you want to hangout there’s this initial impulse of, “God, no!” It’s not just because it looks like the first hairs on the kid’s chin have barely appeared, it’s because of the gap in life experience.
Physically I’m the same person I was ten years ago. As far as flesh and bone goes. Mentally it feels like the others in my head and I have gone through a multitude of lifetimes together. I’m full of useless knowledge that is learned along the way and can in no way be properly expressed to someone younger in words. But, when you turn down one of the younger individuals, they’ll still ask, “why?” If you tell them it’s because of their age they will affirm their maturity and how blah, blah, blah they are, but it won’t matter and they won’t understand.
The interesting twist here is that when someone five ore more years older now tells me I’m “too young” there is no argument from me. They’re probably right. I have no idea what’s going to transpire over the next decade or how that’s going to change me. Just something to think about.
November 9, 2014
Emotional Housekeeping
Last night the Russian hosted a casual dinner party, bringing together myself, Larrymore and our Straights. Jokes, one broken glass [this one not my fault] and an amazing dinner. But I still slipped out early. I wasn’t feeling great, the wine was helping, but I couldn’t shake an ick hovering over me.
Once home I drank water only, which should tell you I really wasn’t in prime form as there was a perfectly good bottle of wine right there just waiting to be uncorked. Somewhere between an angry stomach and an unsettled mind I decided it was time to let go of some of the bad behaviors that clog a person. This spurred by Ray Ray who was dealing with another breakup. She goes through men faster than I do, mainly because she actually takes the time to date. My sad attempts at dating are fewer and farther between but I always had my safety net: Late Night.
But what good is it doing anyone to have the safety net? Late Night’s a nice guy, though I wish he truly was a giant asshole so there was a proper reason to cut ties. As I told him, I don’t want to be the someone you talk to only when you’re bored. Which he disputed, either way it’s what I believe. To be honest, the two or so months we didn’t speak up until my birthday weren’t so bad. Having this random person out in the world you may hear from consumes the mind. And for what? So you can be given exactly what you were promised: Nothing.
I didn’t stop there. As I scrolled through my phone I noticed the long-lost ex whom I’ve not seen in more than a decade. The phone was refusing to let me delete him, the option wasn’t there. Taking it as a sign I said, “Hello.” Via text, of course. The conversation was brief and circled towards my mother. Everyone I dated over the last ten years was compared to this guy by her. He then mentioned he was aware of her passing and spouted some semi-philosophical bullshit. I was enraged. Complete strangers reached out, and you, someone who claims to be a friend, didn’t even offer a pity ‘Hello’?!
Once I figured out how to unlink his contact it was possible to drop the contact record from the phone. He’s just one more shadow of the past taking up space.
And both of these, probably more dramatic than necessary endings, occurred while I was sober. Which is important to note as it will be the assumption of some that it was just drunken rambling.
November 7, 2014
Laser Vision
In the eighth grade my class went on a field trip to an Eye Surgery Center. Why? Because it was the goal of my school to scare the hell out of me. On a screen we watched a laser correction surgery and then a cataract removal procedure. Horrifying is the only word I can use to describe what I witnessed. So much did this scare me that I swore to never have laser surgery, mind you I wore contacts at that time.
All these years later I decided to go in for a consultation. It’s been nearly two decades since I saw what looked like medieval torture, time had to advance the way the procedure was done. Right? Long story short, I decided to have them zap my eyes.
Going into the office I was terrified. So much so, they provided me a delicious little Valium to help calm the nerves. After I was provided the blue pill everyone else in the office started confessing their own fear. Coincidence? When the procedure actually started gearing up the technician gave me a teddy bear and a blanket. These are comforts to children and adults alike. I nearly strangled that poor little bear while on my back.
Was it painful? That’s what you want to know. There are two lasers you have shot into each eye. The first is accompanied by a soft rubber ring that sits on your eye. You feel a little pressure and then everything goes pitch black. The doctor warns you in advance, but it still got my heart racing. I assumed something went wrong and I was blind. But as the doctor counts back from ten your vision returns and you see blurred light. The next laser is a little louder as you hear the computer running and there is a smell which I believe is your eye being burned. Overall, really no pain, mostly just stress and anxiety.
You’re under the lasers for only a few moments. Then your eyes have two large, plastic things taped over them which you must wear until the next day. You wait in a dark room for someone to pick you up. My friend, Larrymore, was kind enough to walk me home, and thank god because you really can’t see a thing.
Fast forward twelve hours and you wake up from pill induced sleep, pull off the face mask and see. It sounds ridiculous, but you wake up and can see. The clock isn’t blurry, there’s no searching for glasses – it’s amazing. It was worth every penny and all of the fear.
November 2, 2014
Taylor Swift as Foreplay
Most people enjoy Halloween. Maybe not to dress up, but at the very least people enjoy the excuse to behave like a ridiculous mess and receive no judgement whatsoever. And who am I to pass up an opportunity to misbehave.
The parents in town and staying with me, it was only appropriate to take them out, masks and all, for drinks and debauchery. Our drinks, strong by design and early for the evening actually worked a little too quickly. Getting my father so drunk I put our group on hold, grabbed a cab and ran the parents back to my apartment. Tricking them with the promise of food it was surprisingly easy, thank the lord our family is made up of fun, happy drinkers. I did actually order them food, but for some reason it never arrived and was impossible to track once I was back out with friends.
Larrymore, the Russian and I did some light bar hopping and heavy drinking, doing everything possible to punish livers and ensure the next day would come with a fresh hangover. Somewhere around bar three and drink number something it was time to text Late Night. It’s the magic of alcohol that tells you, ‘Hey, it would be a really good idea to send sexually explicit messages to another human being.’
Fast forward through the boring moments you could care less about and to the point of getting back to Late Night’s apartment. He turned on Taylor Swift’s new album, which I exclaimed love for to his surprise. I’m twenty-nine and gay, of course I love Taylor. My demographic is the gay male equivalent to fourteen year old girls as far as musical taste. But things became interesting, or is it comical, when we began debating which was the best song on the album. The song at the bottom of this post is in my mind the best from this album. More important, how gay is this debate? Not that I have complaints, but who is it that straight people argue about between kissing?
Add to this, Late Night ordering food. Okay, every good night ends with the delivery of some delicious and probably bad for you food. But it was taking forever to arrive. Late Night was nodding off on hold for the restaurant about the time I decided to wait in his bed and stay warm. This was my first bad idea of the night because it ensured the part of my brain that only thinks about food and sleep was allowed to takeover. The next thing I know, it’s eight in the morning, I’m getting walk of non-shame coffee while being judged by the Starbucks baristas. Jokes on them, there was no sex, so there can be no shame.
Another Halloween in the books, but I give it an overall ‘A.’ [For alcoholic.]
October 24, 2014
No You, Thank You.
If you’re not officially dating, can you have a break-up? Or better, can you be dumped? I’ll say no, consider Scruffy and I only did whatever it was we were doing for a couple months. The other day when he called, I thought it was an opportunity to decompress and complain, it was actually a call-dumping/non-dumping.
Over the last two weeks I had an inkling things may not have been exactly working. Twice now, Scruffy sat me down to tell me what was wrong. This always has a way of really being what I’m doing wrong. Not to say it wasn’t my fault, I can’t help my behaviors, they’re me…and I love them.
But…the other night when he told me he wasn’t comfortable with me writing about him. I don’t really know how to handle the concept. You see, if you want to be with me, as I assume with all other people, you would need to enjoy all aspects. Mine is this silly little nothing of a blog. I was willing to leave him out, though this blog is excluded as every tale, no matter how short is in need of an ending.
None of this was dramatic. There was no fighting, yelling, crying or cruel words. It was a simple conversation which terminated a period of time. What makes it unfortunate is we had such a good time together. Clicking with people is rare. Well, maybe it was me having a good time clicking and Scruffy was only tolerating. I suppose I could ask what the true reason for the end is/was, and I believe I would be provided an answer, but it’s so much more interesting to let the mind wander.
With an invitation to remain friends, I’m accepting of the idea but know it will never happen. It’s the equivalent of someone saying, ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’ You know it was you. I know we probably won’t ever hangout, unless Scruffy moves from the Bronx to Astoria, it’s likely we won’t even have a run-in. For now we can close the book on this chapter and the dating adventures continue.
Rent (minus) Control
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