Today I wish to talk about my love life (or lack of it). My poor wife has already heard enough of this comedic aspect of my life. I will somehow refrain from making this letter a real tear-jerker and focus on the real emotion you should feel from this: humor. So, wife, if you're reading this...dear god, I pray for your soul.
I'd like to view my love life as a work in progress, Sentry. A real fixer-upper, if you will. I don't say that with any woe-is-me sentiment. I will not be dropping to my knees tonight praying that my life were otherwise. Why? Cause I love my life as it is: for all the good and bad. I have great friends though sometimes they do the strangest things. For example, I used to believe that I was a cuddle slut. The first time I knew I had met the lady that would be my wife was when she cuddled with my bum. Yes, a frightening story, Sentry: a lesbian making contact with a gay man's ass. But that's how I knew we were meant to be husband and wife (please note I did not write married). I would cuddle with anything or anyone, almost: man, woman, dog, cat, pillow, even a stuffed animal. Hell, I've done all of that, Sentry. And I'm right proud of it. Cuddling is fun! Except when people put their hands down my shirt to touch my chest. I always have to turn to them and be like, "Enjoying my moobs?" That usually stops them but it's this awkward moment where I have to remind people that this man's skin need not be touched while actually cuddling. But that's a story for another time.
But I have discovered that I'm evidently lame in my cuddling when it comes to my friends. I am put to shame in my cuddling by them. For them, cuddling is practically a religious experience. If there is a cuddling god (albeit one major lazy god), these are some of his/her/it's most devoted followers. They are equal opportunity cuddlers, I've discovered, Sentry. In one regaling story of cuddling, men and women essentially were lumped together in a massive cuddle session. Clearly, I have been out-cuddled. Straight, bi, and lesbian men and women have gathered in this. Ah, Sentry, I am vanilla in my cuddling. Have I lost my...edginess? Will I ever triumph over their mass cuddling?
In other news, I'm quite the catch, Sentry! I know, it caught me off guard too when I discovered this. You'd think my lack of consistently shaving my facial hair would have turned them away in droves, but evidently not. But, back to the story. Yes, I'm quite the catch, Sentry. Well...I'm quite the catch for men old enough to be my grandfather. I write this with a bit of an addition, Sentry. I have no issue or problem with guys that are interested in inter-generational dating. More power to them, I say. What? You're eighteen and attracted to a fifty year old? Cool. It's just not my thing. But, back to the story, Sentry. I'm quite the catch, evidently. A man, nearly seventy years old, was recently chatting me up and requesting that we hang out at his place. Now I may not be the most savvy gay man in the world. God knows, and my friend, that I have little to no fashion sense. But still, I am the man that every, er, older man dreams of. So, to make this story short and stop meandering, I politely explained my concern over our age difference. The man chose to not pay attention to this comment and kept on talking to me. Yes, Sentry, the man would not take no for an answer. I politely explained three times to him that I just wasn't interested. Four if you count the fact that a year ago he hit me up as well, but that's neither here nor there. He finally took the hint and now we no longer talk. That's the latest news in my romance life.
Oh, the last sentence was a lie. I've been crushing on a guy recently, Sentry. Yes, I realize this is nothing new. I believe that my brain insists that I crush on someone regularly. As soon as I get over someone, suddenly I'm interested in another person. You'd think my hormones would catch on that I'm just not really interested in dating...but when has my body, let alone other people, ever listened to me? So, yes, I like another person. And like all comedies, we are mismatched in being able to find time to even possibly go on a date. That and I'm odd. See, I am a chatterbox as you already know so well, Sentry. Can't shut me up normally. Yet around him, I cannot bring myself to breach the topic of us going on a date so all I can do is be a cheerleader for him in his dating life. I can't help but laugh, Sentry. Here I am, tongue-tied over this guy and still playing the supporting role of wanting to know how the three dates he has this week with three different guys goes over. Do I hope things go well? Of course. And I hope they fail...because I want a chance, ha ha! Ah well, I say this to myself: Courage, get off your ass and come over here. I need you for a moment or two. I might succeed in getting up the nerve to ask him out. Wish me luck...maybe, Sentry?
That's the state of my love life. If I ever had my life portrayed as a movie, I'd ask for it to be as a comedy. Tragedy would be too dull, but comedy would put a nice spin on things. I mean, really now, who wants to see a "Woe is me" about...well, me? I don't. I'd rather portray the ironies of my life, the oddities of my family, the petty and silly acts I have committed throughout my life, and the bumbling efforts at romance and love on my part. It would be sheer comedy! Now, I've shared it all for now, Sentry. No, don't be an ass and tell me things will get better. They will or won't. It doesn't matter now. Things are good now. That's what matters to me.