I do like football. I don't love football.

Maybe this has nothing to do with being gay. Maybe it does. 

I have many gay friends who act pretty darn straight. When we go out people have a hard time believing we're even gay-- and I'm not trying to be one of those "straight-acting" gay men who put themselves on a pedestal as if we're better than non-masculine gay men. I see a bunch of dudes who think that being masculine makes them a higher caliber gay. I'm not saying that.

Like the homophobic homo defense, "Ok ok, yes I am gay... but at least I'm not running around in leather, wearing a feather boa, and using cum as hair gel!!!"

That makes me angry. 

It's the same shame people get when they are asked if they bottom, "Me? Eww, I'm a top!! Bottoming is gross."

Awww! Is it? Fuck you, you power bottom. You're gay. Don't act grossed out by a butt hole. Bitch. 

Masculinity can be a sensitive subject for some gay men. Wait. Let me rephrase that. Masculinity can be a sensitive subject for ALL men. I get it, I get it-- but preferring a dick in your ass vs. your dick in a pussy CAN have an effect on the psyche of a growing gay man. Society reeaally has done a good job of emasculating gay men. I get it. I wish it weren't that way. It's hard not to succumb to the norms that society creates. It is. But we're getting there, we are. 

But that's not the point of this entry. 

I'm simply trying to start a dialogue, not generalize or be a hypocrite but... for me... personally...

I have had this social anxiety issue for pretty much my whole life where... let me set the stage: you're in a group setting... with a bunch of strangers/new people... and no one has anything to say... but you want to make a good impression because they're like your coworkers or extended family... So what do you talk about? Safe things... things like... the weather or traffic or.... sports. Sports. SPORTS.

I really like sports. I don't watch them because there are other things I'd rather be doing with my time and I don't really have the attention span for it but I think they're great. I love being physically active and I'm super competitive (to a fault). I played all kinds of sports as a kid so I'm not one of those people who has no idea what's going on... I know the rules and I can get plugged into pretty much any game. I have two straight brothers and my dad is a huge Giants fan. I grew up around it. Really. I think sports are a great thing. I do...

But... BUT...

When people start talking about football I get this oh-too-familiar feeling of anxiety where... I start clamming up and sweating. I look in all different directions, avoiding the conversion, avoiding eye contact. Smiling awkwardly, hoping that the person changes the subject immediately and if they don't I desperately look for a way out. Agreeing with whatever statistic they're rattling off, smiling and nodding-- If I'm feeling particularly risky sometimes I'll try to reference a player I know... and pray I'm associating them with the right team-- picking out a single memory I had once and hoping it's still relevant. 

"Yeah, I really like Joe Flacco, I can't tell you why, but I just do.... Oh? Oh, he's not a rookie anymore? Oh. Yeah, I guess that was 4 years ago."

I always liked the Jets. So that's the team I know the most about, but also my interest sorta ebbs and flows in that, one year I'd be MUCH more abreast of what is going on, then 2 years go by and I don't watch a single game. A lot of my football knowledge goes back to around 2010 or so... that's when I cared a little bit more. 

So again I'd be like, "Yeahhh, Mark Sanchez and Tim Tebow on the same team!! What a bunch of clowns, right?... oh, what? Ohh. Oh yeah! He's like second string for Eagles now and Tim Tebow doesn't even play. That's right forgot. Ooops."

Dead give away that I haven't tuned in in about 2 years. 

One day at work my team went to a formal lunch which is always a little awkward. Of course none of us have very much in common except work, but everyone is actively trying to NOT talk about work in an effort to make this a relaxing lunch break... not an extension of the work day. So what does that mean?

Takes aboutttt 3 min for football to come up--especially because of this controversy around the Patriots deflating their balls. FUCK.

I begin to fidget in my seat. 

I become quiet. 

Which is also awkward because I'm normally not that quiet so it's obvious that I have no opinions and no insight. 

I think about going to use the restroom and hopefully they would be done by the time I got back. But NO! Can't do that. Instead I zone out of the conversation but then think, wait, I might want to jump in. I at least want to be engaged incase they ask me for my opinion, if I'm paying attention I can "wing it" better. Shit. I frantically try to listen, my eyes bouncing from each person as they speak, secretly absorbing every comment, allowing myself to form an opinion on the fly as the convo unravels. 

I learn that literally every person at the table has an opinion about last night's game. EVERYONE. The cute little blonde bitch knows more than me. The woman who just got back from maternity leave is WAY too into it and her palpable hatred for the Patriots makes me even more nervous. 

I shrink in my seat. 

I think to myself: Do I socialize with anyone like this? Yes, all of my college friends were straight and they knew all this shit. They would talk about sports all day. It was boring. I wish I could recruit one of them at a moment's notice to speak for me in these conversations. I think about my other friends. The gays.

NONE of them could participate. NONE. Despite being straight acting as hell, none of my friends could carry this conversation. In fact, I think all of them would vote me as the most equipped... that thought made me feel better...but despite it all I was struggling to stay afloat. 

Maybe it's obvious by now and by how I'm talking but I am NOT out as a gay man at work. It's too corporate America. Too formal. I just don't feel the need to come out in the workplace. It's just not worth it to me. 

I remember another instance, few years ago a coworker was talking about football ad nauseam. I was polite and placated him. I asked him normal things that people do when they're having a conversation--as if he were just talking about a TV show I hadn't watch. Just polite. Until finally I said "Sorry, I haven't really been following" or something to imply I couldn't really intelligently continue the conversion-- very natural. Not rude. Just like, "Oh I don't really follow the Red Skins." Everyone here loves the Red Skins. *eye roll*

He got really annoyed with my lack of interest in football-- like personally offended. Visibly frustrated, he said, "What is wrong with you!! Why don't you watch sports?"

It was so bizarre to him. Truly unfathomable. It was so unnatural for him to be around another male who didn't watch sports. He couldn't wrap his head around the idea--- as if he were asking, "What do you mean you don't pee standing up? You're a boy. What's wrong with you? What do you mean you don't watch football?"

I panicked because he was drawing attention to something that made me uncomfortable and I remember my response, thinking it made for a good defense, "Ohh, I don't know, I don't have time-- I used to watch in college but since I'm not around it, I just don't." 

Which was true. And not a bad response-- or at least I didn't think so. 

He looked at me like I had 5 heads and was like, "Wow, you sound so gay right now."

That's when I melted into a puddle and just splashed to the ground and flooded out of existence. 

We were at work for crying out loud! Go FUCK yourself. 

Why does this even matter?!?

I know there are tons of gay men who watch football and on the flip side there are a lot of straight men who don't watch football.... I can definitely think of 1 or 2.... but that's just it. 1 or 2... odds are pretty small. It's just bizarre to me. So be it. 

Threesomes

I had a threesome once. It was pleasant. 

After I graduated college I had a short-lived slutty phase. I am just not the the type of person who should be living that kind of lifestyle. It was exhausting-- assuming every little health hiccup was an STD rearing its ugly head really got old quick. I've since slowed down and become monogamous. It's so much more relaxing. 

When I first moved to DC I met this guy online. He was from Spain but only sort of good looking. Part of me was like, "Well, what the hell, I should do a European before I die, right? Why not?" 

I added him to my phone as "Barcelona" since that's where he was from. We started texting a little and it didn't take long before he admitted to having a boyfriend. I was immediately angry, "Oh hell nahh, I don't wanna play the home-wrecker card. Nope, no thank you!"

But before I could even communicate that to him, he said, "...and he's very excited to meet you too!"

I remember I paused while staring at my phone--reading the text over and over. My first reaction was, "Dafuuhh?" but after a second, I raised an eyebrow and a grin filled my face.

My thought process quickly evolved, "Ok?... Ok(.)... OK!"--- note the punctuations. Yes.

So I responded, "Ok, cool. Let's do this."

They lived together in a basement apartment down in Crystal City which is in Virginia just outside DC-- which to me, meant it was fucking far. I got there and they were super welcoming and super funny--- and the appropriate amount of uncomfortable. I made myself at home... being adorable, saying cute little things in Spanish-- they ate it up. 

"Hola, me llamo Juanito. Tengo dos hermanos. Soy Americano. Cuantos años tienes tu?"

They indulged me and pretended to be impressed... (they were probably laughing at me, not with me). 

Turns out they worked together, Barcelona as head chef and the boyfriend as a waiter at the same restaurant. Lo and behold it was a well known Spanish place in the DC area that'd I'd been to a few times--- it wins all these awards and is way up there according to the posh DC foodies. There are three locations, one in VA, one in DC, and one in MD. So this dude was a fucking award winning, top-notch tapas chef. Of course when I got there they fed me the most amazing authentic tapas, paella, and wine and we spent the evening talking, drinking, and chain smoking cigarettes. 

The boyfriend was way hotter in my opinion. He was from Panama and seemed to have a rougher life than the seemingly privileged Barcelona. He was shorter but much more muscular and sexy. He had longish black hair that was slicked back and still wet from the shower--he reminded me of a sweaty, sexy latin soccer player. He spoke with such a sexy accent and was very friendly and warm. I remember him getting adorably excited showing me pictures of his family. 

Barcelona was a little goofier, less attractive, and not even in really great shape. He too was very friendly and welcoming but a little more reserved than Panama. They were so concerned with me being comfortable that they showered me in food and wine. He was so modest about his cooking and would apologize for the temperature or the spice not being exactly how he intended it to be. I remember reassuring them that it was perfect. 

They both seemed so supportive and truly wanted the best for each other. Barcelona would motivate Panama to learn to cook and potentially become a chef himself. I got the sense that Barcelona had a fairly good upbringing whereas Panama was poorer and struggled to come to the US. They both seemed so wise and emphasized how important and freeing it is to come out. They took turns talking about their coming out and how their grandparents will never know and how that's for the best, but their immediate family members were pretty accepting, especially over time. They were just sweet dudes. 

At one point they spoke to each other in Spanish and then came to some sort of agreement. Next thing I knew I was being whisked into the back bedroom and told to sit on the bed. They asked if I watched porn and I said yes. 

They turned on the TV and started playing a gay military porn. They joined me on either side and started jerking off. I'd never done anything like this before so I was a little uncomfortable at first--not to mention I wasn't totally prepared for it, it felt like it all started happening so fast. I looked to either side of me and saw

their dicks. They were both uncut, which I guess goes without saying. Panama's was smaller but rock hard. So hard. It could cut glass, like, bullet proof glass. Barcelona's was bigger but looked softer and weirder. It grossed me out a little. I vaguely remember a freckle or something on the shaft, or maybe I just added that detail to help justify why I feel like I wasn't into it. Already I had a preference, which I guess is natural, but not good if you're about to participate in a threesome. You gotta treat everyone fairly. It ended up not being a problem since they were both just really into pleasing me. Word.

I started jerking off a little too but was too distracted to really get into it-- especially in the beginning. At some point, one of them started making out with me, I can't remember which one but I went with it. It was kinda nice actually because they were both really concerned with me being comfortable, which meant I got most of the attention. 

They were both blowing me for a while until, almost like clockwork, Barcelona got on all fours and Panama got behind him and started fucking him. Which meant I was left watching. It was thrilling. I'd never been in the same room while other people were fucking before and it was pretty hot. I just stared on. 

Then Barcelona started sucking me off. Anyway, the rest is history I guess-- you can fill in the ending how ever you like and probably wouldn't be that far off. It was quite the experience for me. It felt safe and they were good people to share that with. They were respectful and adventurous and just overall pleasant. It was just nice to be welcomed into their little world.

As far as threesomes go, I think it went pretty well. OK, ok, it was no Frank, Claire, and Meechum experience, but it could definitely hold a candle to it.

My Anxiety

I often get into my own head. I am the only one who can.

I like to tell myself it's because I'm smarter than most people. I'm a thinker.

I think.

And think.

And think.

I start off with the right clarity to lay out the facts and come to a reasonable solution/answer/idea. Then I start to think about it more. I apply layers and layers of "logic" and "rationale" until the simple, unbiased original thought is buried deep. It becomes muddied with every possibility that you can no longer even decipher what is factual and what is embellished nonsense that my mind has created.

****** OK****

Let me take a few steps back and provide some context around the above. 

I flew to Chicago last week for a business trip. I had on my gay little peacoat, my authentic Guatemalan woven scarf (because they totally know what cold weather feels like), my charming argyle socks and my laptop in a nice leather bag. I was YUPPIE-ing it up. 

I was only there for 2 nights so as soon as I got there, it was pretty much time to leave. I arrived back in DC late on a Friday night. I got home, walked my handsome little Beagle-dog and decided to take a shower. Upon entering my bathroom there is a large body mirror where I did a double take. 

I had a small rash on the side of my torso. Fuck! 

Did I....

Did I fucking....

Did Chicago give me bed bugs? Shittttt.

It was late so I just showered and went to bed more pissed and grossed out than anything. There was no pain, no itchiness, just like a speckle patch on my right torso. Whatever.

Next day, Saturday, it was pretty much the same. I was like, meh, oh well, I'll start worrying if it starts spreading. Went on with my life, met up with friends, went out drinking, thought nothing of it.

On Sunday I noticed the specks had sort of clumped together to form a puffy red cluster in the same spot. Now it felt tender to the touch, not itchy, and still not spreading. I still didn't really think much of it.

By Monday morning I was starting to pay closer attention to it. It definitely started to feel more tender and had a tingling sensation. It was still more or less the same but I felt a little uneasy about it since it had been 3 days now, why hasn't this gone away? Fucking bed bugs.

Anyway, it was MLK day and living in DC, everyone was off--- but being the YUPPIE that I am, I decided to work a little bit anyway (from home of course). I was sitting at my desk, completely saturated in something. Without thinking I started scratching the side of my stomach ever so slightly and immediately noticed it was much more sensitive than it should be. I pulled up my shirt and there were more! More red patchy specks on my front torso area!!

I told myself, I'll start getting worried when it starts spreading. So I  started getting worried. I called my doctor and talked to some idiot, probably 22 year old receptionist and was like, "I need someone to look at this weird..." I felt myself sounding creepy so I stopped. It just started to sound like a creepy joke dudes pull to get girls to look at their wieners. 

I started over, "I think I got bedbugs or something at a hotel while traveling... Can I get someone to look at it?"

"Oh, um... like... OK what's your name?"

"I'm a new patient, I never get sick, but he's my PCP as far as insurance is concerned."

"Oh, ok. So like...."

And so it went on with her asking me routine questions and resulting in no availability for over a week. I said, "But... my rash will surely be gone by then. But fine let's do next week."

"OK great, we will see you next week and I'll call you if anything opens up in the meantime. Bye!"

"Ok, great, thanks so...." 

*Click*

She didn't confirm a day or a time for the following week. Idiot. 

So feeling defeated I sat at my desk. A little anxious.

Not 5 minutes later my beautiful, fun, crazy, semi-lesbian, but now straight friend, Lily came marching through the door. Singing. She's always happy.

I was like, "Duuuude, I'm glad you're here, can you look at this weird...." It felt creepy saying out loud again.

"... this weird rash I got."

She immediately was like, "Hmm, I don't know shit about shit, but it's definitely a rash, let's go to urgent care, I love doing that kinda stuff."

I agreed because I was feeling anxious about it, and she offered to come with me, so why not? Plus there was a walk-in clinic 2 blocks from where I lived so we walked over and were there within 10 minutes. It was so easy.

While walking over I was like, "Worst case scenario, I burn my sheets, get a new mattress, which I kinda wanna do anyway, and put some calamine lotion on the rash."

Anyway, it all happened fast, I filled out the paperwork, sat down, and next thing I knew I was talking to the doctor. He was tall and broad, older, probably in his 50s, he looked too blue collar to be an MD but he was. He saw I was wearing a Katrina Relief Fireman's shirt and asked me if I was a fireman by profession, I scoffed and half-embarrassed admitted that I was just an IT developer. I could see his face re-categorize me from "young strapping fireman with nice forearms" to "nerd who sits in a cubical all day". Then he said, "Ohh, hmm well, I volunteered at Katrina." I felt like I disappointed him, like I couldn't relate to him the way he thought we were about to. 

Anyway, I explained how I had just been to Chicago on business and I probably just got bitten by bedbugs. I lifted my shirt and watched his face go pale. He said, "Wh-wh... How old are you!?"

His tone made me nervous, I stammered, "27, no, wait no I'm 26. I'll be 27 in two weeks."

He leaned in closer and said verbatim, "Dude, you have shingles."

Shingles? Shingles?? I was like, "What? My grandma had shingles...."

This is pretty much how mine presented, but not the full band length.

He backed away from me and sat in his chair. Shaking his head. Just shaking his head so much.

"Yeah, that's the age group who gets shingles. You should NOT be having shingles at 27. This is unheard of."

I tried wracking my brain for anything I could remember from my college classes about shingles, or about my grandma's terrible experience. All I could mutter was, "Derma...."

Mine is probably T7 ish; right side

"Yes! Dermatomes, you see here, this is classic presentation, it follows the rib cage up here and then down here. This is shingles no doubt."

So between Lily and myself we were both at a loss. We managed to ask question after question until the guy got up to consult with another doctor-- never once making me feel better or safe. He made me feel like a science project. He was telling me that I should see a specialist at Johns Hopkins and that something else must be going on for me to be having these symptoms at this age...

Then he came back after talking to another doctor and said that it actually is becoming more and more common in folks my age because of the timing of the chickenpox vaccine. I was old-school. My mom sent me to play with the sick kids so I would get it young and get it out of the way-- apparently kids who were just 5-10 years younger than me all got the vaccine. This means I probably had a mild case as a kid and since the vaccine made the virus less rampant, I hadn't had the opportunity to be as exposed to it as people once were, so my body sorta "forgot" how to defend itself, or maybe "got weaker at defending itself" against this virus due to lack of exposure. Sorta makes sense. I was buying it.

He wrote me a script for an anti-viral and told me to take it 3x a day for 10 days. Fine.

This is where I start going crazy. I was a little shaken due to the doctor's reaction so I went online (WHICH YOU SHOULD JUST NEVER DO-- I swear I think webMD and other websites like that should just be removed from the internet completely). I googled Shingles so I would know what to expect and test this guy's theory about people in their 20's and 30's randomly coming down with Shingles. 

He was right. There was even an article called "I'm a healthy 30 year old man, why do I have Shingles?" which nicely explained pretty much what the doctor said, which made me feel better about it. I also called my mom to get the details on my grandma and even she was very unconcerned. She said, "Oh, it'll hurt for a while, but it'll go away, no big deal, my coworker had it and she was like 35-ish". I was starting to feel more relaxed about the whole thing, but then I kept reading. 

I kept reading.

Basically what every article said was, sure, it's becoming more common in younger people, but it's still not normal and usually comes about in people who:

a.) Are experiencing high levels of stress: NOPE

b.) Are undergoing Chemo-therapy or other debilitating treatments: NOPE

c.) Are experiencing weakened immune systems due to an HIV infection

I read that once and brushed it off. I read it again and thought it was strange, it wasn't until I realized that every article says the same damn thing. 

I am a perfectly healthy young person. I never get sick. I work out everyday, I eat healthy, I take a multi-vitamin every morning, and I even started juicing fruits and vegetables a few months back to ensure I was getting the most out of my meals. My immune system should be tip top.

I started convincing myself that my immune system was being compromised. 

So let me explain how chickenpox and Shingles work. Basically it is the exact same virus but it works in a fascinating way in that once you contract the virus for the first time, symptoms manifest shortly afterwards. These symptoms include what we all know of as: Chickenpox. Fever, headache, sore throat, and most famously, the itchy spotted rash that forms all over the body. After some time a healthy person's body defeats the virus-- but that defeat doesn't eradicate the virus from your system, it simply pushes it down down down into your spinal chord nerves where it remains dormant, sometimes forever in most people. 

Then, at a time when the immune system is weakened and your defenses are down, the virus can "wake up" and leave the spinal chord, traveling along the nerve endings anywhere throughout the body, most commonly the nerves that branch out of the spinal chord around the rib cage. This often happens in people over 60 as this is a time when people's immune systems just naturally start to decline. 

I AM A HEALTHY FUCKING SPECIMEN. It is natural for me to wonder, WHY is my immune system SoOoOoOo weak all of a sudden that this little bastard virus can make its way out of my spine? Hold the fuck up, Herpes Zoster, suck my dick and get outta my body.

So being a gay man I understand that I am at higher risk of contracting HIV. I made the obvious connection and slowly started to freak the fuck out. 

I had rehashed every single sexual experience I'd ever had. 

I don't have anonymous sex.

I've never had unprotected sex. 

I have been in a monogamous relationship for 3.5 years.

I don't use or share needles or do drugs (that was the obvious no for me).

I literally have NO risk-behaviors associated with contracting HIV.

But I am gay. So... I do mingle with an at risk population... so I could have contracted it somehow, maybe in a relationship 4 years ago when I was first messing around with dudes? I don't know!

So much of the literature referenced HIV, I had to learn more about HIV. I started reading about onset of symptoms, and what symptoms to expect down the road, sometimes even years later and one of them was Shingles--- I started shitting myself a little more. The Shingles articles and the HIV articles were all saying the same thing. I was freaking out.

My boyfriend-person, Sean, comes over my house and works from home with me a few times a week so he was over  by Tuesday and I was just gushing with concern. He knows nothing about medicine. He thought shingles was a part of a house.  So I explained it all for him, laying out the facts, but obviously in a way that would bias him towards my concern---so he was like, "Dude, you do not have HIV but get tested. It will give you the peace of mind that you... clearly need right now."

Meanwhile my rash is way worse. It had spread, it had formed pustules and was really throbbing. This however didn't bother me, I didn't give a flying fuck about Shingles. I wanted to know WHY I got it. I knew it would suck for a while but it would go away. Fine. Unlikely resulting in nerve damage, that was fine. 

So I listened to him. It was snowing out so I got on my boots and my winter coat and I walked right back to the urgent care and within minutes was getting my blood drawn. They said it would be ready the following day.

I got home again, all within like 30 minutes, and I was in a visibly better mood. Sean could sense I was feeling better. Just having taken the test eased some anxiety. At least now I would know. I could either be negative and be totally relieved and just suck up the painful Shingles, or it would come back positive and it would be a blessing to find out now. I could get treatment, go to therapy, do whatever it is that people do when they find out they're HIV+. My life would be ruined but it's important and responsible to know the truth.

Anyway, Sean eventually left my place and I was alone again. The work day was over and it was just me and.... my thoughts. I was preparing myself for the worst. I had to wait 24 hours for the lab results and I was in bad shape. My body hurt. My rash was worse. I hated looking at it because I felt so... infected. I ran through the scenarios so vividly, what I would do if it were negative, what I would do if it were positive. I would think it through to fruition and then force it out of my mind. I didn't want to get my hopes up for a negative result, but I also wanted to be prepared for the worst. It was mentally exhausting. I thought about going to the gym to distract myself but the Shingles hurt too much. So I watched TV. I would periodically stop in the middle of a show to do another google search, just to get another perspective. Like the 500th perspective that would leave me in a more relaxed state, which pretty much backfired 50% of the time and made me more anxious than I was before. 

I couldn't wait to go to bed so I could wake up and get my results. I tossed and turned, thoughts racing through my stupid head, not to mention the right side of my body was sore and if I rolled over the wrong way, a jolt of pain would shoot through my body. It was hellish.

I woke up the next day and it took everything in my power to not call the clinic. I figured I would wait until noon but I couldn't---I called at 11am and the lady was like, "Sorry Mr. Pence the results aren't in yet, try back at 6 or 7pm."

You... got... to... be.... kidding... me.

I have to go through another work day in a state of pure anxiety. The mere possibility of having HIV changed the way I thought and did everything. I would be like, "What's the point of going to the gym anymore, of making money, of going to work, I should just quit my job.... everything is hopeless. I should just drop off the face of the planet, don't say goodbye, the shame is too much to bear, just up and move to an island and never think about this life again."

Dramatic right? Sorry to the folks out there who are HIV+ if this is offensive, but you must understand the initial stress and grieving process. Mine was just premature. 

Anyway, there would be pockets of time where I would hyper-focus on work and forget my troubles, but I called back again at 3pm. I just wanted to know. 

A different woman picked up and confirmed the results were not in. But I had to relieve some anxiety.

"OK, can you walk me through this process?"

"Sure, so we take the samples during the day and the courrier comes at 9pm. So your sample was picked up late last night and brought to the lab."

"OK... ok, so that makes sense. So then they do the test the following morning right?", I was sounding neurotic. 

"Yep."

"Ok, so then what? Then they have to send it back to you and that could take a day??"

"No sir, once they have the results they are entered into a system and we can view them and will notify you."

"OK, so then I can expect a call? Cool. Ok. So you have my number."

"Yes, Mr. Pence we will certainly give you a call."

And so basically that meant, stop calling us.

Fine. 

I went throughout my day, finished up some work, decided to bear the pain and go to the gym, it was a mellow workout but a nice distraction. I got home, made dinner, and next thing I knew it was 7pm and the FIRST receptionist told me to try again at that time. So I totally disregarded the second receptionist and called them back. 

Ring, Ring, Ring.... Voice mail. "Thank you for calling Urgent Care...." 

Click.

I would just have to spend another night tossing and turning.

Then 60 seconds later my phone was ringing. I SAVED the number in my phone so it displayed an incoming call from "URGENT CARE" all in caps. 

So dramatic.

"Hi, this is doctor so and so calling from urgent care. Can I please speak with John Pence please?"

"Yes, yes Hi this is him."

"I'm calling about your blood test, just wanted to confirm with you that the results showed you were 'non-reactive'."

"Non-reactive, that means like, it was... totally negative right?"

"Yep, negative, nothing to worry about there."

Little did he know that it was waaaaay too late for that. Nothing to worry about. Shit.

I was super calm though, super composed, "Oh, ok great, that's a relief, thanks!"

"Yep, have a great night."

"You too, bye,"

I screamed. I screamed and screamed and chased by beagle-dog all around the apartment. He couldn't tell if I was playing with him or hunting him. I called Sean and was just sooooo excited. I wanted to text everyone I knew about the good news but of course, no one even knew it was something I was concerned about. 

I felt like I had a new view on life. LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL. Everything is WONDERFUL. 

I skipped and pranced around and once I relaxed, my mind starting chattering again.

"Of course you didn't have HIV, you idiot."

"You're neurotic."

"You should never read that internet shit, they are so generic and vague and generalized, you can't apply it to your situation."

"You're a retard."

So! Now I have Shingles but I don't give a shit. I will heal through that, I don't know why I got it or whether my immune system was compromised or not, either way it just boils down to being unlucky. I will fight it back into the depths of my spinal cord and just pray it doesn't come back in a year or two years, or 10 years, whatever. It is what it is. 

I AM HIV NEGATIVE!

I guess it's all a blessing because I wasn't getting tested regularly, which is the responsible gay thing to do.... or not even gay thing, anyone who is sexually active, especially with multiple partners should get tested routinely. 

Knowing is a powerful and liberating feeling--granted mine came with a butt-load of stress, it feels so great to get that completely off the table. 

A friend then taught me a word called "microaggressions" which is a term I had never heard before. Basically it is a social phenomenon that applies to minority groups where you internalize stressors that come from society. They then manifest in the body as sickness, for example heart disease in women and black people or HIV in gay people. Basically, society feeds you these facts and statistics that are generalized and may not always apply, but as members of those minority groups our vision is skewed and we succumb to the heuristics about the likelihood of contracting something and it eats away at us. 

This could be dangerous to even share because I don't want to spread the idea that we should ignore statistics, but rather spread the idea that you shouldn't harp on false logic like this:

Gay people get HIV

People with HIV get sick

I'm gay and I'm sick

Therefore I have HIV.

In statistics we have things called "priors" which is any prior information needed to make a judgement on the likelihood of something else happening.

If you have no "priors"-- in this case, risk-behviors for spreading or contracting HIV then you shouldn't automatically jump to that conclusion.

That being said, I think everyone should get tested regularly. Be responsible. Be safe. Don't LET yourself drive you crazy.

THE END.

Having shingles is the pits. 

Grindr: Bringing people together!

I've just in the past few months allowed myself to indulge in what many gay men have been doing for years now: partaking in gay iphone aps. I obviously wasn't doing it to hook up, I was just curious what all the hype was about. It's funny how this is something that I feel ashamed about while many men discuss it as openly and casually as if they were talking about facebook or instagram. It's just different for me.

˜ * Grindr * ˜

                             ˜ * Jack'd * ˜

                                                               ˜ * Scruff * ˜

Of the three, I've only ever installed Grindr and I only had it for a week or two. I am reluctant to write this because it may backfire, resulting in a lot of hate mail, but I was your worst nightmare on these aps. I was the person everyone hates. I was the one who used a fake pic and chatted endlessly with witty banter, charming remarks, and meaningless compliments. I had no intention of meeting anyone and I had no interest in having sex. I am already in a relationship, which DOES make me feel guilty for downloading it in the first place, but I can't help that I'm curious. I think the IDEA behind these aps is great, especially for people who are closeted and need a safe outlet to meet people--and even more so, if you are out, but not obviously gay, it is a good way to out yourself to people you see everyday. For instance, it's kinda fun to see who you recognize nearby and just be like, "Wow, I see that dude at the gym everyday,  who knew?!"

I think with anything that is fundamentally based on sexual attraction, it can get a little seedy, but I was surprised to learn that a lot of folks on there are just regular people looking to make genuine friends-- no expectations-- just meet up and see what happens, if there's chemistry great, if not, that's fine too. Maybe just a new friend. Harmless. I sorta liked that. 

Anyway, I downloaded the ap a few months back over the summer and would chat up random people. Some would offer up advice about how to best use the ap, showing me the ropes, some of the other regulars were just excited to see a new face and would ask for cock pics. It was definitely an experience. 

This one dude hit me up. He had a legitimate face pic, which right off the bat caught me off guard. He was impressively engaging. He responded well to my rhetoric and he seemed like a good guy. He caught all of my references which, to others, may have been obscure. He proved to be witty, intelligent, funny and just the riiiiiight amount of gayness. He knew enough to crack Lady Gaga jokes, but also knew enough about Colin Kaepernick (prob because he's hot, not  because he cares) to impress me. He was just likable. 

We talked for a good few days before I was thinking, "Crap, I actually enjoy talking to this person."

This all hit the "friend zone" really fast for me. Totally platonic. In fact, I'd seen enough pics where I realized I wasn't even sexually attracted to him. Either way, I was like well, shit, this person is cool and it's only a matter of time before he wants to hang out in person-- too bad I was using a fake picture. So I told him straight up, I had to be honest, I didn't have much to lose anyway.

I said, "Gotta be honest here, just so you know that pic I sent wasn't actually me. I was only on here to browse, nothing more. I have a gay friend who I don't want knowing so I never use my pics." This is true. I was referring to Alex, who you can read about now if you like. 

He was surprisingly chill about it. He was like, "Ok, well figures, that pic was probably too good to be true anyway." So then he asked the obvious next question which was, "What do you really look like?" I felt reluctant to share because 1.) I felt guilty for using the ap in the first place and 2.) Sending my pic would make it real, it would remove all anonymity which was, in a way, appeasing some of that guilt. It would make me a real grindr user. 

But I was like, fuck it. I'm 26 years old, I am allowed to make gay friends. It's probably healthy for me to make gay friends my age. This is OK. This is going to be OK. You aren't doing anything wrong, just live your life.

So I sent my pic. 

He was like, "Daaamn, this is better than the fake!"

Which half flattered me and half made me nervous that he was interpreting this all as more than just platonic. 

So we eventually exchanged phone numbers to continue texting without the ap's overtone of shame tainting the convo. 

His name is Josh.

Josh came over to my apartment one night over the summer and we had a blast. It was super natural and really fun. We just drank whisky, chilled, and then went out to some nearby bars. He's 25, so just a year younger than me. He's half white/half Japanese and has done a lot of cool shit. He works downtown DC in website design so he's got this edgy/hipster/i-hate-hipster kind of style which he shamelessly admits is way over-thought and too deliberate to actually be considered cool. He's from Texas but went to college in Florida where he studied design and ended up getting a job through some random connections in DC. He sorta has a chip on his shoulder about having got the job the way he did and feels that he doesn't completely level up to some of his other coworkers. Whatever, he is a hard worker and is well liked so he is surviving. 

All in all--- he is a really cool dude who I am happy to have met. We hang out all the time actually. He's becoming a really close friend and has introduced me to two of his other gay friends: Amaad and Lal. They are two hilarious Iraqi gays who crack me up. We all go out together and have a great time. If you've read this post about gay bars, I've definitely evolved since then as these punks drag me out way more often now. It's sorta fun, sorta exhausting. 

Amaad and Lal look intimidating as hell, but are the nicest, goofiest people you'll ever meet. A little naive, a little dumb, but super sweet. Amaad is divorced and left his ex-wife and son back in Iraq. He is ridiculously handsome and masculine looking, but as soon as he opens his mouth there is no doubting he likes cock in there. 

"Guuuuurl, I am so sleepy. I needa go home right now, hunni!" 

He apparently watches BET day in and day out and is only attracted to black men. He has thus learned to speak English like a sassy black woman.... but with a thick Iraqi accent. It's the strangest thing I have ever heard. He works out a lot and has a really great build that he flaunts regularly on social media. It's actually embarrassing how shameless he is with his selfies--but it's all worth it when I read the terribly written English captions.

This cracks me up. I have to share. I love foreigners. His written English is pretty bad--so bad in fact that he rarely texts and just ends up facetiming everyone to make plans or chat. Anyway, I never noticed him do this while speaking but in writing, he always types "I" instead of "it". I couldn't find the screen shot but my favorite one was:

"Had an amazing night with friends. I was awesome!" 

But these are good too (notice fb profile pic is a shirtless selfie #loveit):

This one is cute too. Aww, Amaad. Glad Beyoncé could help.

And then this. Yeah. Can't tell if this is a joke or if he really wants all of fb to know his current state:

Anyway, I'm teasing him above I really do like him. He's a sweetheart when you meet him, just very different from how I approach things, particularly social media. Anyway, he is very well manicured so his beard is ALWAYS perfect to the point where he must tend to it daily with a straight blade--- whereas I have a perpetual 5 o'clock shadow. Even after I "trim" people think I look sloppy. Every few years I think I can use a real razor but I am reminded how terribly my body reacts. I always wear a beard no matter what, since I was 19, so when I trim, I really just mean cleaning up my neck and trimming the beard down a bit. I get terrible ingrown hairs and razor burn, it's always a disaster. It's so bad that I can literally tell you exactly when the last time I used a razor was: the day before an interview for my first job down in DC, I woke up the next morning ready to rock the interview to find that I looked like someone slashed and whipped my neck. It wasn't a good look and I vowed to never use a blade again. It's been 4 years--- so yeah. 

Amaad's also got a shit ton of tattoos that make him look fucking terrifying. Josh always teases him about his terrible taste in tattoos: for example a peacock feather on his upper chest/shoulder and some random design on his neck. It's pretty terrifying, I'm not going to lie. Despite being the oldest (I think he's 27) and having a son, and coming from Iraq, he is definitely pretty naive. He told me quickly after meeting me that he was in love with this dude he met online but never met. The guy lived in Baltimore (which is close 50 min north of here) and was all excited to meet him for the first time a few days later. Come to find out, the dude did actually come, but they had no chemistry and when I asked him how it all went afterwards, he forgot who I was even referring to and then was like, "Oh hunni, it was OK, nothing special, whatever." Then I found out he was seeing some new black dude. It had been like a week later. 

Lal is much more personable in that he is a complete goof and doesn't give a shit. He's still vain and overkill with the selfies but he has this air to him that just seems more "present" or more "relateable"... or maybe he just speaks English better haha. He is definitely younger and less intimidating looking compared to Amaad. He is very care free and just funny. He loves to get fucked up and dance but often ends up feeling lonely at the end of the night according to Josh. I'd never seen it but who knows. He and Josh actually have a history in that they fucked a few times, but that is completely in the past. It's weird to even think about that actually. Anyway, Lal is a very chill dude. Loves making friends and is very warm and welcoming.

Totes Bffs

Anyway, the two of them are definitely still acquaintances and I consider them "Josh's friends" more than "my new friends" despite them trying to take it to that next level with me. I am still a little weary just because I get the sense that Amaad thinks I'm fucking with Josh's head. They all know that I'm in a relationship and they understand the convoluted, semi-unhealthy details of that relationship (I've never explained it in my blog, it's too hard to write about) but I get the feeling that Amaad thinks I'm leading Josh on. 

Apparently Josh did develop a "crush" on me after we hung out the first few times. I think this is the context in which he first starting talking about me to them. So when Amaad later found out that I was seeing someone, I think he was like "Red flag! Red flag".  I suppose Amaad is just being protective of his buddy, which is admirable---but at the same time I think he is the one fucking with Josh's head considering some of the things he tells me. 

Ahhh, as I type this I am processing how I must sound! Basically, this is exactly the stuff I am trying to avoid! They seem a little too

into the "drama" and the whole "gay scene" for me to really want to get too close to them. They are the type to "grind" all day, let dudes come over and fuck them, and then leave, and then cry about it. That being said I am trying my best not to judge since I truly think they are good people and it's great to have this new outlet that exposes me to a lot of new gay things that I have really been deprived of up until now. They've definitely added a little twist to the end of my summer and the fall season. 

We will see where these new friendships lead. #smh

LGBT...A...B..C?.. Me!

Everyone has heard of "LGBT", right? So I am part of that. I am the G. The L's and the B's and the T's are my people too. I am part of a culture of people that includes LGBT's. That's cool. It's great. I love it. I know people from each category and I love them. Fine.

    LGBT = Lesbian Gay Bisexual & Transgendered

I think more recently this acronym has grown. Now it's:

LGBTQ.

Queer.

Cool.

But have you heard? Even more recently it's:

LGBTQI

Intersex

Ah, OK. Got it.

Oh but wait, hold on. No, I'm not shitting you. There's this too:

LGBTQIA

Asexual

Oooook. Don't get me wrong, I'm accepting of all people, all perspectives. I don't judge it's fine. But really? Come on. How about we just add an "H" for heterosexual people too? So that we're alllll encompassing. Then we can just eliminate the ENTIRE acronym and make it "E" for eeeeveryone. Let's just make a subculture of all people.

I'm joking. But truly my motto is: "You just do you, and I'm just gonna do me." That's it. Easy. 

My grandma used to have this corny frame hanging on a cabinet in her kitchen. It always struck me, even as a little kid. I later learned it was called the Gestalt Prayer: 

That's truly how I feel about everything. I am happy to love and be loved but as long as I am doing me, and you are doing you. If what I do works for you--- and what you do works for me--- then it's beautiful. Otherwise, fuck it bruh.

Anyway, I wanted to comment on my friend Lily, who I've mentioned a few times in this blog. Lily is my "queer" friend--one of my best friends in DC. Love her to death. Great soul but so confusing. I understand that sexuality isn't as clear cut as it is for me. I know that I am a man and I like men. Period. The end. Maybe I'm lucky? I am open minded enough to understand it isn't that easy sometimes. But I just don't get her sexuality. I used to say she was a lesbian but she has since corrected me. She condescends, "Don't call me a lesbian, I hate labels." As she sort of rolls her eyes, then continues, "I like queer, just call me queer". I refrain from pointing out that "Queer" is also a label. But I decide I don't want to get into semantics. Whatever she wants, great.

Her sexuality has evolved a lot over the years. When I first met her she was straight. Obviously started off dating dudes but admitted to never really having any sexual chemistry with them. She then admitted to not really understanding what her vagina was all about and thought maybe she should explore it. I suggested she try masturbating to figure out what she liked. Nothing. Then she just made this HUGE assumption without any real evidence, "Well, if guys aren't really doing it for me then I MUST be a lesbo!" She then, almost overnight, was an out and proud lesbian. She started dating girls but found it to be only moderately better. She said she's not really attracted to penises or to vaginas, it's the person attached to it. Which is sorta nice, sorta poetic, but just not how I operate. Then she started dating a FTM (female to male) trans-guy and got all "high and mighty" about pronouns and asked me things like "Johnny, what is gender anyway? What is sex? What is preference? What is identity?" 

Honestly, I don't care if someone is trans, FTM, MTF, I don't give a shit, you just gotta do you, I get that, I don't judge. What got under my skin was Lily's approach which was to force this onto everyone around her, almost like she was looking for confrontation so she could publicize her advocacy for transgender people. 

Pronouns! Fucking pronouns! I never thought so hard about something so simple. Something we take for granted. It's literally wired into my brain. I told her it was a language thing, not a society thing--not an ignorance thing. When we meet people we don't think about what pronoun we use, it is implicitly applied.

When I would talk about Lily's boyfriend, I would say she, She, SHE! I couldn't help it. I tried to take my time with it, I would speak slowly and that worked for as long as my attention could bear it, then once I let my guard down and started talking more freely, a SHE would pop in there and Lily would literally start punching me each time. And it bothered me. I even decided to just always fill in pronouns with his name to avoid the dilemma altogether, but still, even that act is hard to keep up and doesn't sound natural:

"So then Cris texted me and said Cris would be here by seven, but then Cris realized Cris forgot Cris' jacket so Cris had to go back home. Bottom line, Cris is going to be late!" 

To make matters worse, Lily sometimes used the neutral "they" pronoun which confused everyone all the time. 

Lily: "Oh, they will be here soon!"
Me: "Who?"
Lily: "Cris"
Me: "Oh, who's she bringing?"
*Punches me in shoulder*
Me: "Eff, sorry, who is HE bringing."
Lily: "No one, why? He's alone."
Me: "You said 'they'."
*Condescending eye roll*

OR

Lily: "Errmahgerrd, they licked my pussy so good!"
Me: "Daaafuck you do last night?"

I would try to justify my inability to refer to him correctly. I said maybe it's easier for me with MTFs? I was good with RuPaul afterall! Then I made the worst mistake ever and said, maybe he's just not that convincing, and that's why my brain hasn't made the switch. That did NOT go over well. I kept blaming my brain, not myself because her argument was that I was ignorant and insensitive, but my point was, no matter how aware I become, I could sit down with him, get his whole story, try to understand his struggles, try to empathize and sympathize and become as educated as I can, and still I think my brain would slip in some "shes" here and there. I took a psychology of gender course in college, I know what Gender Identity Disorder (GID) is, I watched America's favorite trans kid: I am Jazz. I find it hard to just accept that she thinks I'm ignorant when she goes around saying, "Well I think being gay is a choice." That! Is ignorant and if you're choosing to be gay, then you're probably not really gay, honey. You're just riding a trend or really confused. 

I don't think I'm ignorant to transgendered people. I think there is a bigger issue at hand.

Anyway, Lily dated Cris for a solid 5 months or so (you decide if that's a long time or not, I don't even know what's normal anymore) when out of the blue she just decides she doesn't want to do it anymore. She breaks up with him cold turkey, no warning signs, just fucks him over completely. Newly single Lily then decides she needs to "look more lesbian-like" but remember, she doesn't like labels, or stereotypes or anything, so she cuts off all of her hair and stops shaving her armpits. 

For the past 2 summers she's been going up to NY state to live on a Yiddish farm (I swear I can't make this shit up) and she just got back last week. And. This. Time. She. Came. Back. With....

.... A boyfriend.

Which is fine. She doesn't need to know what she likes-- more importantly she doesn't have to like ONE thing. Sexuality is fluid. People are people, and some people just love people. It's almost enviable-- but for me, I'm happy being simple. A man who likes men. It's definitely not the easiest combo there is, but hell, it's a lot easier than what she's been dealt, so again...

"I do my thing and you do your thing.  I am not in this world to live up to your expectations and you are not in this world to live up to mine... "

So to each his(her?) own.