Distraction

Being a massage therapist (have I mentioned how I hate that I have to do this again?), you run into all kinds of interesting people. On the Fourth of July I got to calls (messages) requesting that I call them back if I do ‘more than massage.’ I doubt they were meaning like menial housework or baby sitting services. Last night, actually at 5AM this morning, I got a text from some unknown number asking ‘do you wanna play?’ Probably not talking about Clue. Although I love Clue. And even if had known this person and it happened to be someone that was tempting, I am sure not gonna be in the mood at five in the morning, unless the text had come from you-know-who. Or Ricky Martin. Or Dean Cain. Dammit! I bet it was a third party text from Ricky and Dean. I missed my chance! But, really. What was that person thinking? No name, no picture, no previous contact. That’s right boys, it actually does take more than a random assortment of ten numbers to get in my pants! Shocking, but true.

My next delightfully deep observation is not just about gay men, but about the entire population at large. It was something I noticed years ago, but it has become so natural to me that I no longer think anything of it. However, last Friday, I was helping out my friend DA for First Friday at his art studio on Tennyson (Shed the Skin gallery—AMAZING, check it out on the next First Friday). I was manning the front, where he has most of his jewelry and was greeting and schmoozing customers. For being shy and backwards at parties, I am surprisingly and pleasingly verbose in such situations (If there is a role to play, I can play it). While I was fulfilling the described task an older woman came up, reached out, and yanked my shirtsleeve up and over my shoulder. Again, I didn’t think twice about it or really even notice. However, I saw a gentleman across the room give the lady a very reprimanding stare, and realized that what had just transpired doesn’t typically happen to the majority of the people. I am sortta like a pregnant woman (make a fat comment and I will sit on you, and not in the fun way) who is overly accustomed to strangers feeling entitled to rub her belly. It is not uncommon at all for strangers to come up and adjust my clothing out of the way to inspect my tattoos. I’ve even had strangers ask me to take off my shirt so they could see the rest of them. Welcome to my world.

As you may have guessed, these things are not really what is on my mind (yesterday and today [even more so] have sucked and I can not express how much I miss him and how confused I am). However, I am sick of blabbering on (as are you) about such things, but yet my fingers are compelled to bash upon the keyboard. So, these two tidbits are my offering to you and to words that want to come out.