Relationships...and other things

What is it that pulls two people together? And what is it that pulls them apart? When I think of the millions of people who are married (happily or otherwise) I wonder how they did it? How did they find people they could be compatible with? When I look at people I am attracted to - physically - I actually don't want the mind. I want that person for sex. I want to touch their body, rub up against it, and be fucked by it. Afterwards I want them to go home. I don't want them to sms me a thousand times, I don't want long phone conversations about nothing. I just want sex.

Then when I look at people I'd want to live with, to share my life with there is no single person I've met thus far that I would say: Forever till the day I die. Am I simply too self centered? Too specific in what I want? I know the word before I even try to spell it - narcissistic. I want myself. Except thin. I want someone who is funny, who reads Terry Pratchett, who loves Jean-Luc, thinks the last three star wars films were crap, finds it amusing to talk in funny accents... who is British by pretense and upbringing not by nationality. I want me.

Except why do I have such low self worth? It's getting better and better as time progresses, I think I'm learning not to care too much about things and how people see me. I think also that every time I take a knock to my ego, my temper flares. And I feel stupid, so terribly stupid at the same time. So why do I want me? And is it so bizarre that this is the case?

I don't know. When I look at my wonderful friends, each one of them possess some aspect that I want and take joy in and have fun with. Some are adventurous, some are comical, some are serious, others are fools. Some are creative geniuses, others are amazed and awed by simple things. If I could take each aspect from them, and build a human from it, that's the person I would want to spend the rest of my life with.

Does this make me a terrible person? So self absorbed that I can't look beyond myself? Am I so arrogant that I am perfect that I think of others as unworthy? I don't think so. I don't know. I don't want someone who compliments me. Someone who is quiet, reliable, hard-working, clever, who'll laugh at my jokes. I want someone who will stand up for themselves, argue, fight, laugh because it's funny, and then make a counter joke. I want an equal in design, not status.

Do I want a fat person? Or a large person as some people so kindly call me? I don't care. I'll have sex with the pretty boys, but will have a life partner with the One. So how is it that others don't seem to have this self desire? Surely what others strive for is what they want in their partners? I don't want a partner who is not creatively wild. I don't want a partner who doesn't obsess over their job. I don't want a partner who doesn't 'get' Monty P, or laugh at a Terry Pratchett. I'm not saying I want a partner who is in the film industry etc. Although that would be nice.

It would make things easy. And perhaps there is my true issue? Am I looking for the easy way out instead of the hard, making it work, route? Is it better to find it difficult to love someone than to find someone who is easy to love?

I think this is an interesting thought experiment for everyone to do. Get your pencils ready:

What would happen if I met myself?

Well I'd look him up and down and knock him off as some kind of gay creative who doesn't work out at all. Probably lazy. Then when he starts to speak I'd get a little buzz. Surely there are not that many people who know so much about so many irrelevant things? How could anyone be so passionate about some woman in the boer war? And now he's making stupid sarcastic jokes which are fairly amusing. But he's stubborn. God how stubborn. And he manipulates the crowds. Gets them thinking about other things whilst he makes decisions that benefit himself first... Hmmm... we shall fight over that. What is he doing now? Drawing? Writing? Making something. We could do that together... since we're both fairly good at it.

Although I might clash with myself in terms of leadership, proved that we both had enough savvy to talk about it - which I think we would - it could be shared. A united leadership is a strong leadership. What we couldn't do! Create, write, make, forge...

But I see my friends all trying to marry not themselves, but people who need something from them. Need support, need protection, need money, need to dominate. When I think about all the married relationships I know of, not one of them was equal. My grandparents used to have a power struggle with my grandfather always bowing down. My parents had the same problem, except my father refused to bow down to my grandmother (odd that isn't it, and she could never understand why).

Is that truly what love is then? The finding of someone whom you can 'use' to fill your need? A need to be relied upon? A need to go around helping? Why do people not marry because of a common desire? A common objective?

Again therein lies perhaps my downfall - why a common objective? Why can't people just marry because they want to? Why must there be some useful product at the end? Why must I find someone who will help me and I can help with in creating a painting or writing a play? Why should I not just be happy with someone who likes it when I write, will offer a bit of advice from a distance, but is busy clipping the begonia's?

My therapist once asked me why I am always so busy. At the time we decided it was because I was using as an ego boost, as a way of avoiding things that needed to be dealt with. I think he was right at that time, and I still think I do to a large degree do that, but as my patient boss keeps pointing out, I have to learn to not take on so much. Which I am doing thanks to him. But I still like to do things. A lazy Sunday with nothing to do? I don't really remember ever having one. I'm always doing something because I enjoy it.

Why write this blog? Because I enjoy it. And also it opens up my thoughts, gives me pause for thought as it were. And maybe it might help someone one day? Who knows.

So am I just a selfish, self absorbed arsehole who really just deserves to wank in a corner until I'm dead? Or am I simply too complex a person to manage to find the need for someone else in my world and so place such high demands on that someone that they can't exist? Or am I simply afraid of a relationship, and so use high standards? I don't know. If this was a film I'd have to learn to just live and let things flow, to stop thinking about them, and just go... but I know how those things are written, and I also know that I can't do that. It's not who I am.

Oh well reader, it is an interesting question I feel. One that I shall ponder for some time to come.

Ps. I just want to thank all of you wonderful people for putting up with all this crap over the last year. You have no idea how much it really has helped me. I really mean it. Thanks guys.

Can I please find a sexual partner who:

So far I have had a few sexual partners who:

Are charming, good looking, and on first dates end up naked in my bed. Who smell nice, have beautiful bodies, talk far less than I do, and who don't mind me worshiping their flesh. Who are timid and shy but who've I've forced into making the first move because I'm too damned self depreciating. Who are polite, don't drink nearly as much coffee (milk) as I do. Who are by nature either naturally fit or who volunteer to go to a gym (regularly). Who take my clothes off first, and then let me take their clothes of, slowly, and with romantic intent (of a half starved sexual maniac). Who, on the face of it, are really nice people, and who, when you dig a bit deeper are normal human beings. Who are not nearly as bizarre, odd, weird, nerdish, geekish, or British as I am.

In short I have as yet to sleep with anyone that I have not found totally attractive. Sadly I have as yet to sleep with anyone... at all if one goes by the traditional notions of sexual activity: Foreplay, rigorous intercourse, and then climatic moaning, followed by an awkward moment of what to do with the resultant juices. I've had everything except the last two.

Now I have a growing fear that I may never personally experience them. I'm not sure. I've just spent the last hour rubbing, sucking, pulling, and dare I say it, licking a relative stranger. And yet I'm comfortable with this. I however do not seem to be able to reach a climax. Although my partners before this one were never really interested in me achieving that, this one (tonight) was. OK, granted I'd released earlier in the day, and I realize that I may not have the stamina I once had, but it was a non-event tonight. Not that he achieved anything else either, he was in a rush. Supposidly coming back next weekend.

But he's given me a list of things that need to be done:

1 - I need to sleep more. I thought 7 - 8 hours a night was good. Apparently I may need deeper sleep. I shall look into not consuming coffee 4 hours before bedtime. But what does that leave me with? Horlicks?

2 - I need to shave. Now shaving has always been a sore point for me. Literally and figuratively. I don't like doing it because it takes up a lot of time, and to be honest I've never been able to tell if I look better with, or without a beard. It is a scraggly thing reminiscent of a fat fifty year old lesbians bush I will admit but I think it gives me a certain... maturity. And yes I hear Professor Mature screaming here. OK, so I'll shave. It'll grow back.

3 - I need a bedside lamp. This one I whole-heartedly agree with. The light in my room is insufferably half a meter too far for me to reach from my bed, especially when I have a mouth attached to my penis. So a lamp it is.

4 - I need to eat healthy food. Well I don't eat unhealthy food - as in poisonous, rotten, or contaminated, that should count? Towards the calories it would seem. OK, so just what is healthy? And more importantly can I simply put healthy into the microwave for 3 minutes and then eat it? If not, it's a waste of my time.

5 - I need to go to gym. I know I do. But it's going to eat into my time. Stop fucking grinning, I can see it from here.

Time. OK, I get it. No time for shaving, eating healthy, exercise, and orgasming. So what is so important about the time I do have? What is so important that I want to spend all my time on stuff that has none of the above benefits?

Computer games. I log onto the net the moment I get home. I look at porn sometimes. But mostly I play games. It's social - kinda. I play with some people whom I know where they live in the world, I know their online names, and sometimes their real names. I know that I have to heal them, and that each night we need to run into a dungeon to find levers to pull to open doors to kill monsters to get the treasure to buy armour and stuff to go into dungeons to find leavers...

I have a headache already. WHY?

Well on the surface it gives me a wonderful sense of minor satisfaction. I walk away to my bed thinking - so tomorrow I can run into a dungeon to pull a level etc. so I can go up a level to run into bigger dungeons to pull bigger levers... WTF is wrong with me?

Surely it makes sense to focus all that energy - about five hours a day - on solving some real world problems? Surely the real game is more important than a fake one that counts for nothing but time wasting? How is this in any way legal? It's worse than drugs or alcohol. At least those impair your thinking. Online gaming is purely voluntary with social peer pressure from across the globe as loud as the speakers that get plugged into the computer.

I know why. It's easier. In the space of a month or two I can become an all powerful, fear me, shit hot Cleric capable of healing all those other all powerful, fear me, shit hot clerics/fighters/thieves/wizards. In a couple of months at the gym I might loose a few centimeters, I may build a little muscle, but the gut, the man-boobs, and the other flabby bits will still be there.

It's going to take years... being a cleric is easy, and when I don't get it right, or we all die in a dungeon I can just log off and go masturbate. My boss would take a dim view of me if every time after a meeting went badly with a client I did the same, I'm sure. "Where's he going?" "Oh... he failed the meeting, the monster won." "Ah...bathroom?" "Yup." Smirks all around and then an avoidance of any substances on the ceiling in the bathroom for a week (as opposed to them touching substances on the fucking ceiling, what crap am I writing here? And why the fuck are you reading it?).

Today is the 1st of November 2009. I shall not see another one, hopefully. I don't want to make one of those: Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life statements. It is a day, it's the first 2nd of November 2009 of my life. I don't make those statements because I very seldom keep them. There have been a few - this year I will get a car. I will have sex before I'm 30... oh shit. I've got 350 odd days left to finish that one off (technically). So what I'm going to say is that I am going to try to shift my focus from time spent on easy and 'cheap' victories, to time spent on some real world issues.

However this does not mean that I abandon all those activities that distract me from the world. Fantasy is part of who I am, and I believe that I need to spend time totally absorbed in another place to actually function in this one. I am not Vulcan - to use a fantastical character as way of describing a real world personality. So I'm going to now take time for myself... in a personal way. That of grooming and personal health.

This leads me to wonder about how others perceive me in terms of personal grooming, and I'm amazed I've had as many sexual encounters as I've had. It also may answer one or two questions regarding how my employees think of me. Curious. I sense another blog. Well there are two now pending, one on racism, and the other now on personal grooming. So watch this space, when I have the time... har har I couldn't resist now could I?

So if I spend all my time avoiding things, am I along in this? Or do you dear reader also avoid and abnegate yourself from time to time? Till next time, love, ejaculation, and joy.

I hate it when I learn something...

It has been four months since my last entry here. How my world has changed. I've moved cities, moved provinces, and changed jobs. No longer do I need to worry about wanting to sleep with students, now I'm in the big world of Children's Television. And although I love my new city - Jozi -and I love the pace, the hard work, and the long hours, I hate Kids shows. You dumb down everything, simplify it until you feel embarrassed by it. But that is not why I'm here dear reader. Oh no. I'm here because I learned a lesson today. At least I hope I learned a lesson. Someone help me if I didn't.

This kids show isn't running smoothly. There are lots of delays for lots of reasons. I've been playing this high-flyer solve it person - as I usually do. I've been taking on a lot of side work related to the project - costumes, sets, technicals, scripts etc. My original job was simply to oversee the animation. I haven't been inside the animation studio for weeks. Now that the animations are behind a full two weeks in production the shit hit the fan, got spread about the room, and slid downwards onto my desk. And I raged. I raged against how much other stuff I was doing, how could I possibly oversee the animation as well? I raged against my animators - graduates with no industry experience for not pulling up their socks, and for behaving like kids. I wrote emails that detailed in length why is was that I was never around.

And then my boss politely pointed out that it was I who have volunteered for it all. I'd taken it on my plate. People had asked if it could be done, and I'd said yes. I'd heaped all this extra work onto myself and left myself so bogged down that I couldn't move. Then to 'escape' the pressure of the situation, I'd hived off to the berg to go shoot a documentary on dinosaurs, further adding more to my plate, and pushing everything that was on it, off to the side. I had dug myself in as deep as I could without even realizing it. Well I realized it this morning. No answer I could give could explain away that I had simply not done what I'd promised to do.

So I sat down and wrote an email (to all those who have ever recieved emails from me stop smiling) to the producers. I took full responsibility for my actions (or lack there of) and promised to make things right. But how? How now to turn the shit into compost so that I could grow a product (here ends the farmers reference). Well there has been a saying that has been banging around in my head all month: Face what's in front of you. So that is what I started to do. I made a list of everything that needed to be done and started working on it.

I haven't finished anything on that list yet, but tomorrow is another day. But what inspired me to write this post today is that I want to know this from you dear reader:

As humans we should all strive to better ourselves. As employees who are not content to plod through employment we should always seek to find innovative ways to further our company and our work, but and here's what I learned today, we must make sure we don't get lost in the innovative future plans and forget the present projects. So there must be a fine line between doing the work in front of you, and doing the planning for the future work. That's a balance I need to find, and I suspect will spend quite some time in learning.

So I hope that you take something from this, even if it's a moment relaxation that we are all dealing with other peoples compost, but that sometimes our own manure is involved, and most of the time, we're the ones causing the shit in the first place...

My 13 year old just hit 15...

I could never understand why my younger sister so openly rebelled against myself, my mother, and my grandparents. She refused to wear 'decent' clothes, and wanted to do things to her hair that the rest of us thought foolish. But now I find myself have sms screaming matches with my mother on these very subjects! When I told her about my tattoo she was gobsmacked. This quickly gave way to my mothers usual shocked indifference, which then shifted finally to her typical plea for 'sanity' and for me to 'make the right decisions' not for her sake, but for my own.

Now I love my mother, and I understand where she is coming from. She loves me and doesn't want to see me do things to myself now that I may regret when I'm older. There is a certain irony in her desires, and perhaps it is because of those ironies that I find myself turning from loving son who never set a foot wrong, and who is fairly anal about abiding by the rules, into a screamin 15 year rebel who fights against his parents and sneaks out of the house - blow your rules! Why? Why do I find it so hard to not simply agree with my mother, nod wisely about her concerns, understand her concerns, and then quietly go and do what I want anyway. After all, it would make her life a lot easier - she'd be less stressed for one thing. Which in turn would make me feel like less of a monster for going against her wishes.

What is boils down to though is that I don't believe she is right. I think she is very, very wrong. Perhaps I am in rebel mode, perhaps all this sex has addled my brain. Perhaps I'm so obssessed with fitting in that I'm doing stupid things just to impress my friends. Sounds like a normal 15 year old kid to me. When I was 15 I was playing Star Trek, domineering my friends, working out how to manipulate people into doing my bidding, and generally being a control freak. Now, I'm still playing Star Trek (some things never change), but now I'm supporting my friends, I'm not judging them on their actions, in fact I'm encouraging them to discover their true nature. Surely this is a better thing?

And so what if this is all based on emotional backwash from sex or from nearly being 30 or from just being fed up with pretending to be an old person? I am not going to justify to you or anyone why I want a tattoo. Or why Iwant to do X and not Y. And I feel that I shouldn't need to do that for my parents either. What I choose to do, or choose not to do is my OWN decision. Right or wrong I need to learn for myself. So that perhaps one day I can tell someone - hey tattoos might seem cool, but wait till your skin falls off. At least though I will have first hand knowledge because I will have done it. This then raises that age old retort - oh so you going to stick your hand in the fire just once? Or jump off a bridge? Or take drugs? The answer to this should be yes and no. No I'm not going to stick my hand in the fire you fucktard because it will fucking burn. This is called a scientific principle. Jump off a bridge? Is it safe? Has an expert in the field said so? If so, then yes, I'll jump. If not, then I might not. Take drugs? Well perhaps. Am I with trusted friends or total coke-head strangers? I will never know what it's like if I don't try. And if I do try, and I do get addicted, well that speaks of a deeper psychological problem which will then be dealt with.

In short I feel we as Humans can be told about certain things that have definates. Speed and you will get a fine. Play with a snake and you will get bitten. But when it comes to 'if', 'what about', and 'because I say so' we tend to loose credibility. We spend enough of our time telling ourselves these stupid projections: If I ask her out, she'll probably slap me because I don't believe in myself. To have others do it for us, I think we are more resistant to them because they may be mirroring the very thoughts inside our own heads. So with this in mind I now have a second maxim to which I shall devote my life:

1 - Speak your mind, those that matter don't mind, those that mind don't matter.
2 - You don't know until you try (unless it's a given).

And the only way it can be a given is if it can be proven with fact and maths. Put a gun to your head and pull the trigger - you will die. Get your ear pierced it may, or may not stretch all the way down to your toes over time.

It's like deciding to have a relationship or not based on whether you think you'll need to break up with the person in the future. It's fucking self defeating. So stop with the lectures, stop with the conjectures, stop with the projectures about what if, maybe, might, possibly, or don't you think. Either give me proof, or shut the fuck up. This then leads me to faith.

Yes I know not the strongest link I've ever written, but it's the second part of what is on my mind at the moment. My possibly-boyfriend-but-we-don't-know-yet-as-we're-still-testing-something is a believer in god (I refuse the capitol letter on point). I am not. I have tried it, and thought genuinly that I was at one stage. But at present I am not. I'm fanatical in my adherance to my belief in not believing. I will argue about it till the cows come home. There is no deity running around making things happen.

But there have been some truly strange things happening recently. I shall list them chronologically for your benefit:

1 - One night I spent in the arms of some lover I discovered his liking of being nibbled. The next morning my flatmate related a dream of his from the previous night wherein he got so frustrated with his partner that he ate him. I thought that was odd.

2 - My present partner was convinced I'd met someone named Peter for lunch. I don't know anyone called Peter. However a few days later I returned home from a business trip early to discover a distant friend and his brother were coming over, a brother named: Peter.

3 - I have been a loyal subscriber to a dating website for the better part of six years. In that time I've met a total of 2 people, 1 of whom I actually met and shagged. Since finding my present squeeze (whom I a very fond of) I have had no less than four out of the blue requests from said dating site from individuals who would not normally talk to me.

Now I know these seem like major points of god-like testing/karma etc. And I'd been inclined to brush them off with that arguement. But what it got me thinking about was why do I so desperately NOT want a god in my life? What is it that I am so reluctant to embrace? My first response to that is: Well that's like wondering why you don't believe in the planet being run by spacemonkey's who control everyone's thoughts via their sperm which they slip into KFC. It's just a stupid, misguided, self serving, population control idea. So no point in believing. But what has led me to this place of such cynical denial? Why am I so 'enlightened' and yet seemingly so many around me are not?

I don't have an answer. I shall go and look for one. Till then, rebel against your elders, they know jack, do something you've always wanted to do, and try figure out why you do or do not need a god in your existance...and then share with us.

Self Value... Self worth ... Self ish?

Recently my ego has been ballooning. Thanks in part to two wonderful men who've come into my world, but sadly left it as suddenly as they entered. What this has done for me as a person is unfathomable. I have realized I can now do and feel what I want. I got a tattoo (dragon naturally), bought clothes that I personally considered hideous just three weeks ago, am wearing a necklace (skull naturally), and am seriously considering getting my eyebrow pierced. Why? Because I realized that I don't like my body, I find it fat, flabby, and oddly shaped. Diets and eating plans don't seem to be a workable solution, and gym is on the cards, provided I can find the money. But it's not that I'm trying to hide my body from the world.

That was one of Professor Matures primary weapons - old style clothes. Big showy items that were so bright, loud, or hideous that the eyes of the viewer were drawn to the cloth not the flesh. It's difficult to see the person underneath the clown suit. But for me a tattoo is usually very sexy. I love them, I think they are works of art. The same with the other things. I just think they look cool. At least that is my primary motivation. And apart from the tattoo the other things are temporary by and large. Changing clothes styles has been a process, and will still be a process once summer comes back I'm sure. But at least my students can't complain about me wearing fashions that went out of style with Queen Victoria.

But that is not what this blog is about I don't think. Having the courage to go and do things I have always wanted to do, but been too afraid to do because of what OTHER people might think has in part given me the power to push myself to do other things beyond personal grooming. Recently I made my second short film of this year. Two in the space of a month. How very tiring, but wonderful at the same time. For the last one though I needed an actor for the role of a doctor. I couldn't find anyone, and all my usual suspects had flown to the stage to earn real money. So I had to play the role myself.

To say that I was nervous would be a lie. I was excited. I was acting opposite a great actor who has been exceptionally patient with me, being in both my short films. My good friend was directing this segment of the film, and my wonderful students from the college I lecture were filling in as crew. I wanted to have fun, to strut my stuff, and to see if I could abnegate myself into the role. I did the performance several times, for the various camera angles, and then asked if it was OK. Everyone naturally said yes. Having edited the sequence now I think it is fairly funny (it's supposed to be btw) and that it works. Could it have been better? I think that it could have been. Is my acting believable? I don't know. I cannot externalise my internal critic. I look at my face, at my hands, at my actions and wonder - is it good? Or just OK?

I really enjoyed the experience, and would like to do it again. But now I wonder if anyone else thinks I should do it again? My self value is high at the moment. I'm doing exactly what I want to do, and I'm not restricted by my own self. This is a goal I've been after for a long time. I'm satisfied that I've given 100 percent of myself to this project. A rare thing for me. It is MINE. In terms of self worth though, am I worthy of trying to act? I have meeting actors who feel they are great performers, but are in actually not very good. I don't want to be one of those. Someone who can't see their own weaknesses. But how does one develop that critical skill? I don't have a comparison. I performed the role like this, so and so like that. His was better. Why? I don't have that. I also can't imagine how I'd perform the role any other way.

But then I stop the wonder: If it makes me happy, perhaps I should continue anyway, regardless of my actual capacity? But then am I not being selfish in so far as misplacing my attentions? Perhaps I should stick to directing? Or to script-writing? Forget acting, leave that up to the professionals? Are you, beloved reader, in a similar situation? Restrained by feelings of uncertainty? If so I dare you to do one thing you are not sure about. Something small. Like wearing a pink shirt, or dyeing your hair. Do something which feels huge, but is in reality really small. It's amazing how one small act can sometimes give you the freedom to do a big act. Seek out the tiny, the small, and make a change, it's remarkable the avalanche that can be caused...

To blog or not to blog...

I must act remorseful for my absence from this blog given that my last entry set the scene for a new chapter in my life. At least it hinted at the potential for a beginning of a new chapter. At the very least a new paragraph... And then silence. I have been inundated sms's and brief Facebook plea's for info. I had a little ego trip. People were interested to know what was happening in my world. I liked it. And then I began to think why I should like it. After all this blog was never meant to be about my ego. OR was it?

I started this blog those few months ago - almost a year I guess - with the soul purpose of coming out of the closet once and for all. Since that time I've had people tell me how proud they are of me, how courageous they think I am for doing it, or how much they enjoyed reading it - no matter how disguising and over-shared it might be. And I think what began to happen was a shift from me using the blog as a way of sorting out my inner demons to a way of me using those demons for public applause. How often have I re-written a paragraph so that it was funnier. Is that what my therapist wanted? Re-order your emotional distress so that it is funny? I don't think so. Should I then write dry dull explorations of my inner thoughts? Something so logically layered out that I find a conclusion at the end which is ultimate?

I think not. You see I am a lamenter of self. I lament about many things: My size, my Victorian upbringing, my nose, my eyebrows, my voice, my dick size... just about everything. And I use those as weapons again myself to prevent myself from doing anything. I talk myself into a corner. Then I cover up all those self depreciating statements with 'logical' self created perceived opinions of others. How often have I thought I knew exactly what the other person was going to say - and then discovered that they said the opposite? Countless times. So I have all these defensive arguments that can flit through my head in the matter of seconds, although not at present as I haven't had much sleep recently...) So where that leave me? The self deluding clown?

Which ties up - quiet nicely I think - with Eros, my mysterious date from Tuesday. Don't get your hopes up you are not learning anything about Eros in this blog. And you'll see why later on. But with Eros I often find myself making a little laugh. A chortle. A chuckle. Occasionally a bark. And most often during serious conversations about things. Which unsettles Eros. It would unsettle anyone to have a Madhatter laughing at your serious statement. I was asked by I did it. And my only answer was because I didn't or couldn't think of anything to say. I had no witty retort, not one jot of glib flippancy to offer. And I had no way of answering honestly because I genuinely did not know the answer.

So this laughing thing, this joke thing must therefore be a defensive mechanism. A means of breaking the tension: You'll like me if I make you laugh, and you'll forgive me being stupid, if you're grinning at my jokes. And I suppose that is why my blogs are written with intent to make you chuckle. It's to keep you reading, to keep the sms's coming in. But I realized last night - I don't need to do it. Or if I do, I should do it for my own pleasure. You see I think I have finally got to a place where I now understand the word: Care. Never before in my existence have I understood that word. I love my parents, and my sister, and I care - mildly about their existence. But I'm supposed to do that, and they're supposed to care about me. It's in the contract. But for others? Outside the immediate blood-line? Several blogs down I found a post where I debated whether or not I cared for my friends.

I was being honest about it. I really didn't know if I cared or not. But today or last night I finally felt an emotion that I would call Care. I care irrationally about Eros. And I draw comfort that it is reciprocated. But now that care seems to be expanding, as if I've been given a photograph of my friends in black and white, and it's slowly turning into colour, one by one the people are being coloured in - coloured with care (damn this sounds SO Hallmark). It's a bizarre sensation to worry about someone outside of my own head. I know really want to know how Carmen's baby and house is doing, and Hans and his world, and Mark and his baby, and ... and ... so it goes. These are things that I was mildly interested in before, but now I want to know more, and be there in case they need me. Or even just so that they have someone there.

But all of these are singled around Eros. A key to unlocking something. A key that unlocked something through two simple things:

1 - Extreme honesty
2 - Extreme vulnerability

And that is why I cannot blog about Eros. I can be honest here in my blog. I'm safe. You're reading it from your office/house/phone and can't hit me. You could phone and curse me to hell, but that's about it. But extreme honesty is face to face type stuff. Stuff that scares the shit out of me. I can't really handle it. As for vulnerability well I didn't think in a million years I could be vulnerable with someone. I didn't even know how. I think I'm learning. And when one is vulnerable one is open. And it's that point that I feel we truly find ourselves. All the pretense, the pretext, the subtext, the text, the plot, all fucks off and takes a holiday. Leaving only the real you. It's really scary. I have teeth. I have passion. I have a deep urge to connect to others. But that's lost underneath so many layers.

What I'm really driving at, and I don't know how I drifted down to honesty and vulnerability from my ego trip is that I think I have to rely on talking to others in 'the flesh' to act as my therapy, and not on writing it out and sending it into cyberspace, like a paper boat with a candle in it sent out into a dark pool with a prayer. This is not to say though that I am abandoning you, my beloved reader, because I do like to entertain, and now I really like to entertain, just for your pleasure. So I will be here, writing away furiously for as long as you are happy to read it...

A date...with my 13 year old self

I have a date tomorrow night. Now this may not come as much of a surprise to those of you know have read my previous blogs, where I may come across as a bit of a whorish nymphomaniac (he said coyly after only having had sex once). But this one is special. It's my first real date with another man that hasn't been based on a digital dialogue. He is in fact the first flesh and blood person I shall ever go out on a date with, using non-dating technology. Yes I managed to find me a live one that was somehow attracted to my hook (god that's a terrible analogy... but what choice do I have?) in that great big fishbowl we called the real world without the use of a digital net (see I needed the fish reference to finish my Internet dating thing...). 

It was one of those romantic meetings - our eyes locked across the darkened room. I went up to him, scribbled my phone number on some flyer for some film organization and left. Just because it happened to be in a theatre, and he happened to be asking for people interested in joining a script writing association (hence the need for my number, email, and details) had NOTHING to do it. And so we met a couple of times with mutual friends. Now what has become of First Man some of you might want to know? Well FM tried to call me the other day - right in the middle of filming. 

I am a terrible monster when I'm making a film. I'm dominant, aggressive, abrasive, and focused...OK so I may be this monster most of the time, but more so when in film-making mode. I was abrupt, curt, I may even had said - yeah, fine, cool, chat later. Anyway, no correspondence from him and I believe he may now be on some oil rig somewhere. He will remain always FM and if he comes back, well, sorry FM but we now have TDS...tall, dark, stranger? It sounded more romantic in my head, now it sounds like some kind of mental abnormality (no she's fine, she likes sticking her finger in the socket, it calms her... she suffers from TDS). No, I'll need to find some other name for him. I haven't yet asked permission from him to use him in my blog so for now, let us called him: Eros. 

But I digress. My blog isn't about the date. It's actually about a meeting with myself at age 13. Tonight when I was vacillating between calling Eros or simply letting it pass (a friend had urged me to take a chance - my self esteem being fairly low[although rising constantly due to this wonderful interest Eros has displayed and others have assured me {although I'm sure that they are merely being friendly and polite - which is why I like my students who are anything but, but they are candid and honest about their hatred of my clothing/hair/choice in music... I've forgotten which bracket I'm in?}]) I'm lost. Let me start again: Tonight whilst building up the nerve to phone Eros I was awash with such a wide range of emotions I could hardly contain myself. 

I'd done some work for Carte Blanche (a hard hitting journalism TV show) and was heading off to drop off the finished product. The whole drive my mind was in turmoil. Thanks to my therapy (see previous posts) I have now been able to identify good thoughts from bad. My mind was full of bad thoughts masquerading as good thoughts. This was what ran through my mind, the eager 13 year old, and the somber 29 year old:

13: OK, so X said we were both interested in each other. That's a good thing. 

29: What if X was only saying that though because X thinks we should be interested in one another? Or if X just wants to see me try, and get rejected? 

13: Don't be silly, X wouldn't do that. Would X? Why? What on earth could possess X to want that to happen? What possible gain does X have from having that happen? So can we rule out X has ulterior motives? Yes. (My brain is a savage nasty creature sometimes, I love you X as wonderful person don't hate me because of my brains paranoia) 

29: OK, back to the question of to phone or not to phone? If I phone and the answer is no - I will feel stupid because 1. I asked, 2. a fat fucker like me should know better than to expect Eros to lower himself to my level, 3. Eros was drooling over another Adonis (so was I but my drool  was the distant self touching later kind of drool, Eros would most likely be able to touch Adonis if he so chose). So three very good, very solid reasons. Don't phone. 

13:  But what if Eros says yes? 

29: Why the FUCK would he say yes? List three reasons, I dare you. 

13: One - I'm funny. 

29: Big deal, fat people farting is funny (so is alliteration apparently, sometimes I wonder about my brain...). 

13:  Two - I'm intelligent. 

29: So's Bill Gates - wanna screw Microsoft (if ever there was a Freudian slip)? 

13: No. OK, how about this: Three, I'm charming, kind, honest, and generally a nice human being. 

29: Oh you mean like the 10 000 other gay men running around Durban? Sorry, that's a 

prerequisite, not an additional bonus.

13: So then there is no real reason to phone?

29: Not unless you want to feel really, really, stupid.

It's at this point in my conversation that I think I ran a red light. Or someone else ran a red light and I hooted. I think that's what happened.

So then the conversation shifted to what I like to call: Deviousnessness. I tried to work out a way that I could call Eros and ask if he wanted dinner. If he said no, I'd quickly amend to say that I wanted to meet him to chat about the script I'm writing, and that others would be coming as well (and then frantically phone others). If he said yes he'd lover dinner, I'd push a little more until I had established that he was either interested or not, using the script for the film (something he mentioned he was interested in helping out with) as a safety. 

That helped. Then the mind - our old Professor Mature - came up with a corker: What if you get together, have a wonderful time, and then break up? Are you prepared to tell someone that you don't love them anymore? Are you prepared to finish something that you start? That was a sobering experience. Until I realized that it was Prof. Mature at work. I mean imagine not starting a relationship because you thought you might have to end it some day, so avoid all that trouble later on by never starting! What the Fuck? Thankfully I had arrived at Carte Blanche and hand over the work. So then I drove home quickly, my mind racing with deviousnessness. 

I got home and quickly delayed things for as long as possible by asking my flatmates about what I should do. The advice was, as I'm sure you'll agree, odd. 

"Sniff him."

Yes, I also said - excuse me? I beg your pardon? 

Sniff him. His breath or his arm pits or his balls. I had to sit down at that point, my knees had folded. Only after much discussion did I realize my flatmate was being facetious. One might as well go around sniffing people for all the guess work one can do before actually just asking. ASK and ye shall get an answer. Something my students seem to not understand. So one could sniff, one could develop devious ways, one could beat around the bush, one could talk to 13 year olds, it all boiled down to one final answer: Phone him or don't. But either way fuck off with all your cerebral masturbating you're interrupting the news. 

So I phoned. All my devious plans dribbled out of my ears, all my sniffing ceased when he answered. The 13 year old inside my head giggle as the 29 year old and Professor Mature turned pale, went weak and began to blabber..."Heya... would you like to get dinner sometime?" After that there was some backwards and forwards sword work until finally he asked:

Eros: May I ask a pointed question?

13: Sure. Ask away. 

29: (I'll lie, fake, prevaricate, obfuscate...)

Eros: Are you asking me on a date?

29/Professor Mature (13 bound and gagged under one arm): Well I might ask that question, but only if I knew the answer to such a question to be a positive and not a negative. For if it was a negative I should deny having ever asked such a question.

Eros: I would not believe your denial.

13: No. Yes. I'm asking.

And so we set it up. God just reading that he still wants to see me? I wouldn't want to see me with that kind of pretentious self sucking shit! 

Now you've been very kind reading this far. So let me round off with some thoughts on this whole thing. The excitement I'm feeling now, the nervous sweat, the lack of mental focus (as per this entire blog), must be felt by every human on the planet? Surely we all go through this at some point in our lives? And I know tomorrow at work I'll be fairly useless. Thinking about what I should wear, what I should say, what I should order, where the fuck to go in the first place... has Eros read this blog, realized how much of a fool I am, and decided to tip cold water in my face the best possible moment (classic bad thought in the guise of a realistic thought)? And then as I drive to Eros's house (I have directions) I will be in a near hysterical state. Is there not some better way? With online dating one gets these sorts of things fairly clearly sorted out before meeting. There isn't this phone calling hype that we generate. Just emails, messages and so forth. At least that's been my experience. Can't we date via document, signed and agreed upon, with check boxes as to what we like, don't like etc?  

Now what really scares me is that every 13 year old on the planet is going through this. At 13 I was worried about Captain Jean-Luc Picard and the Ferengi Alliance, WWF wrestling, and getting the Internet. I was not worried about dating, or loosing focus on the world because of a dinner plan. Perhaps I should have. No point in regreeting... sorry I have to point this out, with a replacement 'e' for a 't' regretting the past becomes regreeting the past - going back and living it all again. This is a deep discovery I'll write a book about one day. Anyway - I guess I understand now why teenagers are such nervous, skittish, self absorbed creatures. I may be coming one myself. In which case is this my mental age? 13? I think so perhaps. And now of course, this flu which has been going around, has got to my nose, and as I sit here, snot is welling up inside my head. How FUCKING ROMANTIC. I'll have the snails for dinner. No, I just sneezed on the pasta. If it's not zits, it's snot. I'm doomed! See I am 13 again, thinking snot would make a funny finishing joke for this blog. 

Let me leave you my beloved reader but I ask you to cast your mind back to your first experience, and remember for just a moment or two how stupid, foolish, and giddy you got, and then think of me, poor, little snot-monster trying so delicately to impress whilst snorking through my pasta.