Pearl Handled Revolver

Well, it was quite a week this week at the office, or shall I say my former office. The good news is I was going on to work in a new position in  couple weeks time, at a new company. The bad news is that my current employment ended my employment pre-emptively. Essentially I made the mistake of not marking a draft paper as ‘draft’ and this draft non-draft paper made it into the public domain (supposedly, but I googled my ass off to no end and could not find it). In any event, the director of my office exploded at me and to make a long story short told me I would have to go to create distance between the organization and the paper - the problem being the paper had some spelling and punctuation errors. No libel. No fraud. No incorrect information. Spelling errors.  I am serious about this. Now, while this is embarrassing, it is not the end of the world. I take my professional work seriously, but spelling errors are not cause for dismissial in my book.

Of course, this criticism comes from the man that is singlehandedly overseeing the nose dive of the company. We are essentially bankrupt. I was actually the number one revenue earner in the department, which makes this entire episode ratherfunny. I was told to not be a stranger, that I would get paid for the rest of the month and that all would be fine between me and former company after a few weeks. As I sat icily reflecting on the irony of this man’s comments, I can’t help be derive some joy from the fact that he has perhaps an insurmountable challenge in front of him to rescue the company from certain disaster. I also delight in the fact that the 100k contract I had sitting on my desk that was supposed to be a surprise to the finance director the next day is getting sent to a competing firm as soon as I get back to my sorry desk in my open pathetic plan office. I counter the director by resigning - taking the pearl handled revolver as it were. I mean, I was supposed to go in two weeks anyway, why make it more difficult legally and actually get dismissed? Was the company’s response overblown, yes. Am I hurt, yes. But do I miss that pathetic organization where my existence was basically to bring in income to support a morbid organization supposedly in the business of consultancy when all it seemed we did was promote weapons systems? No, not really. I also don’t miss the smelly visiting fellow from Pakistan. Nor do I miss the fact that my PC was crap, our copier constantly on the fritz and my pay too low. Farewell. At least I can stop pretending that I care. Amen.

Superfluous

I am taking up a new job in September and I finish my current job at the beginning of August so I can spend four weeks on holiday and doing some networking events in the US. I am still the head of my programme, but suddenly no one talks to me. Well, of course they talk to me, but they don’t talk to me about work. I am superfluous. All the issues are directed to my number two, without any consideration for me. On the one hand, I don’t mind. I can just coast along. On the other, heck, I am still the boss here! Hello! At least ask me what I think, so I can grunt ‘ok’! Geez.

In other news we are hosting a party tonight for the cast and crew of a new west end show at ours. This should be interesting. While our flat is nice and well sized. I believe we are to have something like 50 people over, which could be a bit much! But they should be a fun and interesting group.

Last night I watched “The Opposite of Sex” with Christine Ricci. The movie is from 1998 and it was rather funny, a very black comedy narrated by Ricci’s fucked up character. I highly recommend the film. It was hysterical in that it was prefaced by a disclaimer that “this show contains objectionable views”. This was because Ricci’s character says some of the craziest things about homos which are absurdly funny, I could not help but laugh. Of course, I am sure some politically correct homo probably rang up Fiver and complained. Please.

Fabulous and the Pakistani Fellow

My office is populated by a diverse number of characters. All of us attempting to make a name for ourselves and climb out of the relatively obscurity within which we live. In any event, they are a good bunch. One of the best is Simply Fabulous who works in my programme. She is brilliant. Basically, Daddy is very wealthy and she has perfect taste and really, what more can a gay man want than a smart, blonde, wealthy friend with taste! We get on like peas in a pod, only that I have to remind her every so often that while, yes, I am not poor, I also do not have enough money to live in Belgravia and shop endlessly at Harrods. But I can dream.

So, we have this Pakistani Fellow in our office visiting for the year. This has been quite an experience because frankly he has never heard for ‘grooming’. Quite frankly, he stinks to high heaven. It is horrifific. All winter we had the windows open and now that summer is here (supposedly) we have the windows open and the fans on. Which is funny, because our Pakistani fellow has a fan behind him blowing all the stench onto another fellow from Taiwan. This results in a lot of hilarity when the Taiwanese fellow cracks jokes about the Pakistani fellow. Maybe you have to be there. I have now been subjected to rants from Fabulous for months about the Pakistani fellow. The best one was probably this, which caused me to spurt tea out of my nose. It read:

Subject: Sad News

News Bulletin

Simply Fabulous, Research Associate extraordinaire at the **** Institute, died today due to overexposure to toxic fumes. Reports are circulating that she was found slumped over her desk, clutching her favourite pair of Manolos for comfort in what must have been a frantic struggle for survival. The fumes are said to have originated from Pakistan.

Enough Said

Sleep

Ok, I really want to fall alseep now. So I am going to turn of the computer, think ’sleep’, and listen to crickets and the fan whir over head.

please…….

Two Weeks in America

True to my word I am a bad diarist. Nobody reads this blog and I loose enthusiasm. But alas I remember, this blog is for me, not for the world. And secondly, I am wide awake close to one in the morning after downing three diet cokes at the 60th birthday party of a cousin….so what the hell.

My two weeks in the US have been very interesting and have gone by way to quickly.

First I went to Chicago for work and pleasure. I work of the Obama campaign (for free) and was there for some bits and pieces. I then got to go to Boystown, which was just fab and I instantly regretted not spending more time in Chicago, which I believe must be the most beautiful city in the US. The architecture is amazing and the location on the late (FYI - the great lakes are actually inland seas, so they are effing huge) makes the city very unique. I love it. Note to self: live in Chicago for a year or two.

I then went to DC for more work. While there I attended an absurdly expensive fundraiser for Obama. I considered the irony of A: working for the guy for free and then B: donating thousands of dollars for the campaign. Thank you sir, may I have another. If I was straight, this is where I would make a remark about taking it up the backside, of course, I am not straight and I have been known to enjoy taking it up the backside, so I won’t make that comment, which really bugs me.

Anyway, I got to have dinner with some friends in SE DC, on Capitol Hill in the Eastern Market area - loved it over there. I am usually confined to DuPont so it was nice to get away. I was also stunned that the couple I was with felt comfortable enough to hold hands. Sorry, but I don’t consider the US a gay friendly country (this is compared to Europe, mind you, not Iran). I am probably being stupid about this, but then again one of the reasons I live in the UK is that my partner is British and he has no right to go to America based on our relationship unlike in Europe where I could stay if I needed to (but I have my own visa anyway) based on our relationship. So I have to re-think what I think about the US. Can America live up to the potential of the American dream, or is it dying a slow death. Bush’s America is pretty devoid of hope these days. I think this is why Obama inspires so much excitement especially amongst the young (fucking hell, the neighbours bloody dog is barking again). I think they want to be proud in their country, which can be hard to do right now. At least for those of us who are not raging evangelical nutters, who think that invading other countries on a whim to bring democracy and forcing religion down peoples throats is acceptable. But I digress.

The trip took a sad turn when my paternal grandmother passed away. Interestingly, my first thought was, “well, that is one more person I don’t have to dissapoint with being gay”. The inner circle - mom, dad, sisters and brother-in-law/boyfriend all know. That is really all the matters, the rest of the family. Well, I am happy to keep it to myself so my parents don’t need to deal with the fall out. Well, on the one hand, I want them to deal with the fall out. I want them to say, this is our son and we love him and go jump in a lake. But I also know they are 65 and god knows they’ve been good in coming around.

I actually recently thought that my dad did not accept the issue and would not let D the Twirlie come and visit. But apparently, I was wrong. After the funeral, we were driving back to our summer house while my lil sis and mom went back to the (what?) main house (?) (this sounds all rather colonial), the connecticut house  I suppose will do. Anyway, I brought the issue up and said I was glad they were so proud of me, but sorry to disappoint in the raw heterosexual category and all…dad as like, whoa, I accept you and I love you and D can come and visit…did we not talk about this a year ago he asks? I guess we did, but I supposed we ‘talked’ about it in a straight guy kinda way last summer, when he asked about my ‘friend’ D. Well, anyway, that is all cleared up now I guess, which is good. We have firmly established that D will be welcome for the end of summer visit in late August/early September. Tickets will be booked. Of course, I still can’t shake the inner guilt I feel about my sexuality. And the idea that I just might burn in hell. Oh, those nuns did a real good job on me. Nothing like being a Catholic to engender GUILT. Gotta love it.

I had a coming out while I was here. Probably the funniest coming out to date. I told the older sister and brother in law. Now, I knew they would be cool about it. They have a lot of gay friends. My sis kept dropping hints that she knew, but I never knew how to bring it up. So the morning of the grandmother’s burial, (sis and bro in law, flew in from Michigan - yes, they have abandoned their new england roots to live in Michigan, ugh. Work related. No offense Michiciganers, but well, it just ain’t new england. I suppose the feeling might be mutual). Anyway, we pitch up at the funeral for the last good bye, which all seems a bit drawn out. We then pile into my car (lil sis and big sis in the backseat, bro in law in front passenger seat, me driving) and are waiting to start the funeral procession to the church (the big catholic church, oh the guilt). So, we are chatting away. Apparently it took some time to get granny into the hearse. I decide to just tell, them. I role up the windows, comically leaving the sun roof open. Turn around to face big sis and say, “well, I have some news. I am gay and I live with a man in London and we share the same bed so he ain’t no average room-mate” to which big sis responds “high five” and put her palm up. We then move on to discuss how my gayness has been the subject of discussion between big sis and bro in law for the last decade. WTF. I mean, I so don’t understand. How come everyone knew I was gay before I did?! So not fair.

Well, I finally got to the holiday portion of the trip, which was plagued with so-so weather. I am missing D terribly, but I have eased his and my pain with a subscription to Sean Cody for the month. This was fun for about four days, but now I think the novelty has worn off.  But it has been fun, where does he find those men? I have enjoyed my time on the beach and I read Ombama’s “Dreams from my Father” which was amazing. I have never thought so much about race in America, and the book really struck a number of emotions for me, and may resounded with the idea of belonging and spoke to my own stuggles with sexuality. Well, I head back to London tomorrow, to my exile. I can’t wait. I miss home. London home that is. And my dogs and especially my twirlie. So pathetic. but I can’t wait.

The Style Black Hole

So I finally made it home. The flight was nice, the only problem was that they guy across the aisle from me was way too hot. He was married, but I still could not stop checking him out. It got to the point where it was embarassing, I kept thinking “he must have seen me check him out that time”, but he kept smiling at me. Oh well.

I was in Chicago for work, but now am back on the US East Coast at my parent’s summer house. Lovely, but it is raining. I have to leave tomorrow for work meetings in the city, but I get to come back in a week.

We went to see Sex and the City today, First time for mom and dad, second for me. It was funny, but what was funnier was how I just so could not picture any of the people in that theatre relating to the girls lives. This is so cruel, but there were people in the theatre wearing sweat pants. In public! I mean WTF! If they can’t go outside looking decent they so cannot relate to the lives of the SATC girls. Everytime I come back to the States I am struck by how the masses are so classless. Ok, there are plenty of people in England that have no taste. And I know there are lots of people in the States who do have class, but seriously, there are way too many who have none. Some of the things they wear. We are on a trendy summer resort, I mean, come on.

I think maybe the French need to invade and liberate us from the grips of bad taste.

Coming Out Part One

This blog is one part fun, one part therapy really. So I suppose that the coming out story is a useful one, since it is pretty crucial to who I am (and who I am not really).  But I don’t really have one coming out - does anyone?

So, coming out, part one.

It is 2003, I just started a graduate programme at a great university in London where I’d come to do my PhD. I am dating a lovely girl, lets call her Lovely Girl, because she really was. Now, deep down I have always known that I was, shall we say, different. This is what I find confusing. I always enjoyed women. I had great sex with women. I liked (like?) girls. But I also always knew that I fancied cock. I suppose that is the best way to put it. I shall elaborate this in a post to be titled “My Gay History” or something like that a bit later on.

Anyway, inside me there is this urge, upon which I have not acted for a very long time. I wrote off the early urges as adolescence. But now at 24 adolescence is pretty over and done with. Anyway, Lovely Girl has a bloke who is her friend and is gay. He is a nice chap and I can’t remember his name now, which I guess is pretty sad. I have no idea why I did what I did. But here is what I did:

Lovely Girl is over at mine in the shower. I pull out her mobile phone and get Nice Chap’s number.

One Friday/Saturday, I call Nice Chap. I bluff about mis-dialing or something. Anyway, he does not know me, but thinks he might. All those hazy nights clubbing. He is out, so I head to this straight bar near Embankment to meet him.

I arrive. I flirt. My brain says “NO! NO”.

I get more drunk. We go back to an after party.

I flirt with him more.

My brain SCREAMS “NO!”

I pull him. We end up and mine, and rather terribly he sucks me off after which I pass out and fall asleep. So rude. But that is the way it is.

So, of course this is all going to hit the proverbial fan really quick because I stupidly established that I knew Lovely Girl.

Short of it is Nice Guy has a breakdown and runs to Lovely Girl to tell her what happened. I was thinking, Ok, I’ll just break up with her, I need to deal with this “issue”.

Lovely Girl is not happy. She is hurt. But she is lovely. I think it is because she is Candian. They are all lovely I think those neighbours to the north.

So the relationship ends. Of course. But she only tells ONE friend and totally gives me the time to deal with everything. That was lovely. We are facebook friends now, but I so can’t bring myself to write to her. I really should. There could not have been a better person on the planet to screw over. I don’t say that comically. What I did was really mean, but it had to be done. It BLEW (no pun intended) the doors off my world. I had to confront me.

So I am very depressed for ages. I want to throw myself under a tube train. I am really close to it really. I keep thinking, there goes the political career my parents have groomed me for and that I have wanted and worked for. No one will elect a fag. My friend Gorgeous, a girl from college who coxed by boat (stop it with the dirty thoughts) back when I rowed, is there to see me through things. I come out to her first. She is bi. Straight really, but with bi-tendencies. Anyway, she is as lovely and Lovely Girl. She stops me from throwing myself under the train. I call her my Angel. Actually, we shall call her Angel, not Gorgeous. She is a Gorgeous Angel though, so hot - smart (she is doing a PhD at Columbia University) and she is hot! Angel cares for me.

I listen to a lot of Natalie Imbruglia’s White Lillies Album. The song Hurricane becomes my theme. My life is so fucked up.

I call America and speak to mom.

Me: “Mom, I’m gay”

Mom: Silence.

Me: “Mom?”

Mom: Silence

Me: “Mom? Are you there?”

That is all I remember?

I do remember bits and feelings?

Understanding, coupled with why? how?

A belief, this is all experimental. You’ll grow out of it.

I remember some time later telling my mom: ” you know, you’re really not reacting the way I expected.”

Mom: “What did you want a friggen parade?”

About the expectations - my parents are centre-left. They are professors. They have gay friends. They voted for Clinton. My mom loves Hilary. But still….no parade.

I said: “Don’t tell dad!”

Mom, of course, told Dad.

Dad did not talk to me about this. We talked, but it was like the big elephant in the corner. Finally, he asked about my “friend”. He said he wanted to protect me and that people were terrible and that if I was sure this is who I was he would support me. But he did not want to rush things.

All in all, my parents were rather good with the whole thing. They are in their mid-60s so they are not young and we are a very catholic family. Liberal yes, but still very catholic. Ignore the contradiction.  I can’t get my mother to explain it to me, so if she can’t no one can.

Now, my sister was cool with this. Sister was studying at Oxford for an MA for the year, so both of us were in England. This was great. I have to say, I have the most beautiful, intelligent sister on the planet. She amazes me always. I love her to bits. I used to hate her when I was 14, but I think that is normal. She kept copying everything I did. She always wanted to “steal” my friends, now  I understand what a form of flattery that was. So we are very close.

Now, sister M found out from Obsessed, my on again off again girlfriend. After the coming out we were on-again. Safe harbour and all that. But I told her of my bisexuality, she was cool with that. Sort of. Not really, but she wanted to be. It was odd. Anyway, I told her I wanted to tell my Sister on my own terms when I wanted to. So what did the bitch do? Went to Oxford to see my sister and spilled the beans.

Sister as not happy. Nothing to do with the gayness, but she said “I am your sister. I love you no matter what and I find out you are gay/bi whatever from Obsessed.

She then pointed out she was wearing a scarf and under that scarf she hid a hickey, a hickey from a girl! No, she is not a lesbian. I would have to disown her if she was. But she played around a tad. In the end the decision was “I like cock” - well, I can’t argue with that.

So that was the Coming Out part one, the Family.

 

More of a Diarist than First Thought

Well, I thought this whole blog thing would crash and burn, but I am actually enjoying it. I suppose the difference is that I don’t have to think of smart things to write like you do with a professional blog. This is more of a diary really, and it is kind of nice to do the anonymous diary thing. Who cares if anyone even reads this?

So, at the moment I am sitting in the Virgin Upper Class lounge waiting to wing it home for some work and play. I feel on top of the world, but these feels are battered by feelings of inferiority. Yes, I seem to suffer from some sort of homosexual inferiority complex. Am I the only one?

Example - last night at a formal dinner with military types I had a great conversation with a military engineer. We talked about cars, politics and the work he did in Afghanistan - which was great. I had a great time and he was very friendly and asked if I like what I do and I said ‘I love what I do’ and “I’m very happy” and he was all smiley and he asked, “so are you married?” and I was like, “no, but you know I am still young” WTF! Why can’t I just come out and say, no, but I have this great fella and we are really happy and we bought a flat together etc, etc. I tell myself I am not ashamed and I don’t care what people think, but then why do I do stupid things like that?!

Same thing in the car today on the way to Heathrow. My driver Michael is great - this is a new relationship, I just discovered his services. If you are interested - navy blue stretch 7 series BMW, cream coloured leather, central London to Heathrow 60 quid, happy to recommend his fine services. But, I kept using the royal “we” without ever saying “D” or “my boyfriend”. I don’t want to admit it, but am I a self loathing homo? I think most of my friends would say no, but when it comes to the wider public, I still feel like I closet myself. Maybe it is my line of work, but it bothers me. I care too much about what other people think and I hate that. No matter how much I say, I don’t care, I do. I am like the druggie who can’t stop putting the needle of public acceptance into that big, fat blue vein in my arm.

Twirlie Withdrawal

So I wonder if I am the only person who goes through partner withdrawal? It is particularly bad at night. I think the experience must be akin to the phantom limb. You know, when your leg or arm is amputated but you still think it is there and then realize it is not.

Whenever D leaves - he is in Germany visiting a friend right now - I have this problem.

For instance last night I woke up in the middle of the night to claw my way across the bed to find him, but he was not there.

I wake up in the morning, roll over to snuggle and he was not there.

Often times wake up to me spooning his pillow.

It is all very odd especially in the half-haze of sleep.

It is also odd, because when he is here we are both amazed by the amount of heat we throw off and actually push away from each other. Now that summer is here we try to cuddle but end up bursting into flames.

Anyway, the next two weeks will suck as Twirlie has to stay in London to rehearse for a new West End show that he is going to be in. This is a good move for the career. But of course he had to pull out of the holiday in the US. This always happens with dancers/actors. No bloody idea when the next job is!

Anyway, I miss D. You’d think I’d be used to this after three years and him doing a lot of shows and things outside of London, but no. I still miss him.

Return to the Vaterland

So, I leave for the US tomorrow. I just finished packing. Well sort of. I used to be the type that packed in advance, but more often than not these days I pack the night before.

I only travel with a carry on. It is the only way to fly. I am going to the States for two weeks. Even for two weeks a carry on will do. Now, I must confess that part of this trip home will be to my parent’s summer house where I have an entire summer wardrobe consisting of all the basics - khaki shorts, khakis, Nantucket reds, polo shirts (various colors), oxford shirts (white, pink, blue and white striped and solid blue), summer D-ring belts, sailing jacket, boat shoes and flip flops. Oh yes, board shorts, surfing kit and briefs as well.

But stil,, a carry on will always do. First, everything is at hand when you travel, no ‘oh fuck’ I put that in my luggage in the hold. This also enables quick changes in the plane loo/lounge. Second, you never loose your luggage. Living in England and having the fly through Heathrow, this is a very real concern. Flying with BA makes it worse. I am amazed just when I land period. Landing means that I actually took off to begin with, which is a good start. Flew to Italy a month ago with BA, we sat for 2.5 hours in the plane on the tarmac in London. The flight to room is only 2.5 hours! So we did the trip twice essentially. Third, you get out of Heathrow in about an hour after you land, enabling you to get home and into bed as the rest of the poor schmucks are just getting their bags of the carousel.

Heading home is always exciting. This trip is a bit of work and a bit of fun. It was supposed to be all fun, but then I got a new job starting in September and a meeting came up in Washington so I cut down the holiday and decided to do some work. I have a love-hate relationship with the US. I love the US for all the good stuff. Good stuff like - innovation, civic responsibility - all that crap they brainwash into you. I can’t deny it, I bleed red, white and blue. I suppose the cheap petrol and good customer service helps. But as a gay man, I also have a lot of issues with the US. Scratch that, as a human being I have a lot of issues. Lets be blunt, the record for the last few years is pretty fucking awful. Fingers crossed for November. Enough of this crap, I am starting to think about work. Bad.

So I have packed. Here is what I packed:

English suit, navy blue - perfect for making you feel superior to all the Yanks wearing baggy, poorly cut suits with no vents.

Three nice English shirts - what is the point of a shit that does not taper from shoulders to waist, see above.

Assorted ties - Ted Baker, Vineyard Vines, Tommy Hilfiger, Ralph Lauren

Socks - dress socks and running socks.

Briefs, assorted, but all boxer briefs.

Brown leather belt

Brown leather shoes, English, see above - actually, lets just come out and say the Brits do f’ing great blokes clothes.

My smythson watch and cuff link case (thank you Glamour Girl), with brown leather banded watch and cuff links. Please note, black and brown do not match, so shoes, watch and belt must be the same!

cabin accessible kit bag with all the good products, heartily endorse dermologica skin products BTW.

Sneakers, aka trainers

running shorts

Human rights campaign t-shirt with “love conquers hate” on the front.

Thats it. I am going to watch Brothers and Sisters now.