Something About a Woman

I talked to my mom tonight and told her all about the wedding this past weekend — how wonderful it was, how lavish, how enjoyable, and so on. There was a tone in her voice — she seemed troubled, or perturbed, or cynical, or something. You can tell when something’s wrong with one of your parents.

“I could say something nasty, but I won’t,” she said.

I knew what she wanted to say.

“I know,” I said.

“It’s just that it would be nice if it were my own child,” she said, having changed her mind about saying something.

So my mom, who’s seemed really accepting of, and pretty cool with, my being gay for almost two years now… isn’t. At least not as much as I thought she was.

But that’s okay, because I’ve felt the same way lately.

A confluence of events: boredom with random sex. Lack of luck in the relationship department. A weekend-long celebration of heterosexual happiness. Feeling emotionally close to my lesbian friend CanadaGirl.

You know, I can’t see myself marrying a guy. Sometimes it seems like it would be really nice to find a woman and settle down. And I’ve never had intercourse with a woman, and sometimes I think I’d like to try it. A woman’s hands are so soft when they touch you — soft in a way that a man’s hands aren’t. They’re sensual. Why not have some variety in life?

Not that I’ve lost my attraction to men. And I’m not going to become one of those people who says, “I’m not gay — I think about men only when I masturbate.” Men still rock, and I know it.

But women kind of rock, too. Not as much as men, but they still rock.

No, no, no. I’m not going to do this. This is why I stayed in the closet from 19 to 24, an asexual being. I was so confused. I didn’t know whether I was gay or bi or a straight guy who was scared of women, and I didn’t want to come out until I could give myself a proper label. I didn’t want people to know I liked men unless I was willing to commit to it — and for a long time, I wasn’t.

And even after I came out, it resurfaced. I got mono during my last year of law school, and my mom came down to take care of me for five days. I was dating a guy at the time, which she didn’t know about, and I didn’t call him once during that time. When my mom left five days later, he and I broke up, because he was mad that I never called him, and because I felt guilty about dating guys after my mom had taken care of me and bought me clothes.

I’m not sure where this is going, and there’s no need to analyze it. It’ll probably pass in a few days, and I’ll get over my cold, and I’ll get a full night’s sleep (fat chance of that ever happening) and I’ll want to have sex again. But as for settling down with a guy, and creating a life together… I don’t know if I want that or not. I don’t know if I can envision that.

Sometimes I really wish I were more into women.

Maybe I am, and I’m just repressing it.

Okay, there I go again. Stop that, self. I don’t want to regress again.

I thought I’d nailed this all down three years ago.

Well, I guess things are never as cut and dried as you want them to be.

Eh, this will probably pass.

The Wonderful Washington Wedding Weekend

I’m exhausted, I have laryngitis, I don’t want to see my credit card statement next month. I’ve come back home from the Wonderful Washington Wedding Weekend. I had a spectacular time with my college buddies — much more enjoyable than our last occasion, which was the memorial service for our friend Doug.

Now here’s something really bizarre. Every day since September 11, the New York Times has been publishing short profiles of people who died in the attacks — a photograph and a few paragraphs that illustrate that person’s life. They run about 15 profiles a day. I’ve been checking the page every day, waiting for Doug’s profile to appear. Wouldn’t you know it? They ran it today — the day after the wedding, a day when he was supposed to be with us.

I wish he could have been there. It was a terrific weekend. The bride’s parents, who are loaded, threw one hell of an affair at the Four Seasons Hotel on Saturday night, followed by a big brunch this morning (much appreciated by those of us with hangovers).

Places attended: J. Paul’s restaurant on M Street, for a post-rehearsal-dinner gathering on Friday night. Madam’s Organ, a bar in the Adams-Morgan District (get it?), for the subsequent bachelor party, sans stripper. The Latham Hotel, where we stayed. The aforementioned Four Seasons Hotel for the wedding on Saturday night. The Eighteenth Street Lounge (ESL), for the post-reception partying (sans bride and groom). Back to the Four Seasons this morning for brunch.

Highlights: the groom booted in the cab after the bachelor party. (It’s a good thing the wedding wasn’t until the following evening.) The groom’s sister hit on my lesbian friend CanadaGirl. Four of us played a legendary game of spades on Saturday afternoon, in which my spades partner and I went down 200 points in one round because my partner broke his nil bid and I failed to make my own bid. (If there are four of us in a room, there’s guaranteed to be a game of spades going.) While playing, we watched the dreadful first half of the annual UVA-Virginia Tech game on ESPN (31-0 at the end of the half).

The ceremony and reception on Saturday night were black-tie-optional, so I wore a tux. I must say, I looked mighty fine. I can’t wait to see the pictures. The band was spectacular and the crowd was wonderfully energetic. CanadaGirl and I danced our way across the dance floor and had a blast. I can’t remember the last time I’d danced.

During the cocktail hour, a few of us learned that one of the guests was an old fishing buddy of the bride’s father who had had a sex change operation and was now a woman. While some of the gang tried in vain to figure out which guest it was, CanadaGirl and I spotted her right away — independently of each other. It was classic. Leave it to the gays to spot these things.

I learned that if I have a Cosmopolitan, a glass of champagne, a glass of red wine, a glass of white wine, another glass of champagne, a glass of Cognac, and a Crown Royal and ginger ale, I can get a really nice buzz going — as long as they’re consumed over a six-hour period.

So it was a great weekend. I’ve decided I love D.C. Even though I went to school only two hours away from ithe place, I never really got to know it well. But it may well be my second favorite American city after New York. I wouldn’t mind living there some day.

And the boys in Georgetown are cute!

I love this group of friends I have. They are the funniest, wittiest, smartest group of people I know. I laughed more this weekend than I’d laughed in months. That always happens when I’m with them. Damn — we sure know how to have a good time. The memorial service a few weeks ago was very depressing, of course, so it was nice to be able to get together for a happy occasion this time. It was reassuring; it reminded me that while we don’t know what life will bring us, there will continue to be occasions for great celebration.

With Thanksgiving approaching, it’s good to be reminded of things like that — and of friends like these.

Old Friends

My oldest friend in the world called me last night. We’ve known each other since we were three years old, and we’ve been close friends ever since. He’s practically my second brother. He and I are similar in so many ways — both bright, creative guys; born a month apart; my Hebrew name is the reverse of his Hebrew name; my first and middle initials are the reverse of his first and middle initials. I guess we were fated to meet.

Anyway, he called me last night to tell me that he’s going to be moving away for eight months. He’s going to be living in… Antarctica! For eight months! Holy shit. He’s going to be helping to construct buildings for the Raytheon Corporation and the National Science Foundation, at McMurdo Station. More information here.

He and I have followed completely different paths. I was Mr. Conservative: getting high grades, pleasing my parents, going to law school, scared of living; occasionally that life has been one of quiet desperation, or at least one of frustration. As for him: he never finished high school, never went to college, has lived in Boston and Arizona and then moved back here, has worked as a security guard, a waiter, an installer of home theater equipment, has written poems, has taken photographs, has taught himself to play the guitar, has written songs, has taught himself Spanish, has created geometric drawings, has spent the night in jail, has had his driver’s license suspended for marijuana possession, has gone mountain climbing in sub-zero weather in the Adirondacks and Germany, has hiked through Chile, has no e-mail address or Internet access. And now he’s going to Antarctica.

He’s totally Mr. Unconventional, and he’s always astounded me. He never follows a pre-set path; he never thinks about why he wants to do something. He just knows that he wants to do it, and so he does it. He’s so unlike me — I’m a guy who analyzes everything and can’t do something enjoyable unless I can figure out why I want to do it. He’s not like that. He just does it. Which one of us is doing more living?

Yeah, I lived in Japan for three years, and I had to deal with being gay and coming out of the closet, and I went to law school and I write a blog. But him…

Well, he’s amazing.

We’re so different, but we go waaaay back. We used to play with Fisher-Price Little People together. With Super Powers action figures. We went to Hebrew school together, we went to the UK together. When I lived in Japan, when I came back, when he moved to Arizona — wherever either of us has been in the world, we’ve always managed to get back in touch. Even if months go by without hearing from him, when I do finally hear from him it’s like we’re picking up from where we left off five seconds ago.

I came out to him one Thanksgiving weekend when I was 19, before most people knew. Turned out he’d already known. And he didn’t care in the least. He’s always been there when I’ve needed support, when my life has felt like it’s been turning upside down, when I’ve wanted to die, when I’ve needed a lift. He’s one of my biggest fans.

Sometimes we still get together and play Talisman — this old board game that the Games Workshop used to make. They don’t make it anymore — the company doesn’t even exist anymore — but I have the whole thing, including all of the expansion sets. And he’s the only person I play it with.

We’ve known each other for almost 25 years now. Practically our entire lives. I have no other friend like him, and I never will.

Tomorrow afternoon I’m leaving work early and heading down to Washington, D.C., for the weekend, where I will attend the wedding of a college friend. The groom is Catholic, the bride is Jewish, the bride’s first name rhymes with the groom’s last name, and the ceremony and reception will take place at a swanky hotel. The ceremony will be officiated by a priest and a rabbi. (Isn’t that the start of a joke?)

It’ll be great to see some old friends. Unfortunately, one guy won’t be there — my friend Doug, who died in the World Trade Center collapse. Another guy has decided not to fly up from Dallas, because his girlfriend doesn’t want him to fly. Still, most of us will be there — including a friend who’s currently attending business school in Paris — and it should be a great time.

Have a great weekend, everyone.