Relationship Status: Unknown

After my post "He's Just Into Your Hole", I've received a lot of questions from my readers regarding the issue of their relationship statuses. Most of the messages were as following: "Gary, does that mean we're dating? Or does that mean he's just into having sex with me and nothing more?" These inquires prompted me to come up with a follow-up blogpost in which I try my best to answer all of these questions by giving out tips and signs that show you that He's Just Not Into Dating You...
He's Just Not Into Dating You when He Doesn't Want to Use Labels:
Labels. We all use them. Cognitively speaking, humans use labeling as a quick and effective way to sort and categorize events, people, and our surroundings into a mental filing cabinet of some sort. For example, let's say you meet someone and you automatically think she's a bitch. That mental labeling of that person stays with you for a while. So whenever you see her, you're like: "Oh, there's that bitch again." It's the same thing with relationships - we need to know what the label is in order to better understand where we stand in regards to one another. There is a significant difference between labeling someone as a "friend" or a "boyfriend". I always find it awkward when the issue of "Are we boyfriends or not" comes up when you're introducing your "status unsure" guy to others. You're like: "Um... So this is XX, he's my um... friend". A part of you wants to say boyfriend, but you're still not sure if you've reached that agreed upon status. But from what I've learned from my dating experience is this: He's not ready to date you if he's unsure of whether he wants you guys to use the "boyfriend" or "dating" label yet - better yet, he doesn't even bring it up. That should be a clear sign that it's better if you left before you got more emotionally invested in a relationship that's bound to head in "nowhere land" soon. I hate it when they give me the excuse "But baby... why do you want to be ruled by a label? Can't we just enjoy what we have?" No. You deserve to know where you stand with him and him with you. If he's not ready to change his Facebook status to "In a Relationship" (and he better add "I'm loving it") then he's not ready for the emotional maturity that comes with being in a relationship. Yes, I know... labeling is sometimes considered archaic and traditional, but it has been around for years - make that centuries - and people have lived very satisfied lives together; so yes, I need to know if I'm more than just a fuck buddy or am I something serious and long-term. Ergo, when you tell him it's time for the "boyfriend" talk and he rolls his eyes and starts blowing excuses out of his ass; that's your cue to give him your new status: Single and not afraid to mingle.
He's Just Not Into Dating You when He Wants to Have an "Open Relationship":
Okay, here is where the gloves come off, I have to say this loud and clearly: I loathe open relationships. Come on! Honestly, who in their right minds would want to be part of something like this? I've never been in one and I know I might be coming off as judgmental and highly opinionated (sue me if you want) but I believe that if he's looking to be in an open relationship that just means he's already planning an escape route in order to avoid being just with you. I know being monogamous in a society were promiscuity runs like water is difficult to maintain; I still don't think that justifies the need to be in an open relationship. The mere thought of having to share your boyfriend with another is unfathomable to me. Having your boyfriend tell you that he needs to be with others because you don't satisfy his entire needs is a slap in the face. The reason why I react so negatively towards open-relationships is because I've seen my friends go through them and I've lived their misery with them. Knowing that your significant other is having sex with another because he thinks it "spices" up your own relationship is pure bullshit to me. It's like saying its okay for your boyfriend to have sex with a prostitute because Hey! it might make things sexy when you're in bed together too! Or better yet, the excuse that it's okay as long as he doesn't get emotionally intimate with the other person he is having sex with. Call me old-fashioned or whatnot, but I still believe that when two people are in a relationship together, they are in it because they've accepted the other regardless of their flaws and imperfections. So if one believes that he needs to have sex with another just to re-juice the relationship, then I think that's a clear cry that something is definitely wrong in the relationship itself; and it might be time to either fix what's broken or to admit to the fact that it's done. At this point some of you might be saying, "But I know this couple where they were in an open-relationship and after a while he realized that he loved his boyfriend and he decided to stay with him..." and this is where I tell you to stop listening to stories like this. Yes, it might have happened but what are the chances that that is going to happen with you? Slim to none, and that's the truth. So it all comes down to this: Do you want to share your man with another because you can't "satisfy" all his needs? Do you really want to spend your time worrying whether your boyfriend enjoys having sex with another more than with you? I'm more than positive that there is another guy out there who is willing to share all of himself with you, so take my word and openly dump this douchebag.
He's Just Not Into Dating You when He Uses the F and B Word:
No... F and B don't stand for Fuck-Buddy and Butt-Friend. F and B actually stand for Friend and Brother. I think there is nothing worse that being madly in love and infatuated with another just to realize that he thinks of you as a friend or worse - as a brother. It's the ultimate let down and I should know - it's happened to me on several occasions. Sometimes when we spend time with each other, we sort of get accustomed to one another and just like any relationship, feelings do develop. However, the sad part is knowing that one doesn't share these same feelings with you. A few months back, I had developed a huge crush on an acquaintance of mine. We'd spend a majority of the time e-mailing, chatting, and contacting one another; at one point, I even believed that there might be something there. But, the reality of the situation was rudely brought to my attention when one night, he amicably slapped me on the back and called me his brother. That was a MAJOR turn-off. Although, interestingly enough, three years ago I was going out with this guy who wanted us to be BAX. When I asked him what he meant by BAX, he proudly announced that it stood for Brothers who Have Sex. Yes... That was enough to lead me to end all sort of contact with that person for I'm not a big fan of incest and I couldn't see myself having sex with someone who would moan "Fuck me brother"... But if anyone is up for something like that, I might still have his contact info. Anyway, the point being, he doesn't see you as dating material if he considers you as a close friend and confidante; so don't waste your time trying to make something out of nothing happen. You know the situation and the deal; look elsewhere for love.
He's Just Not Into Dating You when He Doesn't Respect You:
R-E-S-P-E-C-T. We all know the lyrics to the song and yet so many tend to put that away whenever a guy is involved. Respect is a very broad term and it can mean a lot of things, but the point is clear: He should respect your beliefs, opinions, your body... Basically he should just respect you holistically. If a guy treats you with shit and walks all over you; he doesn't respect you. If he says he'll call and doesn't; he doesn't respect you enough to have the decency to keep his word. If he publicly humiliates you and makes you feel like you're less than what you really are; he doesn't respect you because he thinks if he brings you down in front of others it'll make him look good and macho. If he acts as though he is embarrassed to be seen with you in public or to be acknowledged as your boyfriend; he doesn't respect you because he is just an asshole. If he just sees your body as another hole to shove his cock into without having to care for your needs and feelings; he doesn't respect you because he just happens to be a bigger dick than the one he uses to fuck you with. He's an asshole that craps over everything that you do and trust me when I tell you this that you don't need that. A teacher of mine once said that we choose to be treated the way we think we deserve to be treated. So if you think you deserve being dragged in the mud than that's your choice; but if you believe you deserve to be treated with respect, then you'll ditch that creep and move on to better things - realizing that he's not worth dating if he can't show you enough decency.
He's Just Not Into Dating You when He's Either Married or Otherwise Unavailable:
The forbidden fruit is indeed the most desirable one; we all know the story of how the snake was able to tempt that airhead Eve into biting into the apple - the same applies to married and otherwise unavailable men. I'm well aware that there are gay men who have taken wives and have bared children with them in order to avoid suspicion regarding their sexuality from others and no matter how much you try, they will NEVER leave their wives and the fictional world they have tried so hard to create for you - trust me when I say this. A friend of mine is obsessed with trying to convince gay married men to divorce their wives and take him instead and every time he ends up looking like a fool. When it comes to married men you are nothing more than an escape for them - an oasis in the middle of a dry and unforgiving Sahara. He doesn't give a shit about you or your feelings. You are his one hour escape to a place where he can do whatever he wants without having his wife and straight friends know about. If he loved you so, why would he only see you when his wife was out of the house? Why would he only want to have a quickie in the back of his car? How come he never asks you about your day and how are things with you? Why is it that he only calls to let you know that he can penetrate your hole for 20 minutes while his wife is getting her hair done? Men like this won't change for you and when he whispers those lies into your ear, just remember that he is in the moment. To him, this is not real. It's a living daydream. Men like are turned on by the fact that they can make you believe that their lies are real - that you can fall for them. To them the lies are an extension of the fake lives they have created for themselves and their pathetic families for which I feel sorry for. He probably tells his wife the same things he tells you... He whispers in her ear that he loves her and feels nothing but passion for her. If only she knew she wasn't the only one he felt that way about. Hence, when you're in a situation like this remember that he is never going to date you; he is not going to sacrifice all that he has built for you. He might tell you that he will, but he is not going to date you - he might fuck you, but that's where it ends.

Dating these days is hard, I know that, but that doesn't mean that we should let our better judgment out the window just because we want so desperately to have someone. Yes, having a significant other is an amazing and truly cherishing experiences; but it can also bring with it its shares of heartbreak and misery. Why jump into something that seems uncertain? Would you jump in front of a speeding car when you know the driver won't stop? Would you invest in a business that you know is bound to fail? Some say that the risks are worth it because its better than not knowing and this is where I say that scraped knees and legs are easier to mend and heal than broken hearts. If he's not ready to date you and he's giving you excuses to why he thinks he's not ready, it's time you stop listening to his bull and seek elsewhere. There are six billion people in the world, I'm sure there is one that is willing and more than ready to date you.

Do Me a Favor and Lose My Pin...

This past weekend I was introduced to a new form of connecting with homos in Lebanon - the BlackBerry Messenger (hereinafter abbreviated as BBM). For those of you who are new to the world of BBM, its basically a chatting application that comes with the BlackBerry phone and it allows one to chat with other BlackBerry subscribers. What I had not known was that one can create a group, invite people to that group, and start having a group chat. So far it sounds all innocent and nothing too worthy of making a big fuss over, right? Well, that's where you are wrong! Of course, in the homo community, nothing truly is ever innocent and everything is worthy of making a fuss about. I was invited to join three different groups and feeling a little adventurous, I decided to partake in this new "meeting phenomena". After being in the groups for less than an hour, I came to the sudden realization that BBM had become the new Manjam; i.e. my new hell.
As much as I wanted to stop reading the chats that were being displayed, I couldn't find the inner strength and will to do so, and that's because the chats were hilarious - well, to me anyway. Almost all the chats started in the following fashion:

SexyEyes: Hey! I'm sexy bottom, 22 years old, looking for a good top 2night!
Big_Bulge: Nice! Me big & hard 4 u now SexyEyes!

Um... Of course those screen-names were made-up, but they were very similar to those two and the sex-banter was just as bad. Now, although I was new to the world of "Cellphone Dating" (a part of me wants to call it 'Cellphone Mating' but it doesn't sound too catchy), even I knew that whatever was written on the group chat list could be read by other members in the group and it amazed me that people had no decency to take their "sex shop talk" elsewhere or take it privately. Try as I might, I was intrigued to find out whom would be hooking up with whom and I was secretly hoping that SexyEyes hooked up with Top_Tonight instead of Big_Bulge because I thought they were a much better match... But that's just my opinion.
Interestingly enough, one guy sent me a BBM friend request, and me, still being hyped up on the sex talk about bulges, positions, and fetishes, decided to accept him. To my surprise, BB dude was unlike the rest of the sex-brained freaks behind their BlackBerries.

BBDude: Plz don't be like one of those sex-deprived teenagers!
Gary (Ugh... Ok!... My real screen name is SkanySlut): LOL. Sadly I'm not. But I am enjoying the drama that's going on that list.

The drama I'm referring to was that one of the guys found out that his boyfriend was actually cheating on him with guy from the BBM group. I'm telling y'all, it was the funnest Friday night I've spent at home. And yes, I do spend my Friday nights at home sometimes... Well, where else am I going to get all this from?
Although I did spend the majority of Friday evening, BBMing with BBDude, I never thought of it as anything serious - it was nothing more than casual fun for me. By 10 p.m. he sent me a BB asking for us to meet for hookah (arguileh for the rest of you) at a local restaurant. I thought it was bizarre that he would want to meet me after chatting on-and-off for the past two hours. I came up with a bogus excuse for why I couldn't meet him and I thought it would be enough for him to drop the subject. That's when the bizarre just kept on coming... He then started sending me pictures of himself in his underwear, taking those weird poses on his bed, which I assume he only thought as sexy and provocative - Um... its funny how sexy, just like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. I didn't have the heart to tell him that he looked mostly constipated in his photos - trying to suck in his belly to give the impression of being slender. Umum... It wasn't working gay-sista!

BBDude: I want u... I want to kiss ur tummy!!

Oo-kay...I have this thing; when I have nothing better to say or when something awkward comes up during a chat, I just answer with lots of unnecessary smiley faces... Not the best answer, but it's better than nothing I suppose.
The downsize of BBMs is that you can't pull the "Oh no way! I didn't get any of your messages" bullshit, because once the text its sent it says D as in delivered and once read it notifies you with an R. So there is no bullshitting with BBM.
Once BBDude started talking about the ways he'll make love to me once he sees me; I feigned going to bed and decided to take a break from BB for the night.
The following morning, I was woken up with a text from BBDude asking me to get ready to go to the beach with him, saying that he was on his way to pick me up and he wanted my address. I could already see the headline of tomorrow's newspaper in my head: Sexy, gorgeous, and totally fabulous Gary Lian found murdered at the Riviera. Mr. Lian was beautifully dresses in a sexy bathing suit that revealed his toned and chiseled body... Okay, again my imagination goes a bit too far at times. Anyway, I played it coy and told him that I had some errands to run but that I was with him in spirit.
Now, I know you guys are saying: Why don't you just delete him already and spare us this long blogpost? But at that time, I thought that he was probably socially retarded and didn't know how to communicate well because English wasn't his first language.
Throughout Saturday, I received more and more pictures of him - most of which were really cringe worthy; some people should not be allowed to wear Speedos, let alone be allowed to BUY them. As the sun set on Saturday and dusk made its appearance, BBDude showed me what happens when one's Speedos are too tight and one has been under the sun for too long: your brain fries! He sent me a text along the following lines:

BBDude: What kind of a boyfriend r u? U don't text & ask abt me! U dont care abt me! U only want my body & the sex! I luv u wit all my heart & u only use me! U r like all the other gays in Leb. I want 2 break-up wit u!

I was willing to overlook the bad grammar and tons of spelling mistakes this one time, because I was too flabbergasted by the context of his BB. After one evening of sporadically responding to his chats, he had assumed we were dating and that we were boyfriends! Hello?!? I didn't even know his cell number; I hadn't even heard his voice and already he had created this relationship in his head. As far as sex was concerned, I wouldn't even allow my dead carcass to be anywhere near that thing's body.
Feeling as though the time had come to bid BBDude farewell, I asked him to lose my PIN and never to disturb me again. For some reason, I felt nostalgic for the days when you could tell a guy to lose your number; now it's "Just delete my BB Pin of yours!"
With the advent of technology, it just becomes easier to communicate with others; it also becomes easier to meet freaks that you would normally not be seen talking to. In the good old days you could detect your freaks by sight, which made them that much easier to avoid; now, you just have no idea who the hell you really are talking to until they start sending you grossly inappropriate pictures of their genitals that no one should be punished enough to have to see.
Having had enough of BB Gay groups galore, I took a determined sigh and left those three groups I was a part of. Just because everyone else has a BB and is desperate to get laid, doesn't necessarily mean that I have to jump on the Gays Love BB wagon.
Although... I do wonder: who did SexyEyes end up sleeping with? Ah well... I guess some questions, like life's many mysteries, will never be solved.

He's Just Into Your Hole...

What's great about having a blog is the mere fact that its a forum in which I can communicate with others. Since starting the G Life, I've received a lot of messages via Facebook and other social networking sites were I have the link to my blog, asking me questions pertaining to their dating experiences. Although my blog is geared more towards homos (what's up, my peeps?), I find it interesting when straight women ask me questions as well - although most of their inquiries are whether or not their boyfriends' behaviors are "gay", which makes me wonder how well do these women actually know their boyfriends! Yet, I still find it amusing at how much relationships play a central role in our daily lives.
Duh! Humans are social animals at the end of the day... In any case, I've decided that because of my vast dating experience (most of which is bad... really bad, like Greek tragedy bad) I've come up with signs to help my fellow gays detect when their "partners" or potential boyfriends or whatever you call them are just into them for their holes. And yes, when I mean "He's just into your hole," I'm referring to the following: He's just in it for the sex. Here, I have listed the signs that help tell you when it's probably a good time to pack up and leave him in the dust.
He's Just Into your Hole when He's Always Busy:
Busy. I love that word, because it packs such a powerful punch. "What are you doing tonight?" "Um... I'm busy." With just one word, you're off the hook. To be honest, I just use the word when I'm seriously not in the mood to see anyone or when I'm avoiding someone in particular. "Busy" is just another way of saying "Fuck off". I learned the true meaning of the word "Busy" when I was going out with a guy back in September 2008. For some reason, he was never "busy" when he wanted to hook-up; however, the second the deed was done he got busy all of a sudden. He gets an "emergency" phone call and needs me out of there ASAP. A week would pass by and he would always be "Busy". Busy doing what? He would mumble something and say bye. The most shocking thing though was when he canceled on me because he was busy, but I ended up seeing him with his friends at ABC. Ergo, he wasn't busy enough to meet his friends; but he was too busy to spend some time with me. I understand that sometimes guys can really be just busy, they might have work or something else that is time consuming; however, I can't understand the excuse of "I was too busy to message you or call you." Puh-leeze! That's the lamest reason for not calling or keeping in touch with someone. "You were on Facebook the whole day, but you couldn't spare 1 minute to send me a text?" I sometimes text people when taking a crap, I even call people by mistake when I put my phone in my back-pocket; so no one is THAT busy that they can't get a hold of you. So if a guy is trying to get a hold of you just when his parents' house is free or when he's "in the mood" that's a clear sign that he's just into your hole. If he can clear his "busy" schedule for sex, then I'm sure he can clear his schedule for a cup of coffee and some conversation that doesn't involve moaning and grunting. Whenever you get the "I'm busy excuse", pause for a moment and think: Was he ever not busy when it didn't involve sex?
You're better than that, so the next time he calls to invite you over for some "fun"; just do what I do and tell him: "I'm just really busy, busy, busy..."
He's Just Into your Hole when He's Only Sexting:
Sexting is a term that means sending sex texts in the form of a "sex invite". I'm sure a whole lot of you are familiar with the whole sexting phenomena. It's usually a one-liner that goes like: "What are you doing tonight?"
You can tell a guy is just into your hole when all he does is just sext you... constantly. When a guy sends you a message at 11:30 asking if you want to 'hang out' at his place, you can bet he's not thinking about sitting on the couch and talking - he wants you to hang on to something, alright and I'm sure you all catch my drift. Therefore the subtext of that text is clearly just sex. If you're fine with that sort of arrangement then by all means go for it; however, if you're thinking this guy wants something more than just sex, I'll tell you to think again. I'm sure he probably mass-sext to everyone he knows and if you can't make it, I'm sure he already has another guy waiting in the wings just to be there. When a guy sexts you and you go running over to him, that just shows him that you're willing to throw everything for just sex. Basically you're his booty-call - and a desperate one too, if I may add. I know sex is a need and I'll be a hypocrite if I went all preachy on you guys and condoned your behavior. No, I think sometimes sex is fine; however, you have to understand that casual sex is just that - it's just sex, nothing more and nothing less. You deserve a guy who would want to text you even if there is no sex involved, not just one who texts you when his parents are out of the house or when he is doing a drive by around in his car and he suddenly got a hard-on. You're worth more than just that one liner... and sometimes they don't even bother using full words! I once got this: "U want 2 cum 2night?"
Nice... I wasn't even worth the time it would take him to fully write those beautiful words of poetry. I didn't bother replying.
He's Just Into your Hole when He's Not Introducing You to His Friends:
You can tell when a guy is really interested in you when he wants you to meet his friends, because that shows you that he sees your relationship as going somewhere beyond the bedroom. Guys talk to their friends as much as girls do, and gay guys tell their friends EVERYTHING. When my friends talk to me about their relationships and guys, it sometimes feels as though I'm part of their relationship because they tell me everything. When a guy takes you to meet the friends, it's a sign that means he wants to see if you'll mesh well with his crowd. Also, after the introduction - which I admit is a bit intimidating because gay guys are pretty territorial and cliquey when in comes to their circle of friends - the guy can get his friends' opinion of whether you are worth going out with. So when a guy you've been with for a while and he's never even suggested you meeting his friends or being seen with him in public, then that's your cue to know that this "thing" is not going anywhere. Again, if you're into the "whole secretive thing" and share the whole "let's be discreet" thing then there wouldn't be a need for you to dwell; however, it would be nice to know that there's something more than just lying on-top of each other and not doing anything else other than intercourse. You merit to have a guy who is so crazy in love with you that he would want everyone to know about you. He would basically want to shout it on every rooftop. When my best friend met his boyfriend, he did everything so that I get a chance to meet him. When it's just you, him, and the bed (or the car) and nothing else... then he's just into your hole. You'll know when a guy is really into you (and I don't mean that in a sexual context), when a guy really likes you, he'll want you to be part of every aspect of his life; including friends.
I know the term "He's just into your hole" sounds crude and a bit raunchy, at the end of the day, it's the truth because he's not into you - instead he's just into having sex with you. Sex is a need; however, you warrant more than just being seen as a sex-object or a as a blow-up doll. I know finding a relationship is hard, especially in the gay community, but there are guys out there that do want more than just a one-night stand and those are the guys you should look for. Next time you find yourself in a situation where you're with a guy and he's only seeing you when sex is involved, then I think its time you admit to the fact that maybe he's just into your hole and not you.

The Bad Boy

I met Druggie last year and it was instant attraction. What can I do? I guess it’s true what they say about bad boys, they do have a certain charm – a je ne sais pas quoi about them that makes thinking logically and rationally go out the window. I was in the dressing room trying on some super skinny jeans, when he pulls open the curtains and starts to undress in front of me. We shared the dressing room not speaking a word, just casually staring into each other’s eyes. And just as suddenly he barged into the small space that we occupied together, he left with a wink and a kiss on my cheek. Fate must have wanted us to meet again, because the following night, I bumped into him at Bardo just as I was passing through the glass doorway. Again, we didn’t exchange words; only stares and a wink here and there.

Drug Boy just oozed with sex appeal and he was a bad boy. The baddest, in fact. He knew he was sexy and he was pompous about it. He had sparkling green eyes that contrasted deeply with his dark tawny skin; but the thing that drew me in like a magnet, was his smile. He had a snaggle toothed grin and I thought his one imperfection was in fact his sexiest asset.

A week had passed and I hadn’t seen my latest infatuation; however, through the magic that is Manjam (I'm being sarcastic, of course), he found me and sent me a rather provocative message which happened to include his number, attached with it was an equally provocative picture.

Our first date was actually tame, which was sort of a disappointment since I had other expectations about what we might actually end up doing. Instead, we had a nice dinner; followed by a ride in his car around downtown Beirut and the Corniche. He didn’t even kiss me or make a move, which seemed sort of noble from him since I was acting like a slut and basically throwing myself at him.

Okay, I’ll be the first to admit that back in the days I wasn’t as classy as I am today… I was sort of a slut, meaning I would flaunt myself at anything that even glanced at me, and I think that was factored in by my low self-esteem. I wanted to be desired by everyone, which I think is a common “illness” for the gays. But with time… and with more dating disasters under my belt… I learned to have more self-restraint and what I hope is a little more self-respect.

Although I was putting myself out there for him, I’m sort of a cock-tease as well. For those of you who are new to the cock-tease concept, let me elaborate a little: Basically, a cock-tease is one that flirts and makes it seem as though they are willing to go all the way; however, when it actually comes time to take to the next level, they back out. Cock-teasing (the verb) was one of my specialties and that’s because I always enjoyed the chase more; I like leading guys on and then leaving them hanging. But I learned that gay guys lose interest fast… Even if you do end up having sex, they lose interest. I believe gay guys must have some kind of sex ADHD… Anyway, after our third date and me acting like a complete hoochie-mama, he dropped his “gentleman act” and started to act a little rowdy when we were alone together, and I was no longer in control of the situation and that made me more than a bit nervous. When I was always finding excuses to postpone our “alone time” as he called it, he started to act more aggressive towards me. On one of our dates he invited a friend of his, who when I went to meet them, was already trashed and bumping into people when she moved. He apologized, coming up with a bogus explanation about why he had to invite her out with us on our date; but, I decided to play it cool and act as though I was not affected by the drunken-third wheel.

The second surprise of the evening was when I found myself in front of Acid when we had agreed to go elsewhere. Now for those who haven’t been to Acid before… It’s a nightclub that is still stuck in 1999, including the green laser and bad music that goes well with the trashy wall décor; although I doubt the people who frequent Acid take the time to notice such things. As we were making our way to Acid from the parking lot, he turns and hands me a small Ziploc bag.

“Take this and shove it in your underwear,” he urged, grabbing the back of my jeans and shoving his hand right down to my butt-crack. “They don’t check feminine looking guys,” he added. I was shocked by the fact that he (1) was using me as a drug mule and (2) had the audacity to insult me a la passant.

Once we got into Acid, with no one having to check my butt for illicit drugs, he “dumps” his drunken friend on me, and removed the Ziploc bag out of the “security” of my ass. I felt like those Mexican immigrants who shove drugs and other stuff up their holes in order to bypass US immigration officers. I watched him stride into the Acidic crowd, looking left and right, and what I assumed was him looking for his client. I struggled to keep taps on him because I literally had another body on-top of mine, and it wasn’t anyone I wanted to get cozy or intimate with. The drunken bitch was slobbering all over my top and was leaving a puddle of drool on the nape of my neck… It was not a pretty sight. I walked around Acid feeling like a Siamese twin looking for him because I wanted to get the hell out of there as soon as possible. This date and this relationship were over… Like WAY over.

And there he was. In the corner of the grotesque club, making out with a guy whom I know was definitely not me. I’m not exactly sure what came over me, but I’m assuming it was a combination of anger and embarrassment – but I think anger fueled my actions more, because the next thing I remember doing was me hurling his friend on-top of him and his client/make-out partner. His friend fell face first on the floor and for those who have been to Acid before, they know the condition of the floor – it’s covered with glass. I stormed towards him and demanded that he never speak, text, or message me again. He stared at me with a glazed look in his eyes and I knew he was probably too drugged out to remember who I was or what I was telling him.

It was on that night that I ended my bad boy addiction.

Bad boys are like candy; you know you shouldn’t have them because they are bad for your health (your mental health included) and yet, we’ll do anything to have a taste of them. This applies to both candy AND boys! What I had thought was brooding sex appeal was in fact, a drugged-induced state of consciousness. Not only was he a drug dealer but he was a drug addict as well. I assumed him not talking much was part of his charm, you know the type… the strong silent ones that speak more with their eyes and smiles than with words, but it was probably because he was too high to actually form any coherent sentences. And that happy look on his face? I’m guessing it too was the effects of the drugs, because I doubt anyone would be THAT happy to spend that much time with me – I can be a bit loud, whiney, bitchy, and shrill sometimes; but I think that could be part of my charm! Or not… which might explain why I’m still single, but let’s not go there now…

After being used as a drug mule, having to drag an intoxicated carcass with me, and watch the guy whom I should have asked what he does for a living BEFORE going on a second date with him make out with a client of his; I realized that pinning after bad boys just leaves you feeling dirty, ashamed, disgusted with yourself, and wondering how the hell you got sucked into it all… The same feelings you have after you do something illicit. Bad boy rehab was probably the best decision I took.

Hi, I’m Gary and I’m no longer addicted to bad boys.

Unless… they’re really, really, really cute!

Note: I hate being preachy and all… but if you feel as though you’re being used to smuggle drugs and other illicit substances, please be wise to know that that’s your cue to leave. And no matter how attractive your guy seems, it’s not worth having to take drugs to impress him.

Happy?

Lately, I’ve been asking myself whether there really was something as one being happy. What exactly does it mean to be happy? What criteria do we use to justify our happiness? Is it the feeling of being flustered? Or the rush of blood that we feel in our systems, making a thrill go up and down our spine? I’m not looking for answers to these questions, because if anything they are rhetorical in nature; but, I was still intrigued by the notion and asked my mother if she was happy. She spoke to me without glancing up from her crossword puzzle book and answered, “I don’t think the word you’re looking for is happy. It should be content, as in: are you feeling content?” She didn’t elaborate much afterwards; however, she had given me some food for thought.

Content... Are we content these days? The question really allows you to take a minute and honestly ponder about it. One might start with listing the reasons why he should be content: I have good friends, my health is not bad, and my income is passable... But after listing these superficial items on one’s finger, are they really enough to allow one to be content?

According to “Happiness Expert”, Dr. Robert Dahl, happiness is mostly a by-product of our interaction, expectations, and desires with our environment. He also adds that happiness is in fact a subjective short-term feeling or sensation; whereas content is a more stable state of mind. I’m not a Happiness expert and even I knew that, but having it said from an “expert” really drives the point home. Yes, I know... I’m abusing sarcasm at this point. Even though the advice was pretty basic and straightforward, it really got me thinking about the reasons why I’m NOT content, and the common denominator that kept on popping up was Lebanon.

I don’t want to write an entire blog post bitching about Lebanon, but after living here for a while, the allure of Lebanon has truly faded and all I see are the cracks that I had once disregarded. If you’re a lover of parties, the nightlife, going out to meet friends over drinks in the middle of the week, and spend hours over pointless banter then Welcome to Lebanon and Enjoy Your Stay!

The concept of “Time is Money” is wasted on the Lebanese; when they say they’ll meet you in ten minutes, I always add an additional twenty. If you’re meeting Lebanese gay guys, add an additional hour to those ten minutes. In Lebanon, it’s all about being “Fashionably Late”. It’s about being the center of everyone’s undivided attention and whatever you do; please don’t forget to post it on Facebook the next day with “outrageous” comments detailing every aspect of your night out with the “awesomest” people... Because to be honest, nothing makes my day better than having the honour to browse through your drunken photos in the morning. Ah... How I envy you folks; to be so dumb, vapid, and void of any ambitions other than having a six-pack for the summer and achieving the perfect shade of bronze on your skin. I don’t know how one can even think of looking pale and pasty in the summer time in Lebanon; the audacity.

However, the one aspect of Lebanon that I find the most note-worthy is the constant stream of materialistic behaviour that everyone seems to be contaminated with. Everywhere you go it’s a competition to see who can drop names the most while perfecting their snobbery. It’s all about brand names and other “luxuries” that they’ve probably purchased by mortgaging their house or it’s actually the bank’s money... It’s a superficial world based on the belief that it’s all about “being seen” and I find it hilarious when people take their “going outs” so seriously; like anyone actually cares whether you’re going to White or SkyBar tonight, because in reality, everyone is so caught up in their own make-belief world in which they think they are God’s gift to everyone that they are too preoccupied with themselves to give a damn about you.

Peter Pan, the children’s book, is about a boy wanting to stay eternally young; however, even he realized that Never Ever Land was no longer that fun – we all have to grow up sooner or later. Lebanon is Never Ever Land in my opinion, a place where whether you are 18 or 50 it’s the same issues that are relevant regardless the cohort age group: where are the latest hang-outs and where are the trendiest places to be seen? There is no normal succession of mental development in this country – everyone is constantly in a “Party Phase” of life, which explains perfectly why this country was voted the Party Capital of the World; because, other than partying (and prostituting themselves to Arabs) Lebanese know very little else. Oh, I forgot... They are expert bullshit artists; I mean look at the politicians. They play football together and the next day, everything is okay with the world; archenemies are now best friends – a true Disney Fairytale ending.

I won’t even start on the driving in Lebanon, because that in itself needs another blogpost... The next thing I need to touch upon is the Lebanese BlackBerry obsession: everyone has one these days, because everyone is so busy with their “social calendars” that they need constant updates from other people. Okay, I admit that I have a BlackBerry as well, but I got mine at the age of 23; when I went and bought mine, I was the OLDEST there – kids, aged 12, had the Bold BlackBerry which cost 900$... But I guess they are prepping to be future business men...

With FIFA season on its way, the Lebanese have even managed to make me despise football. They act as though they are originally German or Brazilian when in fact they might originally be from some village in the ass-end of nowhere and they probably used donkeys for transportation ten years ago; they stick those flags to their cars and have fights over who is going to win – and I’m like: Seriously? Is this what we have come to? Fighting over Brazil and Germany in the middle of the street while cussing each other’s mother’s genitals? Half the time I feel like pulling over and shoving those flags and those nasty looking hand things that they dangle on their rear-view mirrors, up their asses; but that’s just me.

If someone were to ask me a year ago if I was content, I would have said: Yes; but today, with the new mindset that I have, I see things very differently. Lebanon isn’t a place that allows you to achieve your potential and seek to be the person you want to be. There is no room for personal growth and exploration of one’s talents and abilities. No, in Lebanon you follow the herd because if you stand out, the consequences are not pretty. I know things outside aren’t that different; there will always be vapid, superficial, materialistic, and crooked people wherever you go. However, a principal of mine said (Edgar Chemmali, to be in fact) that we need a lot of different people to make a world; however, in Lebanon there is no one unique or different – sadly, everyone is the same. Very few people think outside the box and that is a true tragedy.

So, the next time you’re thinking about your “happiness” or how content you are; do what I did and take a look around and then ask yourself: Is this the environment in which I can be content in? Let your answer tell you what to do next...

Till then, I’ll leave you with your happy thoughts.

The American...

At one point during the year, I had thought that the reason why I was so unlucky with guys is because most of them were Lebanese; so when an opportunity to meet an American came my way, I was more than a little excited to test the waters.

I had actually heard about American boy before I even met him. See, the funny thing about the gay community in Lebanon is that they get all excited when there is the prospect of a newbie making an appearance in the gay scene; so while I was vacationing in Canada, I kept on getting Facebook updates about American boy. To be honest, I sort of disliked him at first because I felt as though he was honing in on my territory, i.e. my friends.

The first few times that I did meet him were brief and he was always buried behind his Mac laptop, and I wasn’t in the market to look for new friends. However, in November, out-of-nowhere I received a text from him asking if we could hang out for coffee. Deciding that I had nothing better to do that night, I agreed to meet up for coffee. Our coffee became a four-hour conversation where we discussed various topics and I found myself enjoying his company. For once I was having a mature and intelligent conversation, that wasn’t focused on the gym, sex, dieting, who was doing whom, and where the latest parties were being held at. I was excited to see where this friendship would go...

By the time December rolled on by, we had spent almost every day of the week together. Our days were filled with lunches, coffees and snacks at cafes in Hamra, followed by walks on the Corniche with the sea’s breeze ruffling our hair, dinner and drinks would ensue, and we would have a nightcap at a pub in Gemmazeh. There was never any tension or awkward silences; the conversation kept flowing. I never found myself at a loss for words or things to say. When he was spending Christmas with a friend’s family, we continuously texted each other, and I felt as though he was rapidly becoming one of my dearest friends.

When the shit hit the fan...

Do you know the saying, “There is no such thing as a good thing?” Well, that was so true in the case with my American encounter. As we continued with our weekly rituals of meeting up for lunches and dinners, his conversations became more personal and at one point, very odd. Although we had been hanging out, I still didn’t know much about him; yet, he had already made plans for us to spend the summer in the US together, have me meet his family in July and stay in their summer lake house, and he made vast promises of getting me a job for next year, telling me that he’d move back to the US once he was done with Lebanon. Who makes promises like that to someone they don’t know too well?

Over coffee, one day, he started telling me how unhappy he was with the dating scene in Lebanon. “I’m a foreigner. I should be ‘fetishized’ and desired because I’m American. Lebanese guys should be all over me because I have white skin and green eyes!” I thought it was bizarre that he would think of himself as a “hot commodity” just because he has a lighter skin tone and fairer hair. But I didn’t dwell much about it because it was partly true; Lebanese gay guys become vultures when they see foreigners, hoping to have a few “foreign fucks” in their little black books, or they think it makes great conversation topics: “OMG! I had the best sex with this Italian guy...” Probably that Italian guy never got any ass or cock when he was in Italy, but let’s not go there now.

In January, an ex-boyfriend of his was visiting Beirut; so a week before his ex’s arrival, he tells me that he wants me to hook-up with ex. When I asked him why he would want me to do that; his answer was, “So I can show him how over him I truly am.”

Wow! That sounds like an amazing plan... That’s what I do all the time too. Have my exs hook-up with my friends to see how over them I am.

Although, I thought it was more than a little strange that he would ask that of me, I laughed it off, hoping that he was, on the off-chance, just joking. When I met him and his ex a few days later, he acted all strange and jealous whenever he saw me talking to his ex. Hum... I thought you wanted us to hook up? I couldn’t imagine what he would act like if I did sleep with his ex... I mean, he was acting like a crazed teenage bitch when I was simply talking to him... I guess someone wasn’t really over him as he claimed to be.

After his ex’s departure, his behaviour got even stranger... He started believing that my feelings towards him were more than platonic, that I was secretly in love with him. He would over-read the context behind my messages and our Skype chats and conversation. Like if I were to send him a text that said: “Hey... Hope you’re okay!” He would read the exclamation mark as an attack or as a patronizing comment from my part. He even went through my phone once and read my messages. He would over-dramatize everything that was said or that happened between us; his behaviours were theatrical and too dramatic for me to handle. When we did spend time together, he would be arguing with me over a misunderstanding, and I would have to spend the rest of the time trying to clarify what was either said or done. He was becoming exhausting to be around. At that time, I was seeing Mr. Nags A-Lot (he’ll be in another post; he deserves a post to himself... He was something else!) and he got weirdly jealous that I was spending time with him.

When I introduced him to my co-workers and friends, neither of them could stand him. He acted socially awkward and he would drink his wine like it was water. He would call our time together as “dates”, when in fact, they were nothing that I would call a date. There is nothing romantic about having to carry a drunken 23 year old back to the car while he makes obnoxious comments.

My friendship with American boy completely deteriorated once March started. I was fed-up with him and his bullshit; and the fact that he only contacted me when his other friends were busy with their own boyfriends or out of town. Although I was never romantically involved with American boy, the allure of foreigners died along with our friendship. Although I ended the relationship in what I considered a mature way; I had e-mailed him, wishing him the best of luck – he took another route. He blocked me off Facebook and acts like a bitch when we bump into each other at Bardo or other dinner parties.

My experience with American boy taught me one thing, that it’s all the same shit and drama, but with a different accent!

My Big Greek Mistake...

I've decided to start a new label for my blog titled, "My Biggest Dating Mistakes," and I thought it would be best to start my new blog label with my latest dating disaster - the 40 year old Greek.
Throughout my dating experience, I've encountered my share of losers, douchebags, and biggest mistakes - you can say that my dating CV is pretty extensive; every freak you can think of, I might have have dated or gone out with. At one point, my friends used to nickname me the "Freak Magnet" and that is no compliment! So you'd be surprised to know that I was not shocked to find out that my latest flavor of the month (I had chosen to go Greek this time) was nothing more than a major pain in my neck and hence here he is in in the Biggest Dating Mistakes I have made in my journey to find the 'One'.
If there is one thing I've learned from my dating experiences is this (1) older men are kinky bastards and one needs to tread that path carefully and (2) men with accents, no matter how sexy they sound, sputter more bullshit than anything else. Mr. Greek did not fail to meet those criteria! So there I was, for once deciding to study at Starbucks in Downtown - in all honesty, I wasn't really studying; I was more people watching - and before I knew it, Mr. Greek walked right up to me and took a seat in the empty chair opposite of me. I would be lying if I didn't say that I wasn't impressed by his ballsy move and then, with his heavy accented English he said, "Hello honey, let me get to know you." He added a wink for emphasis.
Gag... But seeing how bored I was, I thought I could use the entertainment - a sort of pass the time until I was done "studying".
Within the next fifteen minutes, Mr. Greek thought he should tell me his entire life-story: I was enlightened to know about his whole family tree (Stifling a yawn), his first wet-dream, his first sexual encounter (apparently it was when he was 10 - do guys even ejaculate at that age?), and about the sibling rivalry between him and his brothers. Of course, Mr. Greek thought I would be impressed by him telling me about his sexual conquests.
Um... A little note to all you guys: Talking about your sexual conquests does NOT make you more attractive, in fact it just shows that you are a pervert. Also, just because I'm a psychologist it doesn't mean you get to shit your problems on me - Go have a verbal dump elsewhere, thank you.
Throughout our (um... more like his monologue) conversation, he kept on throwing sexual innuendos at me; such as: "Let me help you study my body." [Wink, wink]
No thanks, I'll think I'll pass...
However, I was interested in seeing how far this little meeting would go; so we decided to exchange numbers. Mr. Greek told me his name is Antonio and that he is 45 - but between us, he looked much older.
The next day, Antonio messaged me and said that we should meet up for drinks in Gemz (that's what I'm calling Gemmazeh these days - pretty neat, huh?). We decided to have a nightcap in some dark pub. In our own little corner, Antonio told me that his name is in fact Georges and that he is 50 - also, everything that he had told me the day before suddenly changed.
Red flag anyone?
Again, more sexual comments; my favorite is when he leaned towards me and whispered in my ear (what I'm thinking he assumed to be sexy), "Let's go back to my place and let me drill a hole in your ass." For some reason, that cracked me up. When I told him that that would be pretty unnecessary since I already have a hole why would I need another one, he frowned and said, "I don't understand."
Yeah... I wasn't surprised.
I spent the rest of the evening, gently pushing him off me, and laughing whenever he suggested he drill more holes in other parts of my body... He's a real charmer this one!
On our third date - yes, I kept on going back for more... I'm masochistic - Antonio/Georges threw another bombshell in my face; his name this time was Alexandros and he is 52 years old.
Okay, another red flag anyone?
As we sat in the back booth of a restaurant in Monot, I realized that my short (very short) courtship with Whatever-His-Real-Name-Is had truly run its course; I had tuned him out most of the time, and in fact, I reached level 12 on the Word-Mole game on my BlackBerry (a real success in my opinion - and that was the highlight of my evening). As the waiter placed the bill on the table - by that time I had decided to thank God for answering my prayers - Mr. Cheesy Greek guy leaned over and said to me, "How about I pay for dinner, and you can give me dessert in your car." [Wink, Wink]
Hurl.
In the past, when I was young and naive - Awww... how long ago those days seem to be, I miss being that dumb sometimes - I might have swooned at all the bullshit that he said. He did nothing but compliment me; saying that I was the most handsome guy that he has ever seen. But how many other guys did he feed the same crap to? Did he think I didn't know he was just trying to get into my pants? He thought he was a pro, when in fact he was nothing more than a stupid amateur; Please bitch! I've dealt with worse fuckbags than you.
As I watched him lick his lips; he had a piece of black sesame seed stuck in his tooth, I realized that I've become so mistrustful of men - I've surrounded my heart with a metal fortress that has become impenetrable; and that, I think, is pretty sad to realize.
He followed me to my car, spanking me on my ass more than twice, and licking his lips. Once we reached my car though, I turned to him and said, "Lose my number and don't bother me again." The stunned look on his face was priceless. He literally stood there, mouth open. He probably thought he was being so suave, so debonair. He probably used all of the oldest tricks in the book: he complimented me every chance he got; gave me the "I'm so lonely excuse"; the "I have nobody in Beirut" excuse; the "I want to be more than just sex" excuse; and my all time favorite excuse of all, "I want to make love to you, not fuck you".
And just like Greece's failing economy, Mr. Greek failed to get into my pants.

Spinning Around...

We had always chatted about him DJing, but I had never actually seen him play before that night. Dim lights and cigarette smoke set the ambiance inside. As I saw him setting up near the DJ booth, he looked at me with his charcoal dark eyes and smiled in surprise. "So it seems you've come to see me play," he said with a wink. I didn't want to tell him that it had been by coincidence that I happened to be there that night. "Well, tell me what you think about the music afterward," he slid back onto the stool that faced the turning-boards.
From where I was seated, I had the perfect view of him. I watched in awe as he effortlessly changed tracks and CDs; his fingers seemed to move in complete synchrony and harmony to the tunes that seeped out of the speakers, giving a soundtrack to the smokiness of the room. He was one with the music; he bobbed his head to the lyrics, moving his body to the rhythm as well. It's as though he was oblivious of the fact that there were others in the room; it was as though he was playing to himself. I smiled as I watched him spin a CD on his index finger and gingerly slid it back into its protective case. That was when our eyes locked onto one another.
My heart beat as fast as the drums that played in the background. He gave me one of his cocky, but sexy half smiles, and lifted his glass of red wine. He took a sip and finished it off with a wink. In that moment, I imagined what it must be like to be with him... in his bedroom, even if it was for just one night. I started to wonder what kind of music would he be playing while we explored each other intimately and physically. Soft rock? Barry White? No, a bit too cliched I suppose. House music? I hope not... As I sat there, drinking him with my eyes, I zoned out everything and everyone around me. It was just me and him... The DJ.
When our eyes met for the third time that night, I knew they were beckoning me towards him. As I made my way to the DJ booth, my eyes never left his. His dark, almost black eyes, bore into mine with an intensity I had never felt for a while. As I approached him, he stood up and placed his left hand on my lower back, pulling me closer to him.
"So, how are you liking the music so far?" He whispered in my ear. As he spoke, I could feel his hot breath on my neck. The feeling sent tingles up and down my spine and I knew that at any moment I could melt right into him, right there and then. I wanted him to undress me with his light fingers; I was willing to let down my guard just for that night and not worry about the consequences that might happen the next day. I struggled to speak, but I managed to say that I was enjoying the music. If only he knew that I had enjoyed his touch far more.
Once 1 a.m. had rolled on by, I walked towards the glass door exit when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I spun around and saw him. In the dim light, his face and eyes seemed ethereal; he was beautiful. "I just couldn't let you leave without saying goodbye," he leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on my cheek.
...And just like the records that he had spend the whole night spinning; he sent my head, and heart, in a tail-spin.

One Is The Lonliest Number...

I am sometimes afraid to admit this to anyone, let alone myself, but I am very lonely. The type of loneliness that I'm referring to is the kind that makes you feel as though there is a void inside of you that no matter how hard you try to fill, it just always seems to be there. Friends may provide temporary relief from that feeling of "emptiness"; however, at the end of the day it's just not enough. The truth is, even when I'm surrounded by friends, I still feel that bone-crushing sense of loneliness; one that, at times, just seems so overpowering that I start to zone-out. Plus, the fact that most of my closest friends are in relationships doesn't make it any easier on me. In fact, it just emphasizes how single I really am. As I sit across from my friends, a happy couple, I start to ask myself: "Why can't that be me? Why can't I find a guy who would love and care for me like that?" When I voice how lonely I truly am, my friends would roll their eyes and say, "Gary, you don't need a man to feel good about yourself. You don't need anyone to validate you." I would look at him and want to point out how hypocritical he sounded; he couldn't even go to the bathroom or make a simple decision without consulting his boyfriend first - but I decided to spare myself the drama and not bring that up; instead, I just nodded.
I've always made "excuses" to myself to why I'm still single: "I just can't find a guy who's emotionally mature for me," "The guys here are just too intimidated by how comfortable I am with expressing my sexuality," "Guys here just want sex and nothing else..." But I know what these all are, they are nothing but excuses; lame attempts from my part to try and rationalize how come I'm still desperately alone. At first, I blamed it all on myself: "I'm too picky," "I'm too needy and clingy," "I'm too feminine for some guys to handle," "I'm too this and too that..." However, I stopped victimizing myself when I realized that that is not true. Everyone deserves to be loved and appreciated; regardless of what and who they are.
"Oh, you'll find the right guy someday. Just be patient." I hate when people tell me that, it's like they are shutting me up. I feel like saying, "For how long must I wait? I'm tired of being patient! When is it going to be my turn to be happy? To gush about that guy that makes my heart beat a little faster? To want to share everything with him? When?" But just like I did with my friend, I just nod and pretend to be taking their "pearls of wisdom" to heart.
"Ugh, you have no idea how lucky you are to be single! I miss dating!" One of my friends actually said that to me recently and I wanted to smack him right in the face. "Lucky to be single?" He obviously has no idea what he's talking about. Dating in the gay community is like a tedious chore. I know dating, whether you're straight or gay, is awkward; but it's a whole different ball-game to us, homos. Because the community is so small, you're bound to know, have dated, or slept with a friend of his or an ex-boyfriend; the conversation doesn't always run smoothly; there is always this weird sexual question lingering in the air, 'Is he in it just for the sex?' 'Is he interested in something long-term?'. So no... I don't like dating, because I always end up more disappointed than hopeful.
The thing that really boggles my mind though is the fact that I'm not looking for something that is impossible to find. I just want a decent, normal (okay, that might be hard finding in Lebanon), intellectual guy who's interested in a stable, long-term, honest, monogamous relationship. In a nutshell, I just want someone who I can love and who can return that love to me. I feel as though I have all this bottled-up love inside of me that I want to share with someone, but I just can't seem to find. No wonder gay men adore their pets so much, because they displace all that pent-up love onto them. Who knew that finding someone to love unconditionally could be so hard? Plus, I'm not asking for much; a simple text message that says, "Hey, just thought I'd see how your day went so far," or a "I love you just because you're you," are more than enough for me.
I truly believe that everyone, including myself, are entitled to great relationships, ones that enforce the idea that we do need and deserve to be loved. So I end this post by saying, "To all those lonely single people out there, you're not alone..." I hope that was comforting enough for some of you!

That Afternoon...

It was late December, a few days before New Year's. The walk on the Cornish was his idea, but I didn't mind; I was enjoying his company. With my hands deep inside the pockets of my jacket, we walked side by side; the hustle and bustle of the busy sea-side sidewalk all around us. Neither one of us spoke; however, I, for once, didn't find the silence to be so unsettling. As we passed the lighthouse, his white canvas laptop bag with the red-linings slung over his right shoulder; I moved towards the silver railing and leaned forward against it.
I've always enjoyed walks on the Cornish; although it had always been difficult to convince one of my friends to come down with me. They all thought it was a "Towney thing" to do, so I was glad to know that he enjoyed the walk as much as I did. He stood next to me, casually placing the bag on the ground between his legs, and gently crossing his arms over the railing that separated us from the sea below. Again no one spoke; both of our eyes focused on the horizon. Although it was December, the weather hadn't really turned cold yet; it was chilly, but manageable. In the distance, a few fishermen in their tiny rowboats were still casting their nets into the Mediterranean Sea; hoping to get one last catch before the sunset.
"If you could throw one thing in the sea, what would it be?" I asked him, it was more of a thought that I had spoken out-loud, but I was interested to know what he would answer.
"That's a random question, but I'm not really sure. You?"
"I'll throw away my cell-phone," I replied, toying with the device that lay in my right pocket.
He laughed. Even though we were surrounded by people, my ears registered his laugh only; it was as though there was no other sound but his laugh. "Why so?"
"I just think it's strange how obsessed we've become with having to know who's contacting us throughout the day. Like, why would I need to be reached at all times?"
He didn't reply and I didn't continue.
The sun cast its last rays, shading the sky in a fiery shade of orange. The waves splashed lazily against the rocks, spraying the locals that stood on the rocks, splashing in the shallow ends of the sea. A light breeze ruffled the leaves of the palm trees that lined the edges of the Cornish... And throughout all of that, I was watching him out of the corner of my eye. He had goosebumps all over his arms and he rubbed his hands over them; hoping to warm himself a little. The sun seemed to bathe him in a warm glow that made my heart-rate quicken a few beats faster. There was a simplicity in the way he looked and dressed that, to me, made him look beautiful. It was the way he carried himself that had drawn me to him; like a magnetic force. His white cheeks and the tip of his nose had turned a light shade of pink because of the cold; I fought the urge to wrap my arms around him and offer him warmth. I think it was at that moment, when neither of us spoke, that I started to fall in love with him. Even though cars passed, children screamed with giddy laughter, bits and pieces of people's conversations wafted around us; I felt as though, we were the only two people standing on that strip of the Cornish. All the sounds seemed to mesh together, creating the perfect symphony that described the emotions, feelings, and thoughts that were going through my head.
"Coffee! Coffee! It's good for your brain! Coffee! Coffee! It gives you power!"
The moment was over and I was brought back to the present. We both looked at each other and started to laugh.
Evening was well on its way and tiny stars started to dot the night's sky. A plane flew in the distance and I knew that in a few days, he would be leaving as well.
"What do you say we head back?" He suggested, zipping up the front of his gray windbreaker. I nodded and cast one last glance at the sea.
I followed him back to my car, all the while knowing that I'll always remember that afternoon with him...

Hungover You...

Through the smokey interior of the room, I saw him make his way towards me. He was wearing an almost translucent white button-down shirt that showed just a tad of his bronzed smooth chest and toned abs. His smile was sly and sexy; his eyes twinkled with mischief, the kind that is accentuated with the help of alcohol. He danced to the pulsating music that radiated from the speakers overhead. He pointed at me as he mouthed to the lyrics. I gave him one of my 'Come on over here' smiles, followed by a wink. He took the bait.
He sat next to me and I leaned forward; making sure I placed my hand on his knee. "So you enjoying yourself?" He asked me, his eyebrows shot upwards as I moved my hand up to his thigh; making it seem as though I was oblivious to what my hands were doing.
"Not really. This party is pretty lame. What are you thinking of doing afterward?" I rolled my eyes as one of the party-goers attempted a lame striptease. Thank God I had drank at least three glasses of wine before seeing that; there was no way I could have handled seeing that awful sight sober.
"I'm not sure. What are your plans?"
"It depends..."
"On what?"
"Whether or not it includes you..." The words coming out of my mouth were cheesy and corny; as though they were written for a horrible porno movie.
Cue in sex music.
He liked that answer because the smile on his face said it all. He brought his face closer to mine; our lips only centimeters apart. I smiled and pulled away. The party was lame; I needed to entertain myself and he would do just fine.
He was an acquaintance of mine and he had slept with half of my other acquaintances. I always knew he had a thing for me because I had always said No to his advances before; but I was willing to make an exception tonight. I was feeling down and dejected; I needed some release and he was the perfect outlet for it.
He stood up and danced to the music some more; moving his index finger over my chest, under my chin, and then placing it on my lips. I turned my face away - let's see how long this chase can last. That was when he grabbed me by my shoulders and roughly dragged me towards a secluded area. I never minded being rough-housed...
The hallway was dark, the only light that was supplied was courtesy of the street-lamp outside the window. He had me pinned against the wall, his hands exploring every inch of my body. I could feel his lips all over the nape of my neck; his breathing was heavy. His body crushed mine and my hands ran up and down his back; at times digging my nails into the thin fabric of his shirt. His lips searched hungrily for mine. My heart was beating wildly in my ribcage. It had been a while since I've acted this way; made-out with a guy I didn't know that well in an isolated area. It looked so shady and yet so sexy. Like the expert that I had heard that he was, he ran his hand under my black T-shirt, caressing my abdomen. I shivered at his touch, his hands were cold. With his other hand, he encircled it around my waist, pulling me closer to him. What am I doing? Do I want this to go further? The thoughts went through my head. But then I heard another voice, one that was saying that I was thinking too much, one that was telling me to just let go of my inhibitions and to enjoy the buzz of the alcohol and the moment I was experiencing with him.
"Let me fuck you Gerry," he slurred.
Gerry? Ugh...
I had suddenly lost interest; I was no longer in the mood. I put my hands roughly on his chest and pushed him off me.
"What's wrong habibi?"
I stared into his red-rimmed eyes and drool dripping off the side of his mouth. He looked and smelled like a Vodka bottle with arms. I shook my head and made my way back towards the party.
A few minutes later, I found myself drunkenly entering Bardo. The place was packed with bodies blocking the entrance. I forced myself inside. I never admit it to a lot of people, but I actually enjoy crowds. I like the feeling of being lost in a sea of people, our bodies moving as one, a collective mass and force - and if you're lucky, you can always have some stranger grab your ass!
Classy, I know.
He saw me entering Bardo. He waved me towards him; I was just glad I had found a familiar face at that point. He frowned when I approached his table. "Are you alright?" I can hear the concern in his voice. "I'm fine. Just a little tipsy, I had more drinks than I usually allow myself," I admitted. He nodded and stood up. "Here, take my seat," he offered. I declined at first, but he insisted. He then disappeared but returned after a minute with a bottle of water. "Here, you're going to need this," he handed me the ice-cold water. I gulped it down, enjoying the feel of the refreshing liquid; it was as though, I was washing away Buttons' sloppy kisses and Vodka breathe off me.
He was a Medical Doctor (MD); he was charming and a true gentleman. He kept talking to me saying that it would sober me up. He made me laugh and he ran his hand up and down my back, sending some thrills up my spine. His chocolate brown eyes were welcoming and sincere. My purpose for going to Bardo that night was to see whether I'd "accidentally" bump into Glasses and then a scary realization dawned upon me. I had acted the way I did because I was hurting; I was upset and didn't know how to express my frustrations. I was trying to mend a broken heart by acting like a complete idiot. I was feeling lonely; I wanted to feel desired and wanted, and that was exactly what Buttons had offered me - but it wasn't the way I wanted it to be... Not with him at least and not in some sketchy looking hallway that smelled musty and in a bad need of a cleaning.
I was still hung over Glasses... I thought that if I drowned my sorrows in alcohol and meaningless hook-ups I might feel better; I'd be able to move on and put him behind me. However, as I stared into MD's brown eyes, all thoughts about Glasses seemed so far away; I almost forgot why I was there in the first place, I couldn't care less if I did see Glasses or not.
"Listen Gary, I want you to message or miscall me the minute you get home. I want to make sure you get home safely," he said.
Later that night, once I was settled into my bed; I messaged him. In less than two minutes, my BlackBerry buzzed. He had replied. As I read his text, my head started to clear up. I was no longer hung over... In fact, I'd never felt more sober in my life.

Delete You...

Delete. Erase. Block. Remove.
How easy it sounds removing people from your electronic and communication portals these days; it got me wondering: Would it be that easy removing people from your real-life? It would be nice if, with a click of a button, one could erase another from his life; never having to contact them ever or see them again.
Maybe, as with the improvements in technology, we have evolved into specimen that can easily "remove" others from our lives. Could we have developed an ability to just 'forget' about those we once considered friends and loved ones? Perhaps we have created a 'mental switch' in our minds that automatically shuts and deletes people from our consciousness and memories.
"You have to remove him off your Facebook! Then you delete his number from your phone! Do you understand? You just have to!" My friend told me on the phone as I recently relayed to him my recent run-in with the usual boy-drama.
"Why do I have to delete him?" I asked.
"You just have to! It's the only way you can move on with your life," he replied with an exaggerated sigh; I think he felt as though he was talking to a five-year old.
As I sat in bed deleting every message he ever sent me (even though I later on found out I could have 'mass deleted' everything), I couldn't help but feel childish for doing that. Did by deleting a "Hey, want to have coffee?" message going to change the way things ended between us? Was it going to bring him back to me? No, it wasn't. But I decided to listen to my friends and continue with the task at hand.
"Whatever you do, don't read the messages! It'll just make you want to call him or text him again!" I could hear my friend's voice in the background - but I did read the messages. Every single one of them. I reread the 122 messages he had sent me in the past two months. I smiled at some of them because they were simply so lame, like this one: "Here I am trying to shit, but all that came out was a fart!"
Poetic, I know...
I would be lying if I said I didn't want to message him and be like, "Hey, this really was a misunderstanding. Let's just start over." But for some reason, something held me back. It was that 'mental block button' I think we acquired throughout the 90's.
After I had deleted his messages, I took a long deep sigh because I knew I had to do the hardest part next: I had to remove his contact info... and that included everything: cell number, e-mail address, and even birthday (yeah, I'm one of those people who takes their 'Contact Info' really seriously...)
Delete contact from Phone-book and SIM Card?
Yes.
Are you sure?
Yes.
Done.
It's like he never existed. In less than one hour, I had managed to remove him from my life - figuratively speaking, of course. For some reason, I didn't feel 'exhilarated' or 'liberated' as my friend described it would be. In fact, I felt immature and pathetic. I had spent an hour rummaging through my phone erasing text messages - how sad was that?
As I turned off the lamp on my bedside table, I stared at my cellphone. With its sleek black cover and shiny buttons, I wished my heart was programmed the same way my BlackBerry was. I doubted my BlackBerry felt hollow or empty after deleting everything about him like my heart did.
Right before I felt sleep making my eyes heavy, a thought crossed my mind and I couldn't help but smile. What if I didn't really delete him but sent him to my 'Recycling Bin' instead? I could always restore him, right? As memories of our time spent together came back to me as I drifted off to sleep, I realized that no matter how much I tried to rationalize things, the truth was evident: No matter how hard I might try to delete him from my life, he'll always hold a special place in my heart...

The Overdose...

Sometimes, right in the middle of something, you get an epiphany; an awakening of some sort and realize that it was all in your head - the words that he said, the things that he did... They were probably there, but you just misread them; or did the mistake of reading too-much in them. It's like being on a drug and then, when you think you can take just a little bit more; the overdose strikes. That's exactly how it happened with me and Glasses...
Again, against the advice of my friends, I decided to spend some time with Glasses; I was rationalizing and justifying my wanting to hang out with him by telling myself and my friends that I was doing him a favor by helping him out. But I knew that was far from the truth; I just needed my "Glasses Fix". The first mistake that I did was spend four consecutive days with him, which usually started at 5 p.m. and sometimes didn't end till midnight. He needed help with his apartment, so I offered to help him get it together. I would be lying if I said I wasn't having a good time, in fact, it was pretty enjoyable. As I leaned against his kitchen counter and watched him shelf away the goods we had just purchased from the grocery store; I realized how much of a "coupley" week we had together - it was like we spent four days "playing house". The four days we spent together made me comprehend how much I wanted to do those things with a boyfriend, not a friend. I walked towards the couch in the living room and waited for him. He then appeared and sat on the couch opposite to mine. Throughout the time we spent together, I got the feeling that he was sending me mixed signs and signals about what we meant to one another. As music wafted into the room through his laptop, he patted the empty seat next to his and said: "Why are you all the way there? Come and sit here, I'm not going to bite you." It was comments like that and his offer of whether I wanted to move in with him in the beginning of summer that made me cautious about the things I said and did whenever I'm around him.
After spending most of the afternoon and evening together, he suggested we have dinner in Gemmazeh. It was at the restaurant that it hit me of what an idiot I was... By the time food was served, we had run out of things to talk about. Mid-way through the main course, he started to simultaneously text his friends and ask them what they were up to; flirt shamelessly with the waiter in front of me; chain smoke; and gulp down his wine like it was apple juice ("You sip wine... not gulp it!" My mom once said to me. I wanted to share that with him but thought he was too drunk to appreciate the humor behind it). As I watched him 'demonstrate' his multitasking abilities, I couldn't help but wonder why it took me so long to realize what a big mistake this all was. I was a bit mad because it took me a while to realize what I really was to him... Nothing more than a "time-filler". He'd needed someone to hang-out with because he was feeling down about breaking up with his boyfriend in New York, and everyone knows misery loves company and that is exactly what I was: company. Who else is he going to ask to hang out with him? Why... No one other than single, pathetic, and desperate Gary! Who else was ready to drop everything and meet him whenever and wherever he wanted? Why... no one other than Gary! Like an epiphany, it all came to me right there... I was no longer allured by him, in fact, he looked sloshed and drunk. The wine that had tinted his lips a soft pink hue might have made me melt a day before, but the effect had worn off me. Now, he just looked pathetic; but I looked even more pathetic. I had allowed myself to fall head over heels over someone who wasn't even worth it; who wasn't even remotely interested in me. I couldn't wait to get out of the restaurant and head home; luckily he ordered the bill without even asking if I was ready to leave.
Classy...
On the way back to his apartment, neither of us spoke. He had his hands deep inside his pockets; occasionally removing them to reply to a text from a friend. Once at his place, he turned to me and said: "Okay, bye budz!" And with that he walked off.
Budz! Wasn't that the nickname of that basketball playing dog, "Buddy"?
Budz!
I watched him being engulfed in the darkness that surrounded his building and I knew that whatever feelings I did have for him were now completely over. His parting words were all I needed to hear.
As I drove back home, the bustling streets of Beirut never asleep, I thought about the week I had with Glasses and I came to the conclusion that I did learn something about myself: I am ready for a serious, long-term commitment; one that includes not playing house but actually living in with someone - taking those steps that a real couple does; however, I wasn't going to do that if I wasted my time with the douches I've been hanging out with. As I got into bed that night, I made a vow to myself: I will never allow myself to become weak like that ever again; I will no longer be as naive as I was. A part of me was glad that I didn't act on those misread signs that he was giving off - I would have been horrified if he had rejected me point-blankly to my face.
The overdose... Those four days were all it took to get my dose of Glasses that was enough to get me off my bad habit... Now, it's time I start to detox him from my system.

My Hands

You can tell when some people are either lying or nervous because they give off a sign; for some it may be a nervous giggle or laugh, for another it might be a twitching eye; but for me, it's my hands. I may pretend to be acting all calm and collected, but in fact, my hands would be all over the place; I would start to talk with the use of exaggerated hand gestures, flailing them around. Lately, I'd been trying my best to put some distance between me and Glasses; but, me being the idiot that I am, I decided to see him the past week. All throughout the time we were together, I tried my best to seem nonchalant, poised, and aloof about him; but my hands were telling another story.
For the past week, I had been doing all the things to keep him off my mind and when I thought I'd be alright seeing him again I found out how wrong I really was. My hands they start shaking with anticipation again and they don't seem to understand. Whatever peace of mind I had about him was shattered. My hands just don't seem to grasp the idea that I'd never be able to run my fingers through his hair; I'd never be able to trace the contours of his face with the tips of my fingertips; I'd never be able to cup his chin and bring his face close to mine for a kiss; I'd never be able to wipe away those tears from his face; I'd never get the chance to run my fingers up and down his back, feeling the thrill of knowing how close he is to me; and I'd never get to know what it must feel like to hold him tightly in my embrace.
My hands long to reach out to his; quietly trying to break the shield I had built around myself for so long. For you see, my hands only agree to hold his and they can't seem to let me go... But my hands will never get to hold his the way they want to. We touched, just once when he banged his hand, and once our skin met he pulled away as though he was burnt.
My hands wave to him goodbye, watching him embrace another; all the while knowing, they'll never get to touch him like his lover can.
My hands...
They just won't let me go....
My hands just don't seem to understand...
My hand only agrees to hold his hand...

Afraid...

This weekend we celebrated my grandfather's 91st birthday. As my grandfather (or Dede, as we call him) blew his candles, he started to cry. When my father asked him why the sudden outburst of tears, Dede replied by saying that he just realized he was getting closer to dying. I found it so surprising that at 91, after having lived a sufficiently satisfying life, my grandfather was petrified of dying... And then I asked myself: Why are we really scared of death?
As I lounged on my bed that night, I thought about the reasons people were so afraid of the grim reaper and the answer dawned on me... People were afraid of being forgotten, of life moving on without them, of realizing that your loved-ones might mourn you for a while but eventually they will learn to continue living without you. It's upsetting to know that the world will keep on going on as though nothing has changed, with or without you. It's like being invited to a party, but for some reason you were unable to attend it. You get upset because you missed out on the catfight, the bitching, and the fun gossip that was raised that night. Party-goers might ask where you are, but after a while, they just forget that you're not there and continue to enjoy the party without you.
Think about the ancient Egyptians, why did they build those enormous pyramids? Yeah, they believed in an afterlife; but they did them because they wanted to leave a legacy - something to be remembered for. The same was true about Achilles, the immortal soldier. He knew he was immortal, but he wanted to leave a mark in the world; that's why he fought in Troy, the battle that eventually got him killed (the poor thing did not know that his one weakness was his heel...) We are not scared of death... We are scared of being forgotten. It's plain and simple, albeit a little self-centered too if you really think about it. American poet, Maya Angelou once wrote in a poem "People might forget what you said; they might forget what you did; but they will never forget how you made them feel." I truly believe that that is real. At the end of the day, I really don't care if someone made a million dollars before dying - it's important to know what he did with that money that really counts. Maybe he donated it to charity, or maybe he spent it all on hookers and hash... Perhaps that is how he wanted to be remembered. However, this quote did stir a dilemma in me: If people act in ways to be remembered, is anything they do then really altruistic or is it just for "show"? Some might say: "Who cares? As long as they are doing something..." But it would be interesting to explore the real motive behind their actions, I suppose.
Being highly intrigued with the topic of death - I know, I can be morbid at times, and I was having a rough weekend - I decided to ask my sister Leah what she thought about people's fear of death. I asked her if people's "death-phobia" was a rational one. She shrugged her slender shoulders and answered my question with one of her own: "What's the purpose of life anyway?" She then turned on the E! Channel, signaling the end of our very "philosophical debate" - The Kardashians were on and Kourtney's water just broke. But I was too engrossed with the new issue Leah had raised: What really is the purpose of life? Is there a unity to it all or is life a fragment of different vignettes of our lives, randomly collaged together to give us a semblance of unity? Was everything that happened to me in the past, meant to happen? Where there two diverging paths in the concrete jungle that is my life, and I have taken the wrong path at one point? I know I have met a lot of disappointments (sorry all the guys I went out with... You were all sad excuses) along that path... But I couldn't stop but picturing my life as a short movie montage with cheesy music playing in the background. I'm not expecting an answer to these questions, I know they are rhetorical and up for debate; but I enjoyed contemplating about them throughout the day. "Food for thought," as my cultural studies teacher Mr. Smith would have labeled them.
Death... It creeps on us and no one can avoid it. No one is spared, we are all going to end up six feet under one day - there is no need to sugar coat it or beat around the bush about it. However, Existential Psychologists and Philosophers once wrote that accepting death and learning that our fate is to die, that is when we start to live a genuine life. We start to live the life we want for ourselves, not the one dictated by those around us. I always find the question: "What do you want to do before you die?" so annoying. I'm not sure what I want to do next week, let alone think about the things I want to do before I cease living. I always answer: "Not have to answer this question." I think living life by following a "list of things I want to do" is not fun anyway... It just seems so "organized" and pre-planned".
Death... We all flirt with death... We all get a taste of what it would feel like to have the world continue to go on without us... We do it every night we fall asleep. For if you come to think of it, death is just a deep sleep... And as far as I'm sure, no one is afraid of sleeping...