Monthly Archives: July 2003
I posted twice yesterday.
That’s all I have the emotional energy to say at the moment.
N.B.: This is, unexpectedly, today’s second post.
He e-mailed me.
Poison it is.
Last night I did the bravest thing I’ve ever done in my life.
I asked the anaerobic physicist out on a date.
I left the following message on his cell phone:
“Hey, N., it’s Faustus, from your Friday step class. I’m calling because I heard from M.O. that you’re not seeing anybody at the moment, and I wanted to seize the opportunity to ask you out on a date this weekend. And I’m a fabulous date, so you should say yes. Call me at 917.xxx.xxxx and let me know, and either way I’ll see you in class on Friday.”
This might have been a little braver if I hadn’t written the message ahead of time and checked his web site to make sure he was teaching when I called and therefore unable to answer his phone.
It also would have been a little braver if I hadn’t called him earlier in the day from the phone at work, hung up when he answered, and answered his call back (damn caller ID) by pitching my voice higher, putting on a Southern accent, and telling him I’d called the wrong number.
Baby steps, Faustus. Baby steps.
Stay tuned, in any case, for an invitation either to a wedding or to a game of Drink Poison, Drink Poison, Explode With Joy.
I’ll be the one drinking poison.
Every Malaysian man I’ve ever known has been talented, witty, and incredibly hot; by now, my knees start to go weak as soon as a guy tells me he’s from Kuala Lumpur.
Edit, 5/21/06: Both of these links seem to have died. Unfortunately by now I have absolutely no recollection of what they might have been referring to. I guess we’re all out of luck.
To the gay dating haiku:
The pressure’s awful
Pressure to go on
In a similar format
Oh, crap, a man can only do so much.
I seem somehow to have survived the Blogathon. If you’re impressed enough by the haiku to want to make a pledge, and haven’t done so already, you can still sign up here until 9:00 a.m. EST tomorrow morning.
By which point I may have recovered enough from the weekend to have something to say again.
That small thing moving
Faintly just out of my sight
Could it be mercy?
Unfortunately, I have been contractually obligated to remove the blogathon haiku from this blog. Unless something goes terribly awry, however, you’ll be able to read them in print soon enough.
Tomorrow at 9:00 a.m., I start the blogathon, during which I will post every half hour for 24 hours. No setting up scripts to post automatically allowed; every post has to be made manually.
Since the idea of coming up with ideas for 48 posts on the spot, especially at 4:30 in the morning, strikes terror into my heart, I have come up with a theme for my blogging.
I’m going to post 48 gay dating haiku.
I’ve written some of these ahead of time; others will be written in the heat of the moment. Some of them will be restatements of things I’ve discussed in this blog before; others will be entirely new thoughts. I’ll be observing some but not all of the traditional rules for writing haiku: all of them will stick to the traditional 5-7-5 syllabification; most will also obey the rule of cutting; few, if any, will contain a kigo indicating the season. (You can go here for a basic but nonetheless informative discussion of haiku technique.)
Wish me luck.
I have been informed by a common acquaintance that the anaerobic physicist is once again single.
The state of emotional upheaval into which this has sent me has rendered me unable to recite the alphabet, much less think rationally, but I have come up with a plan, which I have already begun to implement.
I e-mailed him asking if I could pick his brain about becoming an aerobics instructor. He will either answer this e-mail, in which case I will set up a time to take him out to lunch, or fail to answer this e-mail, in which case I will drink poison. If he does answer the e-mail and I take him out to lunch, I will at some point lead the conversation around to his recent trip to Italy and ask him if his boyfriend was there with him. If he says no but makes no mention of no longer having a boyfriend, I will drink poison, because this will mean that he doesn’t consider the information that he’s single important for me to have. If he reveals that they’ve broken up, I will ask him if he’s still in mourning (giving him an easy out) or if I can ask him out. If he says he’s still in mourning, I will drink poison, because, come on, he’s a fag in New York, plus they weren’t together that long, there’s no way he’d wait more than three seconds before jumping back in the dating pool, so clearly he’s taking the out I’m offering him. If he says I can ask him out, then I will explode with joy.
Hmm. Drink poison, drink poison, drink poison, explode with joy. Somehow none of these seems likely to lead to my eventual happiness.
But taken together they’d make a damn fine replacement for “Duck, Duck, Goose.”
I think I’ll go check my e-mail.