Fuck stick

Being someone who considers himself to a full person, not a body made up of parts, I find it hard to take when people only take me for one part and not the others.

The point is this: I don't like being a fuck stick.

Is that all I am to them? Is there nothing else that's appealing?

I'm a human being, not a human doing. And, when someone feels the need to be done, I am one of those people on their list. Only, I am not a person on a to-do list. I don't want to be checked off, like a chore. Believe me, I like doing these chores, but it feels like a pain in the ass at times.

Keeping a straight face under crooked situations

Am I the only one who can't keep a from smirking when discovering an online profile and reading all the tidbits about this person's sexual predilections?

And, those wicked thoughts don't stop rolling around in one's mind because that person happens to be a (semi-powerful) executive at a movie studio.

The silent ones

There's something to be said about the silent ones. They linger on the sidelines, nodding their heads approvingly, while saying little to nothing. Of course, it doesn't mean they have nothing to say, it means they don't want to say anything.

And, that's where the problem lies: no one understands them.

They think the silent ones are boring because they don't talk about their lives. No one knows what's going on because nothing is being shared with the others in the group. It doesn't mean they don't have lives. In fact, they're probably living it up, night after night, with other friends, lovers and strangers. They appear polite on the public, but in the privacy of their lives... is another (x-rated) story.

Why should they talk? They don't have to share anything with anyone. They can be as selfish with their private lives and thoughts just like the next person is airing their dirty laundry for everyone to smell.

In the end, the silent ones are the ones who have the most to say, they just don't say it out loud.

I saw you on The Hills

The room is white and modern. There are four people sitting at the board room table: three executives and me. It's an interview and it's mine. It's going very well. I am knowledgeable, well-spoken, and charming. Things couldn't be better. That is, until the owner of the company tells me something I never expect to hear in any interview situation.

"I saw you on The Hills," she says.

"Uh... what?" stumbles out of my mouth. She catches me off guard. I am not expecting this.

"The Hills. I saw you on it." She turns towards the other two executives in the room. "You know, The Hills? Don't you watch The Hills?" They nod their heads in negation. She then turns towards me. My face is beet red. I am speechless and it takes a lot for that to happen.

"Uh... yeah. I was on the show." Who knew that being on a pop-culture phenomenon would be a negative on a job interview? I should've known that my quest for world domination by way of reality-based programming would turn against me.

For the next five minutes, I explain my reasons for being on the show and it's impact on society. Thankfully, I'm an exceptional speaker and don't choke when being presented with an experience that is as foreign to me as the illegal immigrant who provides me with my under-the-counter uppers.

"Ok, so enough with that. Are there any other questions?" I attempt to make a segueway, hoping they'll forget about the show. If ask me if I prefer Lauren over Heidi, then I'm up shit creek without a paddle because I know I won't have the answer to that open-ended question.

**

By the way, I got the job.

Molting

For the past several weeks, I've been noticing the skin on my body has been peeling and flaking. It's as if I'm molting. It also reminds me of the stage where an alien is searching for a host body to take over.

It started on my left hand. There were some small water blisters that quickly popped. There were small pieces of skin that could easily be buffed away. Then, it moved to my right hand. Same situation. After my hands, it moved to my toes and feet. They resemble my hands, only the skin is thicker and doesn't peel and flake as easily.

Except for my knees and elbows (which are always dry), the skin on the rest of my body is relatively normal. I've never had a problem with dry skin issues, mostly because I'm a mixed-breed, of sorts.

Still, I can't help but think that something is trying to escape from the inside and looking for another host. And, if it happens, I wouldn't mind if it goes inside Eric Bana, or someone of that nature.

Facebook fallout

Recently, while going through my Facebook account, I noticed something was missing. Namely, some of my friends were missing. It wasn't they deleted their profile, it was they deleted me as their friend.

What the fuck is up with that? What the fuck did I do to have that happen? I surely can't piss someone off to that extent, rendering myself friendless, can I?

Apparently, I can.

The first time it happened, it was with a friend I've known for several years. We went to school together, graduated and always kept in touch, even going out several times. When she got married, she spent more time with him (which is understandable, because he's her husband). But, it didn't take too long before she started cutting off people out of her life. I was one of them.

The second time it happened, it was with a friend who I knew for approximately a year. Things weren't bad, even though we weren't the best of friends (I only have a couple of best friends). After a while, he filtered through a sieve and his visibility became finite. When I'd write, I'd get no response. Then, I found out I was no longer on his friends list.

The third time it happened was with someone new in my life. Since we're always doing things together, it would make sense to be Facebook friends. I sent an invite and... it was declined. Why would that happen? Who would do that to a friend? Then, I find out it's because I am reminiscent of an ex (which isn't my fault).

Being someone who is faithful to the idea of a friendship site, I only have people who are my friends on Facebook. I'm not one of those people who have 850 'friends' - this isn't MySpace. I actually talk, e-mail, or chat with my friends on a regular basis. So, you can imagine how I feel when a friend no longer considers me to be a friend, anymore. It hurts. A lot.

Friendship can be so fickle.

If a 16-year-old...

Is it wrong if a 16-year-old hits on you?

Is it wrong if a 16-year-old initiates sex with you?

Is it wrong if a 16-year-old doesn't want you to stop?

Of course, all of these are rhetorical questions.

Two weeks notice

Things have been going pretty well with me and R. We get along great, have similar tastes in almost everything and also like each other (which is always a plus).

For the past several weeks, we've been planning a weekend together. Just the two of us, going out and doing stuff that we wouldn't normally do alone. R would be coming in from out of town and we'd meet in the city. I even cleared my schedule, so nothing would interfere with our fun time.

Then, the plans changed.

R gets the opportunity to get paid overtime on the weekend. I don't have a major problem with this (especially since R would be driving from out of town, and gas isn't cheap). If I got paid overtime, I'd work as much as I can. So, what was originally planned for one weekend, was shifted to the next one.

Then, the plans changed... again.

On Thursday, I'm talking to R and mention the weekend. I have a couple of ideas of things we can do and wanted to know what would R be arriving. An excuse comes a bit too quickly: not coming, have other things planned. I know what this means because I've heard it all before; these "plans" entail other friends, and being drunk for two days.

Because I'm already irritable from a long and stressful week at work, I respond with something R doesn't like. Basically, I snap back, saying if R really liked me, then I'd be put first for once. I don't have time for this shit. I don't have time to wait to wait around. And, I don't have two weeks notice to sit on my ass.

Note: This post is brought to you by WTF Wednesdays.

Hit 'em high expectations

Expectations are high whenever you meet someone for the first time. You want them to be the person you thought they are in your mind. Whenever I see people who read Human Nature for the first time, the reaction is always the same.

Wow. He's so much sexier in person. Holy shit. What a body. Grrr...

Actually, that's not how it goes (although it does sound like that in my mind).

The first thing they tell me is how small (i.e. not modelesque tall, yet surprisingly slim) I am, and how not-mean/angry I come across.

The first comment doesn't come as much of a shock because photos lie (unless I'm wearing underwear, then they're telling the truth). Take three dimensions and compress them into two and a morphing (not morphine) occurs - the 10 pounds heavier effect.

The second comment does come as a surprise because I don't think I am really that mean. HN is primarily a means of venting about all the crap that's going on in my life and the world, in general. In fact, after a few minutes, they realize I smile a lot, make fun of myself and am generally a pleasant person... unless I'm having a bad day at work, haven't eaten, or slept in the past few days.

That's what fascinating about expectations: the higher they are, the more you have to live up to them, but the lower the are, people are genuinely surprised that you're really not an asshole.

Eye fucking

It's the end of the night and my co-workers are all having a drink by the bar. When I look around the room, I see X is looking at me. I turn away and look back. X is still looking at me, eye fucking me. In order to be polite, I eye fuck right back.

"K?" I ask my co-worker, standing beside me. "Do me a favour and look over there."

"Where?" replies K.

"Over there. Straight ahead. Twelve o'clock."

"Ok."

"Now, tell me, do you think that... you know?" I bob my head to the side.

"Oh, God. I have no idea. I am so bad at these things."

"Go away." I nudge him with my right arm. "You're no use to me."

The next day at work, I write a series of thank you notes to the VIPs who attended the event. Without them, there wouldn't have been an ounce of media interest. I write to X's manager, because X is on a nationally-broadcast program and thank him for bringing along a few VIPs.

When I get the manager on the phone, we talk shop for a few minutes and then he mentions something I never expected to hear.

"Oh, and I totally forgot about your note about X. If you want, I can set you up. No problem."

And I think I'm going to have to take him up on the offer, if only to have something to write about on a later date.

Sabotaged

In the matter of a month, I sabotaged two relationships. Even though I don't know what really happened in each case, I am the common denominator.

N acts as if I don't exist after the last time we see one another. There is no rhyme, nor reason, and it still hurts no matter how much I try to forget.

J tells me I can't be trusted because I never tell the truth. My attempts at clarification are for naught. It's over after it started so incredibly well.

Although there are a variety of reasons as to why they don't want anything to do with me, I think it's because I try too hard to give them what they want while losing myself in the process. No longer am I the person I think they like me for, but I turn into the person I think they want me to be.

Sadly, the person they want me to be isn't the person that I am. Since two people don't live inside me, I begin to act strangely (and a little stupid from the confusion) because there are two kinds of personalities fighting each other. They not only sabotage me, but sabotage others.

And even if bad things come in threes, then I have a feeling I'm going to sabotage another relatinship pretty soon.

He's got legs

Although I don't consider myself to be a skinny person, I know I'm not fat, either. I'm slim, and after a better part of almost two decades on the other side of the fat fence, I don't want to go back.

But, there are some comments that cut through that thought and goes right to the core of your being.

N and I are talking and he brings up the subject of my body type when looking down at my legs.

"What's the size of your jeans?"

"I dunno," I lie. "I think they're 30, but they're really big."

"You have really skinny legs." He grabs them and squeezes, looking for traces of fat.

"They're not skinny. They're perfectly proportional for the rest of my body." I didn't say they make my dick look bigger because I'm a classy kinda guy.

Still, it kinda rattled me that N would say something like that. Lord knows he's seen my legs before; I use them all the time. Why he made a comment on their (lack of) thinness is beside me. Should I gain weight? Should I make my legs beefier? Probably not.

Anything that can make my dick look bigger is probably worth it in the end.

They're not hot, but you're horny

You have to wonder sometimes about people who think everyone they're interested in is hot. They see them across a crowded (or empty) bar and they know they have to have them - a wanton desire fuelled by several drinks and an uncontrollable libido.

But, the best way to judge hotness is this: would you want to see their face and lie beside their body in the morning after a night of fun?

I’m pretty sure their opinions would change in the sobering light of morning. And, if they still think last night’s tryst is hot in the unflattering light of 6 a.m., then I congratulate them. They bagged themselves a hot one.