mine again???

Today I went out to my parents house for the night, to do some Christmas shopping, finish refurbishing the dining room chairs, and start building two rocking horses for Isabel and Nate (two 1 year olds of Baltimore friends Jeff & Quinn and Mikey & Michelle). God I am so butch sometimes that I even surprise myself. Hehe. So as I rode out to Shady Grove on metro, I finished reading "The Rules Of Attraction" by Bret Easton Ellis. Overall, a good book, completely fucked-up but good. One part really stood out to me though.

"PAUL . . . It's so nauseating that you are about to get up and leave, sit somewhere else. What's even more nauseating is that you don't. You stay because Steve is hot. And this depresses you, makes you think, will you always be the quintessential faggot? Will you only pant after the blond-tan-good-body-stupid-goons? And will you always ignore the smart, caring, sensitive type, who might be four-foot-three and have acne on his back but who is still, essentially, bright?"

For some reason, this whole passage really jumped off the page at me. After I read this, I had to stop reading for just a minute and think back on my life. How many people had I brushed off, given the cold shoulder, only because I was secretly hopping that the hotter guy across the room would notice me? Had I passed over some amazing people just because their appearance wasn't Abercrombie perfect? Even more so, how many people had passed me by, just because you can't shred cheese off my stomach?

God, what great thoughts for a Saturday night. Wait, why aren't you at Nation for white party, you ask? Well, I have 'representation' there tonight in the form of Tara, Reid and Paris. You bitches know who you are. Divas to the dance floor please! Trust me, the last thing any tweaked out twink would want to see tonight is me in all white. Whose making smores, because there is a marshmallow in the corner. Hehe.

It was really nice to spend the evening with the fam though. All six of us sat down to dinner together and then put up the Christmas tree. With all of us technically out of the house now, I know that it means a lot to my parents when we are all home. Tomorrow I'll probably spend the day working in the wood shop with my dad. Maybe after that we will watch the Redskins game. I doubt it, only because they will want to get me back to the city before night falls.

My entire weekend has not been spent being the butch farm boy my father hoped I'd be. Last night Triple B came over for dinner and a movie. I told him to be at my place at 8, so in typical TB fashion he showed up at 7:55. And I, in typical fashion, was still in the shower, not even close to being ready. Glad to see that nothing has changed in three years. After a few minutes of attitude, I had supplied him with his first drink to take the edge off. We ordered the food and tried to watch Mr. & Mrs. Smith. The copy my friend made for me did not want to play, so we just watched one of the Kathy Griffin specials on Bravo.

We went to bed, neither of us really sure of what was going to happen. No worries readers, this isn't about turn into smut (and more information than you ever wanted). Thankfully, Triple B came with his defensive walls in full force, all 18 emotional and physical walls. Trust me, it was a an accomplishment that we even cuddled on the couch and again in bed. Yet, at the same time, part of me is glad that it didn't spiral into an all out fuck-fest last night. We have been there, and if things keep going well, we will probably be there again. No need to rush things and try to force something.

All I know is that I had fun being with him last night and look forward to the next time we can get together. Will he and I get back together officially? No clue. But, no point in wasting my time thinking about that.