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Til Tuesday "J for Jules" |
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Hello, hello. I'll even say it with exclamation marks: Hello, hello!! It's that sweet to be here. I'm fresh off the heels of a week of total workload including tonight's double-header of case brief and DI article, so I'm feeling really riled to be writing for the hell of it. Tonight is also the eve of my trip back to Lemont where Lauren and I get to visit LHS, act disgusted by how much hotter we are than everyone, and then hit a club. Because Lemont has those clubs, of course. I'm also listening to Liz Phair's new album right now which is the ultimate hypocritical act given my review of it in my last DJ post and DI article. I'm super proud of it, actually... if you want to check it out online, here's where you can get the scoop: http://www.dailyiowan.com/media/paper599/news/2005/10/12/Arts/PhairLy.Faking.It-1017417.shtml
If you search my name under the authors' section in an "advanced search", you can see the dozen or so articles I've contributed thus far in my DI career. Don't I look accomplished now, right up there with Bob Woodward. I'm already planning my enormous journalistic scheme to uncover the break-in scandal at Burge cafeteria. All's I'm saying is don't expect George W. Bush to be your president that much longer. That's all I'm saying.
Okay, I really need to plug in and stop avoiding shit that matters right now. Breathe in. Sigh. I am really am excited to be back here, and I gave myself the impression earlier this week that I'd update sooner, but of course I got sidetracked eleven times and talked on the phone for fucking ever and took naps. It's pretty glamorous being me. Anyhoo, I'm feeling good, albeit I bit unprepared for my trek home tomorrow. I simply haven't thought about how weird it will be to be suddenly dropped off back in Lemont in the midst of all the old-timey L-Town stuff. Certainly there will be visits with Sarah and Kimmie, who are probably dropping by Lemont on Saturday night. I have to scrap my plan to visit Jen in the city because it is too difficult to get to Columbia in a day's work when I'm already busy trying to get everywhere in Lemont in the nick of time. Rachel's also coming home Saturday night, so Chili's and subsequent purging better be in the cards for the both of us that night. Besides that, family time, and a Saturday morning stint at Chipain's (I know, can you believe I did that), I'm not sure what I plan to be doing in Lemont other than taking in the ambience, Injun fever, and Baskin Robbins with eyes and ears and mouths all wide open. I'm worried it will be that hectic feeling of trying to relive my entire Lemont existence in a span of 72 hours... like living in the video for "Ray of Light" except townier. Even stranger is now that I think about it, I don't even want to go home all that much. I mean I can't wait to see my family and my friends... but I've underestimated how much I've changed. Erin McGurk once told me that her friends craved home during their freshman years of college but then lost that urge during sophomore year. It's weird, but I get it. Really it's that I just look forward to changes of pace from routine rather than "home" in particular. Because how much less do I accomplish at home? I sit around more, I get wrapped up in things I can't deal with, and I lose all inclination to be productive. Granted I do catch a lot more Jeopardy! and get to go to the fucking mall as much as I want... and now that I mention it, I would love to hit up the mall. Damn. Whatever, we'll see how things unravel. Also, how giddy am I about driving my beautiful Laser again. He must feel so violated with those bulky, strange men (Jim and Mark) operating him. And I know he misses his Kylie cds because without them he is basically malnourished. I will be damned if Laser turns into one of those Ethiopian kids. Don't cry or get your brakes all sticky, Laser, I'm coming home with a fresh batch of hugs! Laser is so where the heart is.
So much else to dish. There've been a couple enigmatic episodes this week specifically dealing with gay men that I want to talk about. Well, actually, that's not totally true, because there's really not much to discuss and my main joy in discussing hook-ups is to be able to pretend I'm all blasé and sophisticated as I "fuck 'em and leave 'em" like some bullshit rock hero. Truth is, I am very desperate to feel like an "in" member of the gay hook-up scene... just because it'd be nice to feel like an "in" part of any scene. Of course there's also the egotistical satisfaction and momentarily inflated self-confidence that occurs after getting that ass I so wouldn't care about otherwise. Feeling "hot" for twenty minutes of my life and the like. Anyway, after being disappointed in hearing from a source that my crush (aka Crushy) was more into the gay fraternity type (because that fucking exists? Suck my dick, Crushy), I got a facebook message from this sweet guy whose name I won't mention because he's concerned about word getting back to certain close acquaintances of his, namely his boyfriend. He told me he liked my profile (and who wouldn't, it is fucking hilarious right now) and also gets mad at gay people who try hard to be spectacles of themselves. I wrote him back saying I definitely understood but that I also sympathized with the foppish gay types because they most likely overact their role as "gay boys" in an effort to carve the veneer that they know how to deal with the stigma surrounding their sexuality. And since I am no stranger to learning how to deal with sexuality, the desperation of those determinedly stereotypical gay guys rings home. So the dude replied to my reply saying he agreed and that we should hit up Burge sometime. I was psyched because, again, it is difficult to find reasonable gay men in college towns. They're either prostitutes or closeted basket cases, and finding the golden mean between those two remains a tough venture. Anyway, I met up with this guy at Burge last Wednesday night, and we shot the breeze for a bit. I was a little cautious at how... obviously intense this guy was. It's the kind of intensity you associate with people who have aggression problems and hostility aimed inward. Aside from that though, this dude was hot. Nice body, cute face, and he was pretty funny too. As conversation sometimes does between two gay guys, we started talking about raunchier stuff. Things like how far he goes with his boyfriend and how much we've both "tried different things" and "wanted to try things" and all that. We got into a discussion of gay guys at Iowa City, and we comiserated about the ones we both knew. Unsolicited, this guy came back with me to my dorm room after dinner, and he said something about checking out gay guys on facebook. I was down with that because at this point, anything is better than browsing facebook gay guys with Phil, whose intention with relationships or me or anyone still eludes me. Or annoys me, rather. So this intense guy (let's just call him X) is in my room with me, and we're going down the list of available homos. X explains how he's drunkenly cheated on his boyfriend twice before and regretted it terribly. He even took part in a threesome with this guy Damian, one of those random gay guys who facebook friended me... and did I forget to reiterate it was a threesome. I'm just awed. Seemed like quite the feat. Apparently some dude was fucking X in the ass while Damian blew him. My concern here: isn't Damian being impaled during this? Imagine getting your face pummeled by not only the power of a thrusting dick but by the full body force of a man screwing the beholder of that dick. You must have a gag reflex in your ankles in order to pull that off. Anyway, after disclosing all this info to me, X asked if I knew any sluts in Iowa City, and I quickly mentioned one guy Josh who, from all the knowledge I've gathered, will hit anything with a tractable asshole. So X decides to be "funny" and tries, just for fun online, to see if it really is so easy to hook up with Josh... so X facebook messages the slut suggesting a hangout session. I thought it was weird but justified it as an attempt to be cool. Eventually I showed X my online picture page, and then he coyly mentions, "There's only one picture of myself online I can think of... but I can't show you it." And of course I ask to see the thing, and after not-that-much-bargaining, X shows me a naked picture of himself from behind. So there we are admiring a picture of his naked ass. By this time he'd also shown me his two pierced nipples and mentioned he'd pierced his scrotum. At this moment with him, I am fucking turned on. Don't get the idea that X was at all ostentatious about any of this... he was very monotone and kind of making dirty asides, but nothing was flaming or over-the-top about him. If anything, he seemed sedated... like with medication, that kind of sedated. So I just blurted out at one point, "Speaking of being candid, would you want to make out?" That's not a question I ask often, so this was a pretty climactic thing. X looks at me and sort of bites his lip saying, "I shouldn't..." just before saying, "Well, my breath is bad." I sort of "hmmmm"ed at that, and he asks, "Well, do you have toothpaste?" With that, we both put toothpaste in our mouths and cleaned quickly. The next step was ascending my loft, getting horizontal, and making out. As he got on top of me, it occurred to me how dirty it all felt. He had a boyfriend, this wasn't premeditated, no one knows we're hanging out, etc. But one thing's for certain: making out is fucking fun. So we're going for it with soft, tonguey kisses just before he stops, pulls his head back, and closes his eyes with contempt for himself. He murmured with a grit in his teeth, "I feel bad." So I decide to be a voice of consolation and say, "Well, I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do...." just before mentioning, "Though I'm sure you could feel how hard I was." That's right, I say things like that. And then again, unsolicited, he goes, "Do you want to get off?" Frankly, who can turn down such an offer? So we did the whole blowjob thing, made out some more, and that was that. He booked it soon after, and I asked him before he left if we'd be, perchance, doing this again anytime soon. He said "I dunno," we said our goodbyes, and off he went, back to the mysterious world he lives in. For some reason, my balls hurt like hell afterwards. I had articles to write and was sitting there with testicles that felt like they'd gotten the shit beaten out of them. It was probably due to how much stimulation I was getting that wasn't immediately resulting in orgasm. That kind of "blue balls" feeling. Can I get a what-what, gentlemen? Before X left, he got a text message from his boyfriend that said, "Having fun with your new friend Louis?" which was completely shocking to hear because I don't know X's boyfriend at all. We examined the clues and realized that X had left his facebook logged in from my computer, so basically his bofriend knew he was logged in from Currier. That'll teach me not to clean up my fingerprints after doing the deed. Sidenote: later that night, I ran into my old friend Kristina, who is fucking transferring to Marquette next semester. I hugged her, and I'm glad she's making a productive decision for herself. Sad to see her go, but happy to see her being valiant in her attempt to find the best surroundings for herself. But back to the sex thriller.
Don't be fooled, the weirdness with Racer X (I <3 Speed Racer terminology) doesn't end there. A couple nights afterwards, I was talking to him online only to find out incredible news. I guess when X facebook messaged Josh, the aforementioned slut, they ended up meeting up the very night I hooked up with X... except that they had sex and spent the night together. Good God! First of all, I guess we proved it is that easy to hook up with Josh (maybe he works bar mitzvahs and weddings too?), but okay, even in my most perverse moments, I don't know if I'd have it in me to hook up with two random guys in quick succession, let alone having anal sex with one of them. I guess I wasn't too surprised at X's actions seeing as he'd already exhibited to me personally how reckless he was with men, but more than anything, I was jealous. Jealous that someone had the ability to just hop from me to another guy without a second thought... even if it had something to do with him just wanting friends, whatever, I felt topped. So what do I do? I IM Josh, who was online at this point, and randomly ask if he wants to make out. I know. It was ridiculous of me. It was one of those moments where I just wanted to continue feeling like I was a sexy vixen getting action and being able to find it as I pleased wherever I went. Josh, not to my surprise at 3:15 a.m., said he had people over and didn't want to, which could've been a lie, but who knows. So I failed that mission. I also facebook messaged Damian, the miracle blowjobber from the threesome story, because I figured the quick-fix ass would be available there. Okay, the dumb bitch wrote me some lame comment like "maybe we can hang out sometime!!!" and then didn't follow up at all. Love all this wanting to freely associate and strip down with people I would probably never hang out with otherwise. Weirdly enough, I've been talking to other gay guys lately... I've been going on walks with this guy Brent, who is so nice but not my type at all, and I got a facebook message from a grad student who liked my profile and suggested hanging out. But blech, he didn't seem badass. I don't want to pretend I'm haughty or at all actually fed up with the attention, because of course it's flattering and of course it's temporarily exciting... but the result of all of this seems to be the conclusion that I still don't know what I want from guys and if I feel like I'm getting it. Randomly making out is fun, and I like getting down with guys I know okay. I think I just want to have the correct relationship with every guy I meet... as in, I don't want to try to be soulmates with everyone, but if one guy really sticks out, I'll go for it. None of this is rocket science, indeed.
But there's more story. PT IMed me the other night, remembering that I said I'd be coming home this weekend. Long story short, we talked on the phone, an otherworldly form of communication for the Penis Toucher and I... and now there may be some late-night grab-ass in store upon my return home. Jesus. I'm almost positive it will end up just being lame (imagine that), except there is a level of uncertainly given that PT vocalized to me on the phone that he is up for blowjobs and anal sex. I guess he finally had that fucking relapse and realized he wasn't too straight for blowjobs anymore. How ridiculous was that? Who was he kidding? His bubblegum pink shirts beg for anal sex without his permission anyway. I have no intention of having sex with PT, and even if we did ever try it, it would be the most awkward sexual encounter of all time. I'm not up for it. I am up for blowjobs, but... I dunno, man, I'm doing weird things. One day I will seriously tell him I'm gay, because I know there's a priceless reaction in store to the news. I've never spoken a word to PT without a hidden agenda and alterior motive to it, so that blurt of honesty will be a big one. I'm positive PT owns a rifle too... so I may have to don my track shoes for that event.
Oh, so here is some fucking fantastic news: I came back to my room after theatre class today to find a note on my swivel chair. This was already weird seeing as my door was locked the last I checked. Before I could get creeped out, I read the note, are we ready for the horror: "Hey, this is your new roomate. Sorry you can't have a doubble to yourself anymore. Give me a call, I'll be back later tonight. -Daryl". UGGGH, the housing department caught onto my tricks and realized I didn't have a roommate! To spite them, I'm analyzing the shit out of this guy's note. I'm a little apprehensive because one, who the hell is named Daryl, and two, misspelling "roommate" and "double" might not be a wonderful sign. Though of course I'm a judgmental bastard and will decide whatever the hell I want to about everyone. Talked to the guy on the phone for a few minutes, and he sounds down to earth, which is solid. Unfortunately, we all remember past episodes of supposedly "down to earth" people actually being shady, secretive, pompous, apathetic, grandstanding dumbasses. I can't think of any specific examples though. Daryl's facebook picture is a little questionable as well... he's got this whole underwater, blurry face thing happening, and it just sounds like a code for "serial killer" right now. I'm still fucking pissed that I'm not having a single for the rest of the semester... I sort of figured I would get a new roommate at the beginning of next semester, but I guess I've had a free ride long enough. I'll have to get used to not throwing papers all over the room and allowing people like Rachel to sleep over and leave her undergarments on lampshades. It's tough to adapt. Daryl is a straight freshman, and he loves Wedding Crashers, so already I fear we will be bashing heads. But I'm sick of living in foresight about it... he arrives Sunday, so I'm relishing my last few precious hours of #E132 alone time. With the DJ of course, my main partner in crime.
Alrighty, time for me to get going. I want to clean my room a bit before I leave... there's post-its and papers strewn about this whole fucking place. Lots of interview questions, newspaper clippings and lost Dead Sea Scrolls probably. Not to mention my now half-destroyed backpack that just busted a crucial zipper. This weekend I may stoop to a new low and get a messenger bag to replace the thing. I'd like a silver one, but we'll have to see what Old Navy or associated Lemont area stores offer. I had this terrible stigma with messenger bags because Joe used to have one, and every time I saw him with it at lunch I would think it was the most excrutiatingly cute thing, perfect for someone out to be pleasant and unassuming and doing-the-right-thing and actually hateful. But I'm busting through that misconception like gangbusters. Because with my kickass coat from Buckle and a silver messenger bag, I'm pretty set to be Easy Rider. Oooh, and I plan on developing a No Shame skit for next Friday about my roommate troubles. I will be throwing down like Jesse Jackson at a KKK rally, guys. Speaking of Drewy-screwy, last week when he, Lauren, and our friend Max were drunk in Lauren's room, I went down at like 2 a.m. to visit just because I wanted to see Lauren drunk (FYI she was adorable). Drew was on the verge of vomiting hardcore, and he didn't even notice me when I peeked in the doorway for awhile. Eventually he looks up at me with the most ghastly, pained eyes I've ever seen, and so I wave and say in actually friendly fashion, "Hey there, Drew." Then, Drew fucking turns to Lauren and goes, "Could you shut the door, Lauren?" as if it was assumed that he had reign over her... and as if it was fucking fine to just be that bastardly right in front of me. Max facebook messaged me later saying that Drew didn't know what he saying at the time, apologizing for him. That's absolutely testament to how great a friend Max is, and I really respect him for that. However, Drew, how about you fix your own fucking problems yourself, and how about you own up when you do something shitty? His friends automatically cover for him because they know Drew doesn't get how to be actually honest or sincere with people. He just knows how to be stately and schmoozy without actually being humane. Thing is, I know he was wasted out of his mind when he said the shitty comment, but you know, I don't care. When you're drunk, you're less inhibited, and when he was less inhibited, he finally fessed up the dismissive apathy he's been working so hard to cover up with his fucking Political Science major and volunteerism. I wish his friends didn't feel obligated to clean up after him because he could use the wake-up call that people aren't pawns to eat dinner with and forget about. But alas, it is late, and I am getting ornery about old bullshit.
I seem to remember a paragraph ago about me saying I had to leave. The DJ proved me wrong once again, I'm afraid. But actually, yes, it is time to clean up, time to find some floor beneath all of this paperwork, and time to pack up all the Lemont necessities. I hope this weekend goes according to what little plan I have, and I hope I'm just as excited to review it as I am to preview it. Let's hope I revisit more of the Lemont fun instead of the Lemont rut. Guess it wouldn't be complete without both.
Thank you, thank you for reading. You are so loved and so my boo. I'm all flustered about it. Keep dipping those toes further into new experience and embracing all parts of everything you know as you do it. And dive right in when you know it's time.
Laying low before the lost weekend, love you so much, xoxo,
Louis
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