The Story of “O”

There’s this woman I sort of know. She’s a good friend of a woman with whom I did a show earlier this year. I don’t know the woman from the show very well, but I guess we’re friends. We’re facebook friends anyway.

So, this good friend of hers, who I shall call “O”—not the “O” from the novel The Story of O, which is strange and interesting, although this “O” is also a little strange and interesting—sent me a friend request on the facebook some time ago.

I thought, yeah sure, why not? And I became facebook friends with O, whom I’d never met. We chatted some and often “liked” and/or commented on each other’s facebook posts.

I met O in person once, at a party her friend threw. O and her friend both live in the next town over. I don’t get over that way much, and O doesn’t get over this way much. So, I actually went to this party mostly to meet O. And that experience just added to the strangeness and interestingness of O.

Before that party I’d had two distinct versions of O in my head, based on our facebook interactions. And I’d been hoping to get some clarification—which version was accurate?

Well, at that party I saw a brief glimpse of the beautiful version with whom I thought I could have a real conversation... And then was the loud, tough, slightly scary, tattooed lady that seemed to block out any attempt to connect. At least that’s what I saw. And those 2 aspects of O correspond quite well with the 2 versions I already had in my brain.

Obviously neither of those versions is actually her, though they were based on her...parts of her...aspects, I guess. Probably we all have various aspects which are hard to reconcile.

—     —     —     —     

The thing that I really wanted to write about here is that for a while O was posting on the facebook a sort of “sensual thought for the day”. It was a daily comment or whatever that sometimes seemed like life advice—not sexual advice exactly, but thoughts about being a sensual person, enjoying sensual experiences. And these were always accompanied by a sexy picture, usually black and white, very professional-looking, typically a woman in lingerie—or more accurately, part of a woman. There was never a face, which made me wonder if they were pictures of her or not. Some of them I feel probably were, but others I’m not so sure.

Anyway, that doesn’t matter. The point is that I started looking forward to these posts, looking for them every morning. Perhaps that desire to see her posts speaks to the lack of sensuality in my life. Or maybe it’s more that I really wish I could take great looking pictures like those.

Well, just after that party where I met her, she stopped posting her sensual thoughts. I asked her about it, and she said that she’d be on facebook much less for a while and that I was probably the only one who really enjoyed them anyway. I was briefly disappointed by this absence. But I got over it.

So now, a few weeks later, it seems she’s starting to post the sexy pics again. That’s cool. But, having gotten over the disappointment of their prior disappearance, I’m just not as interested this time around.

It may also have to do with the fact that she was one of the women who turned me down a few weeks ago.

Despite the 2 versions—one I found appealing and one I didn’t—I was still interested...attracted, I should say. Well, of course I was. She’s a beautiful brunette (I like brunettes) with great eyes and who seems to say what she thinks, or at least posts cool stuff on facebook without apology.

Very sexy. Very appealing.

And too busy right now to go out with me.

It’s just as well. I’m likely not her type. Something she said once.

Oh yeah, and I’m leaving soon. 3 weeks. (Whoo.) And I should probably not get involved now with anyone here. 

Fun at airports (2)

This man, John Brennan

(not to be confused with John O. Brennan, the chief counterterrorism advisor to President Obama), was arrested this spring after he stripped at an airport.

In frustration over the increasingly invasive security procedures, he took off all his clothes at the Portland International Airport.

Last week he went to court. His defense was that his nakedness was a protest and, as such, was a type of legally protected free speech. Apparently the judge agreed. He was found not guilty of indecent exposure. 

I say this: if they just went ahead and had everybody strip naked and ride airplanes naked, maybe they wouldn’t worry so much about concealed weapons.

NPR article

Fun at airports (1)

Okay, I don’t know why this is news. But... 

A few weeks ago this guy was stopped and frisked by a TSA (Transportation Security Administration—part of the Dept. Of Homeland Security—you know, airport security) employee. (Or are they TSA agents? That sounds more sinister. Anyway...) 

That’s clearly not news. But, this guy was Jonah Falcon. 

Jonah holds the world record for having the longest penis. It’s not in the Guinness Book of World Records because they supposedly don’t record such things. 

(Do they actually still publish a book?) 

Well, he was stopped and frisked at San Francisco International Airport due to the suspicious bulge in his pants. His “suspicious bulge” is supposedly around 9 inches or 23 cm when flaccid and 13.5 inches or 34 cm when erect. 

It’s hard (no pun intended) to find decent pictures of Jonah’s penis online. But here’s are some: 

Supposedly him. This one was from
some random penis thread, so who knows?

Of course, he’s had offers to do porn, but he has so far declined. And obviously there are people who’d pay to see his penis. But apparently he just doesn’t do many naked pics. I guess he did a few when he was younger. 

He probably wants to be known as more than just “the guy with the biggest dick”. 

I can totally appreciate that. ‘Cause I too don’t want to be known just as “the guy with a huge penis”. 

Oh wait...I’m not. 

Ah, right. I don’t want to be known as just “the naked blog guy”. 

Here’s the Huffington Post article which alerted me to this guy and this story:

Huffingtonpost.com

That, by the way, led me to another article that contained a slideshow of “naked crime”—people who were arrested while naked, or in at least one case, for being naked in his yard. But it pissed me off that this was paired with a slideshow of “Potty Issues”—crimes having something to do with a person urinating or defecating or farting or having drugs in one’s ass. It bothers me that they’d make that connection, like somehow being naked is like taking a shit. 

The Shrine – Update

(See my post from a few days ago: "The Shrine")

“The Shrine” stayed there for around a day-and-a-half. Then the neighbor came home from wherever she’d been  and promptly removed it all.

So apparently she is currently not wanting anything to do with this guy. And, at least for now he is an ex. But from what little I’ve seen of her interactions that could change in the future. She has friends or “friends” who are around a lot for some relatively brief period of time, then they disappear, to return again a few weeks or months later.

Anyway, he’s bothering her now. Perhaps it’s that he’s offering a negative critique about her life choices, which she doesn’t want to hear? Well, he came by on a bicycle this evening to try to have a talk with her, I suppose. She called the police.

Now, I’ve never called the police. And except for one night when I was in college, when I had a party that briefly spilled into a campus parking lot across the street where a bunch of firecrackers were set off. And I don’t even know for sure if someone called the campus police, or if maybe they just happened by.

Well, the police came to talk to the neighbor, and the ex had left by then. I overheard bits of this, as I was outside reading. She complained about him coming by and calling her, etc. They told her not to let him in nor to talk to him. And if he did show up again, let them know. I think she may have given them his name and phone number or some other information about him.

I hope that means he won’t be back knocking on my door, trying to be buddy-buddy with me. 

Why

I have a new idea about why I started this blog last fall.

Yes, I was bored and wanted to do SOMETHING.

And yes, it was a sort of expression of who I am, i.e., a “naked person”.

But it occurred to me last night that perhaps it was that I felt no one really saw me. I don’t mean no one saw me naked, although that is true. I mean no one saw ME. I was just “the guy who plays the piano”, or more accurately “A guy who plays the piano”. Or maybe a music director or a playwright or a guy who writes musicals. But not me.

Of course, I’m also not just “A naked guy” or “that naked guy”. So maybe, if that indeed was a reason to start this blog, it wasn’t successful. And why would it be?

Of course, this wasn’t a motivation I was aware of at the time I started the blog. I don’t recall there being a really strong reason to start the blog. Just more of a strong but vague feeling of wanting to do something. And I still have that.

Changes.

Re-thinking (...or re-doing?).

Working on it. Of course, I can change locations, but I also have to change me. That’s the thing. 

The Shrine

Last night my neighbor’s ex-/occasional/off-and-on boyfriend or perhaps just stalker came by again looking for her. As usual, I had no idea where she was. 


He’ll be around every day or two for a week or two. Then I won’t see him for a while. 


My neighbor has several people like that. 


I know that in the past at least once this guy has called the cops, afraid that she might be dead or unconscious due to some drug overdose. 


He’s asked me before if she and I ever “did anything”. And the answer: a resounding NO. She’s just not even close to my type. I want a woman with whom I can have an interesting conversation. Also, one to whom I’m attracted. 


Anyway, last night—this was around 8:00 or so(?)—he was here, strongly smelling of alcohol. He was here for a while. He knocked on my door, asking if I’d seen her. And then he proceeded to tell me a few details about her which I don’t especially need to know. This included that fact that she goes off partying and “getting wild” and having sex with several people (I don’t know if that’s all at once or separately) including now “some guy with a real big dick”. He actually mentioned the big dick guy earlier yesterday afternoon when he came by, not noticeably of alcohol. He also mentioned some personal medical issue of hers. 


That seemed rude. 


Well, last night he knocked on my door a couple of times, and eventually told (not asked) me to call her from my phone and started to give me her number. 


Now in the past, I’ve often thought that he seemed to mean her well, that he was really concerned for her, that she might do something dangerous, or at least that she was hanging around with bad influences or whatever. But this seemed different. He’d clearly been drinking (or maybe someone poured it on him—I doubt it though) and with this emphasis on the big dick guy he just reeked of jealousy along with the alcohol. 


And he seemed to be treating me as his buddy in all this. I’m not his buddy. I know I’ve heard his name a few times, but I never can remember it. Mainly because I don’t care. I don’t interact with him much, and never would choose to. 


So, I said no. I’m not gonna call her. I told him that I really didn’t want to get involved with whatever this drama is. Because I have to live here, and I have to share the kitchen with this woman. Granted, she’s almost never in there. But still, I don’t want to be involved. 


Okay, I am terribly bored these days, and I need something going on in my life. But from what I’ve seen of these folks, I don’t like any of them enough to want to get involved. With the occasional yelling and crying and knocking on the door for extended periods and refusing to talk to each other, maybe there’s something interesting going on. And maybe if I knew more details I might be interested in these people as characters in a story I was reading or watching, but not when it’s happening in real like right next door to me and threatening to spill over into my apartment. 


. . . 


Okay. So. This morning I found this “shrine” that this ex-boyfriend or whatever he is must have built. I know for sure that at least part of it is from him. He borrowed a pen from me to write a note for her on one of his business cards. And several of them are part of the shrine. 


So somebody, please...it’s not just me, right? This is weird?

That is a broken cell phone.

Local bus tickets.

Business cards.

Cigarettes.


Clearly he didn’t come here planning to make a shrine. This is just what he had on him.

Apart from signifying a certain level of frustration or maybe obsession or, you know, “crazy”, this seems to be saying “I was here, I took the bus, I waited long enough to smoke these several cigarettes, I got mad and broke my phone. See? This is all for you.” Or maybe these things have a particular significance to the two of them which I’m not aware of.

. . .

Aaaand, he came back. This morning, around 10:30am. He knocked once and left. 


That was odd. Usually he hangs out, knocks several times, makes phone calls (maybe that is his phone that’s broken there), knocks on my door to ask if I’ve seen her. Perhaps I’ve succeeded in staying out of it. Yay.

rant (wish I had a better title)

I’ve mentioned the TV show, Skins, a couple of times before in this blog.

Something that occurred to me about the show is that no matter what these kids do, what happens to them, or what they bring on themselves—whatever trouble or drama or heartache they deal with—they have each other. They go through it all with their mates. They fight and cry and eventually laugh and have a few drinks with each other. The only time they get into really horrible, awful, terrible, life-ruining shit is when they aren’t together, when they keep something from the others for a long time—like, more than 2 or 3 episodes. 

I was thinking about this the other night, while lamenting my life, my lack of mates. (In fact, I started writing this the other night, while drinking. Now, in the sober light of day, I’m not entirely sure how this connects. It was quite clear before.)

Anyway...a few days back I was turned down (for dates) by 2 women in 2 days.

Yes, I asked a few people out. What? It’s not that surprising. I was thinking, enough of this sequestering, this hermiting myself. Okay sure, I’m leaving town soon. But I don’t have to just mark time until moving day.

(That’s what I’ve been feeling like lately: that I’m marking time or treading
water until I leave; like there’s not much point in trying to change my life
here now that I’m leaving.

Oh, and on that point...I’m thinking I may make a very small tour the first
week of August, between North Carolina and Mississippi. I need to go there
for a few days to look for an apartment, and I’ll need a place to stay for a
few days. Also, at least one night between here and there I’ll need to stop
somewhere. So if anybody wants to put me up, let me know.)

Well...maybe I do have to mark time. I can’t seem to get a date. I wasn’t even looking for anything serious—just thought it’d be nice to hang out with somebody. These weren’t random women I walked up to on the street or something. They were people I’d been chatting with, exchanging banter on the facebook.

(Sigh.)

I’ve not made a big deal about this move. I’ve told a few people, but not everyone.

My feeling about it is a bit like my birthday. I don’t really like hearing “happy birthday” from a bunch of people to whom I’m not close, because it just emphasizes my lack of connection. Where some people are “overwhelmed” by the “outpouring of love” from so many people on their birthday, I have the opposite reaction. If someone wanted to do something to actually make it a “special day” I’d love that. That would be awesome. But it doesn’t happen. And while I don’t like nobody saying anything about my birthday (pretty-much like last year) I think it’s not quite as bad as everybody saying it.

Anyway, the whole move thing is like that. I don’t really want people telling me “we should do something before you go” ‘cause that’s what’s been lacking here. And if they don’t say something like that, I’d want them to.

Yes, it’s fucked up. Yes, I’m fucked up.

I don’t know who said this but... “Some people build walls not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down.” I guess that’s me.

I remember once when I was in college, or maybe just after, getting drunk at a party and walking off sort of sulking, and then sulking even more because the girl I was interested in didn’t follow me to ask what was wrong. Well why would she? How is someone supposed to know the difference between when I actually want to be left alone and when I want someone to come after me? They both look the same, right?

Well, this has been a bit of a ramble. Well, to wrap it up, or summarize, I suppose...being alone too much can cause problems; I am and have been alone too much.

But what do you really mean? (or, Subtext)

I’ve been watching, on the netflix, this British (E4, not BBC) show, Skins. 

It’s a drama in which a bunch of teens are having sex and drinking and using drugs, plus occasional outbursts of violence and other criminal activities.

Some time ago I watched the first few seasons, and a few days ago I started watching the 3rd season. Toward the end of this season there’s an episode in which several characters get upset when they find out that somebody they like had sex with somebody else and didn’t tell them about it. Basically, their lies and stupid behaviors were revealed and everyone was upset. It reminds me of a lot of sitcoms, except on this show, it’s not supposed to be funny.

I’ve written about stupidity and lying on TV shows before. It occurs to me that this is sort of connected to another topic.

Subtext.

I feel like I’ve written about subtext before, but maybe not.

Subtext is what a character is thinking or what they really mean as opposed to what they are saying.

As a writer of plays and musicals, I rarely think about subtext. My characters tend to say what they’re thinking. I’m sure that has everything to do with how I feel people should be in real life. Just say what you mean.

I want to think that people are honest with me. I’m honest with them. However, I’ve learned that most people aren’t honest. Sometimes that makes me sad, sometimes it makes me angry, sometimes it makes me not want to deal with people.

I don’t mean that people are constantly trying to deceive everyone about everything. Maybe some people are, but mostly no. Certainly some people may lie out of embarrassment about some stupid thing they did. But I mostly mean that people will lie to spare your feelings all the damn time.

Seriously, I would rather know the truth up front. Sure, it might hurt my feelings a little. But I really do want to believe you, so when I figure out that you’re lying, not only are my feelings hurt, but now I think of you as a liar. Now maybe I have less respect for you than I would if you’d’ve just been honest.

Unfortunately, this has contributed to my cynicism about people. I never used to do this, but now sometimes I’ll wonder if someone is telling the truth or if they’re lying to avoid “conflict”. And that keeps me at a distance. It’s hard for me to want to be closer if I’m always suspicious of you.

Having studied psychology, I’m aware that may be deeper psychological issues involved with “lying”. But when I’m thinking about psychological motivations, I tend to think that people are either unable to see the truth or just unwilling to deal with it, not that they’re consciously lying. Actually, I think I’m pretty good at getting a feel for a person when I talk with them a bit, maybe seeing through to what’s really going on. 

I had a roommate who called it “leap-frogging”. Maybe not the most accurate term, but he meant that I sometimes jump over all the little points between A and Z, or maybe I see A, B, & C, and then I’m ready for Z. He also suggested that I “use my power for good instead of evil”. I think he thought I was kind of evil. Of course, he was an extremely repressed Christian-type, who regularly prayed a lot and felt guilty after having (reportedly bad) sex with his girlfriend.

I had, for a while in college, thought I might become a counselor. My degree is actually in psychology.

Anyway, maybe my thinking about, or lack of understanding of, or lack of engaging in subtext in a play has been wrong. I’ve often felt like subtext was a lot like lying. But maybe it’s more like having an unconscious psychological issue—maybe something repressed, that you can’t accept, you can’t say out loud or even to yourself. 

Perhaps I should, in the future, craft characters that are all “crazy”. I don’t necessarily  mean the clinically, diagnosably, put-‘em-in-the-nuthouse kind of crazy. Just the everyday, lying-to-themselves, actually-believing-the-bullshit-they’re-saying kind of crazy.

lend a hand

I’ve been told several times in the past several years by several people that I just need to go get laid.

But I can’t. I just don’t work that way.

Okay, I’ve never really tried to go out and meet someone in order to have sex with them. So, maybe I could do it. But I really doubt it. I just can’t wrap my brain around it.

Of course I want to have sex. It’s been way too long. But with many women, even if I find them physically appealing, when I get to know them I don’t find them particularly attractive anymore. I like women; it’s just that as I get to know them I find a lot of them to be stupid or crazy or shallow or religious (yes, I’m intolerant of religion) or conservative (also intolerant there). And mostly the ones who aren’t at least one of those things which I find unappealing are either married or otherwise “taken” or a bit on the young side.

Now, young might be okay, except that I’m 41, and I’m not sure that I want to get involved with someone half my age. And I get the feeling that when they know how old I am they don’t want to get involved. They just don’t even see me as a possibility.

There are some young women who’ve told me “age is just a number”. But, then again, no one who’s ever said that has expressed any interest in dating or even in just having sex with me.

Anyway, the point is that I’m just not really okay with the idea of fucking somebody I don’t know and don’t care about. Whether or not I could actually do it, I don’t really want to do it.

This reminds me of a brief, unsuccessful fling I had several years ago. It was with a woman I’d known for a little while. I think we were both just lonely. But some part of me—subconsciously or whatever—knew that it wasn’t a good idea, that I shouldn’t be with this woman. She was kind of crazy. Not like really crazy, just...I don’t know, having some issues at the time.

So, I couldn’t “be with” this woman. I mean, it didn’t work...my penis. So we never actually “did it”. I worried a little about it—that maybe it was symptomatic of a larger issue. But in other prior, successful relationships, I occasionally had some performance issues (to a lesser degree) when things weren’t going great in the relationship, that is, generally when I didn’t feel things were “equal” in the relationship. Like one of us was more invested in the relationship than the other.

It seems that for me relationship problems lead to sexual performance problems. Clearly it’s connected to my lack of interest in having sex with someone I don’t care about. As some people have suggested, maybe that’s a good thing. But, then again, there’s no one in my life that I care about and who is interested in having sex with me. So, maybe it’s not so great.

Ug.

teary-eyed

Lately I’ve noticed I tend to get emotional over movies or shows I’m watching.

I’m thinking about it, because I just had one of those reactions to a movie I was watching: The Lake Effect. 

It’s not like I’m crying outright, but I get a little teary-eyed.

The thing that gets me is when there are characters who struggle and are in pain or, especially, are lonely, but then in the end it changes. It’s not that they are necessarily happy, but they discover that they have other people and therefore they have the potential for happiness, or contentment, or something like that. Maybe struggling and pain will still happen, but they don’t have to do it alone.

That’s what gets to me. That’s what got to me in the movie I just watched.

It’s because I feel very much alone. That’s nothing new. And I’m starting to fear that it’ll always be this way.

I never used to think I wanted to get married and have kids and all that typical stuff that everyone seems to just assume they’re gonna have because it’s what people do. People do way too many things just because that’s how things are, that’s what “normal” people do.

Anyway... Now, I’m not sure. I’ve thought about it. Mostly I just want a real connection.

I don’t feel that I have people. I have relatives who I just don’t seem to connect with very well. I don’t feel that I really resonate with them, or vice versa. And I know a bunch of other people, but there’s no one close. Most people I know I think of as “acquaintances” or “colleagues” more than friends.

Occasional banter on the facebook is one thing, but are we really friends if we live in the same town and almost never see each other? There was a colleague of mine a few years back with whom I thought I would become friends. But she just never had the time to get together, hang out, or anything.

Forward to today, and she & I never interact, even on the facebook.

There are “facebook friends” with whom I interact. We comment on each other’s funny posts. But I guess nobody wants to hang out with the naked guy. Well, there’s the occasional emails from somebody who’s seen my blog. Always a guy (except possibly the “fan mail” from last week). And the gist is generally: You like being naked, me too; let’s hang out naked. Maybe it’s a sincere, non-sexual invite, but somehow it always strikes me as kinda creepy. I guess I’d rather hang out naked with some of those “acquaintances” or “colleagues” that I already know and know that I like, know that I have something in common with them.

But, again, I guess nobody wants to hang out with the naked guy. A lot of my “acquaintances” or “colleagues” unfriended me when I started this blog. And there are many who just don’t ever say anything at all about it. Like, if no one mentions it, then it doesn’t exist.

Oh, yeah, I do have another friend who seems to want to tell everybody about how I love to be naked and I have a blog and she’s really proud and supportive of the blog...except she doesn’t really want to read the blog or actually see me naked; oh, she’s totally cool with nudity...unless it’s actually happening around her.

Sorry. A little off topic.

Wait, what is my topic?

Oh yeah. I’m alone.

God, what a boring topic.

And I go on about it way too much.

So, I’ll not continue it.