San Francisco City Hall: My First Time

Earlier this week I walked over to City Hall to pay my water bill. The building itself has much more grandeur than even the Washington State Capitol. However, I'm not interested in remarking on such things at this time. Instead, I'd like to point out the rather ominous feeling that overcame me when walking inside. Everyone knows the horrific event that happened within its walls: on November 27, 1978, Dan White snuck into the building through a basement window and murdered Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk.

I thought being on the ground floor was eerie enough, but I was wrong. The basement is far more upsetting. I couldn't stop thinking "Dan White was down here. He got in through a window, with a loaded gun and extra bullets, and he was on his way to murder two of his (former) coworkers, one of which was gay." I got out as soon as I could.

Adam4Adam Profiles

Sic throughout:

Not looking for anything serious but fun time will be great

Not into crazy scene!! no 420, bareback, leather and nasty stuff. I'm "normal" as human and you better too! have a face that I knw im not talking to an alien

And sorry to looking at your profile without leaving you a msg, thats becuz i am too shy to say a word~ smile~

Out going but stay indoor Confuse?? Lollll

Where do I even begin with this?

Deconstructing a Dream

Last night, as I slept, I was transported to an unspecified clothing store in Los Angeles. I was with the last guy that I had dated, Joey, and his friend, Jason. As I tried on clothes, I could sense the agitation that Joey was feeling as he waited for me to finish with whatever I was doing. No words were spoken by me, but he finally snapped. "Why are you even here? No one wants you here?" he shouted at me.

My mind put me there to seek reconciliation; to retrofit a bridge that, in all rights, doesn't even exist. The bridge was there one day, and gone the next; it left no trace. But reconciliation isn't always possible. Sometimes it's better to just accept what the circumstances are and move on with your life. "If you want to get something, it's fine. I'll pay for it," Jason told me. He clearly felt a bit bad for me, but he was still on the side of his friend in that moment. Why was I there? I shouldn't have gone to Los Angeles. It was time to go. I told him "no thank you" and then I woke up.

Writing Under the Influence

Mustaches are divine, to say the least. Well, that's not entirely true. Let me back up and say that mustaches are magical. Yes, that's better. They're magical. They enchant those that see them; they disgust those that see them. There's always been, and there always will be, two camps: those that find mustaches appealing, and those that find them appalling. It doesn't make any sense. How can anyone be pushed away, instinctively, by a bit of hair on someone's upper lip? Questions and answers.

I worked with a gingerized twink who, upon sizing up my facial experiment, decided that I would be referred to as “Mustache” from that point forward. “Hey Mustache! When are you going to shave that thing off? He would ask me; insult me. The joke was on him, as he never knew how much more attention I was getting from my fellow fags. Mustaches, apparently, are definitely not straight-acting.

Deconstructing the Word "Fit" in Gay Online Profiles

I'm fat. Scratch that. I used to be fat. I still consider myself fat, though. Once you're fat, you never ever think of yourself as anything other than that at most times. I'm flabby; I have a gut that droops over my belt. It's not pretty. Depending upon how straight I'm standing, you can hardly tell that that's the case. This is probably why people tell me that I'm thin. "Let me take my shirt off for you and then you can tell me that again."

So, let's just be honest, guys. When you say that you're looking for "fit" guys, what you really mean is that you're looking for skinny/slender/slim guys. The flabby need not apply. And I don't. It doesn't matter than I can get up right now and go for a ten mile run without much, if any, difficulty. Oh, I'm fit, but I'm not the fit that you want. I can think of one person that I know that can't walk more than two blocks without considering hailing a taxi; you would consider him "fit" because he's very skinny. All other qualities aside, if you were to put us next to each other and select the "fit" person, you would (probably) pick him.

Speak the truth: you want someone skinny. And I'm done.