I’ve been a little lax on my blogging lately, mainly due to the fact that I’m trying to finish a book. I never was any good with time management. Go figure, I know. I have the tendency to sucked into something and allow the rest of the world to fall away. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not, but I like to think its part of what makes me a decent fiction writer. At least that’s one of the things I tell myself so I don’t have to feel bad about not keeping up with other things…like my blog. : )

So here’s something both old and borrowed to make up for my shameless neglect. I’ve added the something blue via visual aids, though I’m not sure why I have wedding themed nonsense rattling around in my brain. Considering the subject matter of the post is Jealousy, it’s hardly themed appropriate, but then again neither am I most of the time so perhaps it fits just fine.

Jealousy…why do you have to bother me?

Now I’ll be the first to admit I’m far from perfect, but I have never suffered from nor understood this particularly annoying emotion.  Perhaps there’s someone out there who can make me understand, but I suggest you come fully prepared to go to the mat along with a sales pitch unlike any other.

I’ve fallen for an unavailable man or two over the years and been envious of the person they were with, but I’ve never gone Coo Coo for Cocoa Puffs over it.  I don’t burst a blood vessel if I catch the guy I’m with checking out another man…he might catch me at some point and then what?  Those damn glass houses!

Before we continue I do feel I should also state that the first part of the following story all took place back in my early twenties.  I’m much nicer than I used to be.  Back in those days, the old me might have done something evil such as drink too much vodka, hop up onto the roof of someone’s car while pointing at random guys and declaring, “I’d fuck you and you…”  True – that in itself was really only embarrassing to me, but I unfortunately decided to also point at other guys while declaring, “I would soooo NOT fuck you or you…”  Yeah…I was a real sweet heart in those days.

My first real experience with the green eyed monster didn’t actually involve me personally, so to speak.  I know already that I’m going to get some unkind comments over this, but what the hell.  All I have to say is, unless YOUR roommate comes home from a weekend trip to a hair show in Nashville with a complete stranger in tow, declaring they’ve fallen in love while moving this perfect stranger into your home…you aren’t allowed to bitch at me.  Now that I’ve hopefully built up a little sympathy for myself…stranger guy also happened to have Tourette’s.

I was a little surprised by how much I instantly disliked this man.  To be fair, my BFF’s twitchy boy toy was not very friendly either.  I’m sure he’d been made fun all his life and perhaps that made him a little anger ball, because he was certainly never going to win Miss Congeniality.  I know it’s not PC and I realize he couldn’t help himself, but it’s very frustrating when you’re lounging on the couch trying to enjoy your favorite TV show while some dude you never intended on living with is sitting on the floor bumping the back of his head into the sofa and muttering, shit…shit…shit…periodically.  Pretty soon, you too might feel your own sanity slip as your normally Walt Disney-like personality slowly begins to get all Tim Burtony, while you imagine yourself picking up the table lamp sitting next to you and smashing him over the head with it.  Granted…I now know it was actually my roomie who deserved to be bludgeoned, but hindsight and all…you know.

Their relationship was tumultuous at best, and wound up only lasting a few months.  I was witness to things in that short amount of time, well…ever seen War of the Roses?  I’d never seen behavior like that, coming from my don’t-ask-don’t-tell family background.  The accusations of indiscretions, declarations of love, and instantaneous assumptions of guilt were enough to make me swear, *channeling Scarlett O’Hara clutching a handful of dirt*  “As God as my witness, I shall never date crazy as long as I live.”

Something I also hadn’t learned at the tender and impressionable young age of twenty one…never say never.  It wasn’t long after their break-up that my BFF and I became Frenemies – apparently my lack of support during their relationship was unforgivable.

I used to think jealous people were just drama junkies, until I found myself dating one.  In my defense, he wasn’t like the jealous people I’d known in the past.  He totally flew under the ‘crazy’ radar.  In his defense, he told me he was prone to jealousy when we started dating.  He was quiet and sweet…downright loving.  Not only was he interested in me, but he was very curious about my writing as well.  I thought I’d won the man-lotto, cause on top of his seemingly mature and manly demeanor, the sex was also fantastic.  I scoffed at his declarations of being a jealous man.  He was way to level-headed for such non-sense…plus I knew I’d never give him reason to be.

For several months I was walking around in a haze…seconds away from a sugary-sweet diabetic love-coma.  Then, it stopped.  He vanished!  I left a few messages and then stopped myself.  After all, (insert sassy head bobbing here) I was certainly not going to beg.  He finally did call, though.  When we met up to discuss, to his credit, he was completely honest.  I’d given him a rough draft of a book I’d been writing, the soon to be released, Dreaming of You.  He informed me that he’d stopped calling because the imaginary ‘dream man’ character in my fictional novel was nothing like him.  I kid you not, folks…not even I could make this shit up.  The man was jealous of my imagination!

While I did appreciate his honesty…I was also carefully sliding the silverware sitting on the table we were occupying away from him.  In the end, I of course had to jump off the express train to Crackertown, but I still to this day have never understood jealousy.  If there’s anyone out there who can suss this one out for me, I’m all ears.

The things they never tell ya before becoming an author…for instance, that some people may not like what you have to offer, lol. Shocking, I know! : )  As I’m currently working on the sequel to Self Preservation I thought I may as well re-issue my Norma Rae-like rant – defending poor Davis in all his desperate, panicked glory.

Thank goodness I never followed through on my threat to insert the random ‘crying character’ into all my books though, huh? Well…at least not yet.

The Crying Gayme

I was a little shocked recently to discover some sort of issue had popped up from a few folks in regards to the gay character in my gay novel doing a little too much crying.  At first I thought this was a joke, and I became paranoid as I searched frantically for the hidden camera in my office.  When it became all too apparent that this was seriously an issue, it got me wondering…am I to be considered less of a man, despite the genitalia that suggests otherwise, should I choose to cry?  Does crying make me a pansy boy?  This wasn’t the worst of it, though.  Apparently, the crying man is almost as bad as…hold your breath folks…A WOMAN!! As if being a woman is the worst thing ever!!  On behalf of my sisters and gal pals, I’m officially offended for you.  Seriously…I totally just had a sympathy menstrual cramp.

This has to be the single most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard!  I’m sorry…but when were magically transported back to the 1950′s and why the hell didn’t I get the memo? *Paging Tab Hunter to my boudoir!!* What…as long as I’m here I may as well make the best of it! : )

I hate to break it to you people, from-the-land-of-no-crying, but some of us do leak when faced with desperation and strong emotions.  If you honestly feel like a man who cries is weak, or less masculine than one who doesn’t?  Let’s just say I’m thankful I don’t live in your world! 

It takes a hell of a lot more strength and courage to allow other people to see the real you…ugly crying jag and all, then it does to never let anyone see past the mask.

For me personally, I’m not an equal opportunity weeper.  I can’t let myself loose it if anyone else in the vicinity is already crying.  Before you begin to admire all the butchie strength-in-a-crisis qualities I have…I should probably confess to the near melt-down I suffered when they canceled Gilmore Girls.  My point – you don’t have to be one or the other. 

I know for a fact I would never berate a man-friend (gay or straight) who had multiple melt-downs once he discovered his first and only love was going to marry someone else.  What’s he supposed to do in this situation…scratch his balls and grunt a few times before spitting out his chewing tobacco?

The thing I loved most once I accepted the fact that I was gay – I was no longer bound by the heterosexual model of male behavior.  No more pretending to like sports!!!  Hooray!!!!  If I wanna slap on a wig and heels while doing a Cha Cha down the boulevard…I can!  If I wanna have an all day Doris Day movie marathon…I can! If I wanna crawl up into a sling and let another man do deliciously naughty things to me…I can! And if I wanna cry afterwards, out of either joy or shame, I sure as fuck will.  I may even scratch my balls and grunt a few times in the process! : )   

I may not be able to marry the person I choose to spend the rest of my life with…but I’ll be damned to hell and back before I let anyone make me feel bad for crying about that fact.  You can’t take that away from me – it’s mine and I’m going to keep it.  I’m half tempted to throw in completely unnecessary crying into every single book at this point just to irritate the cold-cruel-dead-inside-meanies out there.  I’ll create one no-name character who’ll be in every book.  I’ll have him periodically walk down the street bawling for no apparent reason.  That’ll learn ya!!  LOL

Maybe I do like to play football on the weekends, or maybe I just like to sit on the sidelines and watch, or drool as the case may be.  Neither way is WRONG or BAD!  And shame on anyone who says anything differently. 

I guess at the end of the day, my message is this:  This is my gay party and I’ll cry if I want to! 

Much Love

Ethan