Your death is imminent. The fact that you came in here to eat my fruit and make it spoil, is disgusting. I don't care that scientists are blessed to have fruit flies as subject. You are the scum of the earth and I hate you. Don't even think of touching my coconut. That was a two dollar Whole Foods coconut. No I don't know why I bought it, either, but it definitely doesn't mean you can lay your eggs in it. You bastard. Why are you so hard to kill?
Sincerely,
David
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Saturday, June 6, 2009
"The One"
So I'm not going to lie. I've met a lot of guys on the internet, and some of those even in person. Is there anything wrong with that? I'm inclined to say no, seeing as you can do just about anything on the internet in the first place. I can watch movies, order socks, and even make dinner reservations through the internet, so why not meet guys too? And to all you naysayers, let me prove to you why it's totally worth it, if just for amusement's sake, to do so.
I was talking to a guy I had "friended" yesterday just now. We were going through the typical questions that you'd ask to get to know one another. One of my favorites is, "So why did you join x-dating/x-social networking site?" Guys that want to play it cool typically reply, "Oh well just to meet people, y'know." Maybe they don't have many gay friends. But I encountered a brand new species of internet boy: one that replies, "To find the One."
It's always nice to have someone muss up your preconceived notions about stuff. This guy was one of those "someones." He wasn't just any "someone", either. He was a "someone" looking for the "One." I had to ask, in a manner I now regret as negligently crass, "What does that even mean?"
"The one I want to spend the rest of my life with," he replied.
"What makes you think you're in a position to decide that, at this age?" I replied.
To which he replied, "What makes you think you're in a position to ask?"
Ouch. Ba-zing. Face. These sorts of one-liners would all suffice to describe the amount of attitude I commensurately received in response to my rude question. At this point I tried to backpedal as quickly as possible, to keep the conversation civil.
But it never did stay civil, for at the second I questioned his rationale, everything soured quicker than a cream pie smashed on a clown's face. He kept insisting that he had experience with men, but hell so did I. He insisted he was almost 21, but hell I'm not too far away myself. None of these reasons would be convincing enough for me. I just can't see how someone so youthful would want to bag themselves a husband, a partner if you will.
Now I'm thinking about how much I've considered this nonsense. It's interesting now that I'm remembering how I've thought about my wedding, what kind of ring I want, and where I want to register. Was I just as silly as this fool?
Even if I am thinking about these silly things at a young age, I'm only doing so in a fanciful, "mayhaps" kind of way. This dude is looking to settle down, combine the little assets he has, and close the doors and windows to more experience with relationships. It's almost like he's decided he knows all there is to know about relationships, and that there were no more men out there to teach him anything about love, partnership, or unity.
Now I know, I'm giving myself a high-five here. But listen when I say it's for a solid reason: I don't know all there is to know about relationships. I haven't even had a relationship that's lasted more than two weeks, if that. I don't usually get past the third date. It's abundantly clear to me that I have more to learn about lots of things. Someone once told me some quote by a Chinese philosopher about acknowledging what we do not know as a powerful thing. So it is with great pride and pleasure that I self-high-five myself.
I'm feeling generous today. I'll give this guy the benefit of the doubt, seeing as I don't know his circumstances. Maybe he has all the preparation he needs to go ahead with finding the One. But if there's just the One, if there's just one great love in our lives, our lengthy lives, doesn't it sound a tad boring? Morose even?
So what's the lesson of the story today kids? Let's always remember to keep the pluralization on that infamous noun phrase "great loves."
Keep loving yourself and others, folks, and have a pleasant day!
I was talking to a guy I had "friended" yesterday just now. We were going through the typical questions that you'd ask to get to know one another. One of my favorites is, "So why did you join x-dating/x-social networking site?" Guys that want to play it cool typically reply, "Oh well just to meet people, y'know." Maybe they don't have many gay friends. But I encountered a brand new species of internet boy: one that replies, "To find the One."
It's always nice to have someone muss up your preconceived notions about stuff. This guy was one of those "someones." He wasn't just any "someone", either. He was a "someone" looking for the "One." I had to ask, in a manner I now regret as negligently crass, "What does that even mean?"
"The one I want to spend the rest of my life with," he replied.
"What makes you think you're in a position to decide that, at this age?" I replied.
To which he replied, "What makes you think you're in a position to ask?"
Ouch. Ba-zing. Face. These sorts of one-liners would all suffice to describe the amount of attitude I commensurately received in response to my rude question. At this point I tried to backpedal as quickly as possible, to keep the conversation civil.
But it never did stay civil, for at the second I questioned his rationale, everything soured quicker than a cream pie smashed on a clown's face. He kept insisting that he had experience with men, but hell so did I. He insisted he was almost 21, but hell I'm not too far away myself. None of these reasons would be convincing enough for me. I just can't see how someone so youthful would want to bag themselves a husband, a partner if you will.
Now I'm thinking about how much I've considered this nonsense. It's interesting now that I'm remembering how I've thought about my wedding, what kind of ring I want, and where I want to register. Was I just as silly as this fool?
Even if I am thinking about these silly things at a young age, I'm only doing so in a fanciful, "mayhaps" kind of way. This dude is looking to settle down, combine the little assets he has, and close the doors and windows to more experience with relationships. It's almost like he's decided he knows all there is to know about relationships, and that there were no more men out there to teach him anything about love, partnership, or unity.
Now I know, I'm giving myself a high-five here. But listen when I say it's for a solid reason: I don't know all there is to know about relationships. I haven't even had a relationship that's lasted more than two weeks, if that. I don't usually get past the third date. It's abundantly clear to me that I have more to learn about lots of things. Someone once told me some quote by a Chinese philosopher about acknowledging what we do not know as a powerful thing. So it is with great pride and pleasure that I self-high-five myself.
I'm feeling generous today. I'll give this guy the benefit of the doubt, seeing as I don't know his circumstances. Maybe he has all the preparation he needs to go ahead with finding the One. But if there's just the One, if there's just one great love in our lives, our lengthy lives, doesn't it sound a tad boring? Morose even?
So what's the lesson of the story today kids? Let's always remember to keep the pluralization on that infamous noun phrase "great loves."
Keep loving yourself and others, folks, and have a pleasant day!
Friday, February 13, 2009
Of Social Constructions and Heartache
Tomorrow marks the fourth Valentine's Day since I came out of the closet. (I choose notation only because I refuse to count Valentine's Days before I fully actualized my sexual orientation) Tomorrow will also mark the 20th Valentine's Day I've had in my lifetime. And alas, I have never known what it means to have a Valentine on this day.
So what does it even mean to have a "Valentine"? What do I think of when I hear the word "Valentine"? Is anyone else envisioning a greasy, come-hither-lipped Italian man atop a Vespa in a leather jacket carrying a dozen red roses? I suppose the point here is that it's different for everyone everywhere, and it's different from what our parents and their forefathers perceived it to be.
Anyone with a sociological imagination is now giddy in their seat: "I know! I know! I have something to contribute to better articulate your thoughts! Call on me!" Simmer down, young Durkheim, simmer down. Valentine's Day is merely another social construction of reality: one of those inorganic things humanity construes to commemorate some conflated notion of love.
Now I've done some research (read: did a Wikipedia search) and what I discovered was astonishing. This whole Valentine thing has been around since the middle ages and Chaucer, when English was still "Middle" English. Additionally, over the past hundred years or so, Valentine's Day became increasingly commercialized, hand-written letters giving way to mass-manufactured greeting cards.
In other words, this holiday has taken the most sacred thing our humanity has the capacity for, love, and mass-manufactured it into preconceived notions that somehow describe the inextricable way we express our want to be in the presence of another. A box of chocolates or bank account permitting, some bling, suffice when it comes to communicating our feelings.
Valentine's Day: socially-constructed, mass-manufactured, materialistic, and sickey-sweet. So here's the kicker: I'm pissed off that I'm not a part of it. I can't help but feel like I'd kill to go out for dinner and eat chocolate and get presents and have amazing sex on Valentine's Day. What's a heartachy single gay man to do on a holiday that celebrates couples and young lovebirds?
Well folks, the answer may not be so simple. I could take the easy way out, buy myself a bottle of Fat Bastard Chardonnay, and tell everyone my Valentine happens to be of the genus vinus and comes from the Rhone River in France. But putting my heartache into hyperdrive with intoxication isn't so appealing.
I could put a bandaid on the problem and go out to party and find someone just as desperate and damaged as myself and make out. I could also pretend Valentine's Day doesn't exist, or better yet curse Valentine's Day as if it somehow would feel guilty for everything its done to me. But at the end of the day, I'm always looking for the self-actualized thing to do, and none of these seem to fit into that category.
Well if Valentine's Day is about who you love and how you express it, why shouldn't I spend it with people I love? My friends have been here for me all along and I've just put myself in this romantic deadlock. Why not show some appreciation for the people who will carry me through my bitchy heartache?
So put down the personal ads, single people. Let's get together and bring back some love to Valentine's Day. Call up your single friends, and whip out the cheese and crackers: it will be a long night, but at least it won't be lonely. Love is all around us, so stop looking for it. Stick to the love you don't have to find, the love you don't have to fight for.
So what does it even mean to have a "Valentine"? What do I think of when I hear the word "Valentine"? Is anyone else envisioning a greasy, come-hither-lipped Italian man atop a Vespa in a leather jacket carrying a dozen red roses? I suppose the point here is that it's different for everyone everywhere, and it's different from what our parents and their forefathers perceived it to be.
Anyone with a sociological imagination is now giddy in their seat: "I know! I know! I have something to contribute to better articulate your thoughts! Call on me!" Simmer down, young Durkheim, simmer down. Valentine's Day is merely another social construction of reality: one of those inorganic things humanity construes to commemorate some conflated notion of love.
Now I've done some research (read: did a Wikipedia search) and what I discovered was astonishing. This whole Valentine thing has been around since the middle ages and Chaucer, when English was still "Middle" English. Additionally, over the past hundred years or so, Valentine's Day became increasingly commercialized, hand-written letters giving way to mass-manufactured greeting cards.
In other words, this holiday has taken the most sacred thing our humanity has the capacity for, love, and mass-manufactured it into preconceived notions that somehow describe the inextricable way we express our want to be in the presence of another. A box of chocolates or bank account permitting, some bling, suffice when it comes to communicating our feelings.
Valentine's Day: socially-constructed, mass-manufactured, materialistic, and sickey-sweet. So here's the kicker: I'm pissed off that I'm not a part of it. I can't help but feel like I'd kill to go out for dinner and eat chocolate and get presents and have amazing sex on Valentine's Day. What's a heartachy single gay man to do on a holiday that celebrates couples and young lovebirds?
Well folks, the answer may not be so simple. I could take the easy way out, buy myself a bottle of Fat Bastard Chardonnay, and tell everyone my Valentine happens to be of the genus vinus and comes from the Rhone River in France. But putting my heartache into hyperdrive with intoxication isn't so appealing.
I could put a bandaid on the problem and go out to party and find someone just as desperate and damaged as myself and make out. I could also pretend Valentine's Day doesn't exist, or better yet curse Valentine's Day as if it somehow would feel guilty for everything its done to me. But at the end of the day, I'm always looking for the self-actualized thing to do, and none of these seem to fit into that category.
Well if Valentine's Day is about who you love and how you express it, why shouldn't I spend it with people I love? My friends have been here for me all along and I've just put myself in this romantic deadlock. Why not show some appreciation for the people who will carry me through my bitchy heartache?
So put down the personal ads, single people. Let's get together and bring back some love to Valentine's Day. Call up your single friends, and whip out the cheese and crackers: it will be a long night, but at least it won't be lonely. Love is all around us, so stop looking for it. Stick to the love you don't have to find, the love you don't have to fight for.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
The Triumvirate in El Paso
This last weekend, known to the Claremont College students as “Fall Break”, I decided to switch it up a little bit and journey to El Paso, Texas. Nearly throwing up at the thought of returning “home” to my respective hometown, I thought El Paso would be a wonderful way to bond with Alyssa, an actual native El Pasoan. And with similar sentiments as myself, Leah made three. Thus, the Triumvirate convened in El Paso.
We arrived late Friday evening at the Goldman home, to a dinner meticulously prepared by Susie Goldman. From the minute I arrived, I felt immediately as if I had stepped into a home I’ve had all my life. Everything was literally perfect, from the pillow-top bed I slept on (thanks Shauna) to Juanita, a housekeeper who took my dirty clothes and made them clean again. I felt comfortable enough to feel at home, but pampered enough to feel on vacation.
Every day we met one of Alyssa’s friends, each one more fabulous than the last. Oh and did we go shopping! I won’t go into details here, suffice it to say my purchases involved animal slaughter. We ate out at fabulous restaurants, and I feel like all Mexican food before El Paso was merely preparation for the real deal. Also, who woulda thunk Margarita salt on fries would be so delicious? And then there was that 80s party we went to in Las Cruces, New Mexico. We had to cross a slough to get there. Let me just also note that the party was so 80s that I ended up with black eyeliner smudged on my check by the end of the night.
We didn’t Fall Break so much as we Fall BROKE. It’s a different lifestyle out there in the EP, this much is for sure. It’s slower, less complicated, and friendlier. That’s not to say that El Paso doesn’t have its faults, but I think it’s an amazing place to be. All I’ve known my whole life has been moving around from place to place, house to house, without ever knowing what home really means. I feel like most people in El Paso know what home means, and for that I envy them. At this point, if El Paso and I hang out more, I’m pretty sure we’ll develop a friendship to last a lifetime.
We arrived late Friday evening at the Goldman home, to a dinner meticulously prepared by Susie Goldman. From the minute I arrived, I felt immediately as if I had stepped into a home I’ve had all my life. Everything was literally perfect, from the pillow-top bed I slept on (thanks Shauna) to Juanita, a housekeeper who took my dirty clothes and made them clean again. I felt comfortable enough to feel at home, but pampered enough to feel on vacation.
Every day we met one of Alyssa’s friends, each one more fabulous than the last. Oh and did we go shopping! I won’t go into details here, suffice it to say my purchases involved animal slaughter. We ate out at fabulous restaurants, and I feel like all Mexican food before El Paso was merely preparation for the real deal. Also, who woulda thunk Margarita salt on fries would be so delicious? And then there was that 80s party we went to in Las Cruces, New Mexico. We had to cross a slough to get there. Let me just also note that the party was so 80s that I ended up with black eyeliner smudged on my check by the end of the night.
We didn’t Fall Break so much as we Fall BROKE. It’s a different lifestyle out there in the EP, this much is for sure. It’s slower, less complicated, and friendlier. That’s not to say that El Paso doesn’t have its faults, but I think it’s an amazing place to be. All I’ve known my whole life has been moving around from place to place, house to house, without ever knowing what home really means. I feel like most people in El Paso know what home means, and for that I envy them. At this point, if El Paso and I hang out more, I’m pretty sure we’ll develop a friendship to last a lifetime.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
A New Year
I realize it might not be the most apt time to title a blog "A New Year" when we're all nine months into 2008 already, however it is a new scholastic year with similar implications. Please, bear with me.
I arrived in my off-campus apartment about five days ago. My room [was] cramped, empty, and for all intents and purposes sterile. No one has ever lived in this room, and it's a little uncomfortable and soul-less. I suppose it's high time I give this room some good juju. But, after a little rearranging and the purchase of a shower curtain I'm feeling a little more at-home. It's going to be a great place this year, allowing me both distance and proximity to campus.
Classes haven't started yet. Hopefully they'll be great. Enough said.
Seeing everyone again has been a trip as well. I'm so thrilled to see all of these people again, as if they're extended family I haven't seen in a while. I'm starting to realize just how much I love and appreciate some of them and the ways they make me laugh. Working for Pitzer Activities has been ever so swell as well, and new friends are sure to come of it. I'm rediscovering what an amazing thing it is to work--thinking about little else, losing myself in something besides myself, and keeping busy.
But when I'm not working, furnishing my apartment, or enjoying a meal with old friends, I'm getting caught up in the drama all over again. Those goddamned expectations rear their ugly head, and that paucity-ridden bastard child in my head continues to whine, "Why haven't you found someone? Y'know David you just might not be good enough..." Now I'm not in any way going to be high and mighty about this: my last blog is pretty much shot to shit. I thought I could find happiness in myself, and I did for a time, and now I'm bored.
So am I caught in some dangerous cycle of determining myself by the relationships I have or want to have? Oh let's hope not! I don't think the singular answer of loving myself was enough to stave off my misery. It's a multiple step process, I'm thinking. I have to keep busy, keep loving myself (yeah, again, so cliché), and keep the friends close. I think if I maintain all three of those points I'll get there. But that instant gratification thing is going to be hard to deal with. I mean that stuff's socialized way deep.
Be patient, David, be patient. Birds don't hatch and fly out of the nest on the same day. At least the hatching part is over with. Hopefully I'll find someone to teach me how to fly.
I arrived in my off-campus apartment about five days ago. My room [was] cramped, empty, and for all intents and purposes sterile. No one has ever lived in this room, and it's a little uncomfortable and soul-less. I suppose it's high time I give this room some good juju. But, after a little rearranging and the purchase of a shower curtain I'm feeling a little more at-home. It's going to be a great place this year, allowing me both distance and proximity to campus.
Classes haven't started yet. Hopefully they'll be great. Enough said.
Seeing everyone again has been a trip as well. I'm so thrilled to see all of these people again, as if they're extended family I haven't seen in a while. I'm starting to realize just how much I love and appreciate some of them and the ways they make me laugh. Working for Pitzer Activities has been ever so swell as well, and new friends are sure to come of it. I'm rediscovering what an amazing thing it is to work--thinking about little else, losing myself in something besides myself, and keeping busy.
But when I'm not working, furnishing my apartment, or enjoying a meal with old friends, I'm getting caught up in the drama all over again. Those goddamned expectations rear their ugly head, and that paucity-ridden bastard child in my head continues to whine, "Why haven't you found someone? Y'know David you just might not be good enough..." Now I'm not in any way going to be high and mighty about this: my last blog is pretty much shot to shit. I thought I could find happiness in myself, and I did for a time, and now I'm bored.
So am I caught in some dangerous cycle of determining myself by the relationships I have or want to have? Oh let's hope not! I don't think the singular answer of loving myself was enough to stave off my misery. It's a multiple step process, I'm thinking. I have to keep busy, keep loving myself (yeah, again, so cliché), and keep the friends close. I think if I maintain all three of those points I'll get there. But that instant gratification thing is going to be hard to deal with. I mean that stuff's socialized way deep.
Be patient, David, be patient. Birds don't hatch and fly out of the nest on the same day. At least the hatching part is over with. Hopefully I'll find someone to teach me how to fly.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
The New Leaf, and How I'm Turning It Over
This past week, I've come to a lot of realizations about the state of my being. I felt sluggish, unhealthy, sick, unsatisfied, and often times moderately miserable. Ya basta, people, ya basta. So now David is up to some remodeling in hopes of getting out of this puddle of self-loathing. It simply isn't becoming of someone so young and potentially attractive.
First things first, relationships have been pretty ridiculous this summer. Not going to lie. I've learned a lot through the processes, but I'm a little exhausted and tired of it all. So I decided to enter into a relationship I never even considered: a relationship with myself. Now I'm not at all going to deny the fact that this is a pretty cliched concept. Being so cliched however, I'm surprised I didn't think of it sooner. So starting now, I'm cutting myself off from anything resembling a "prospect" or potential date. I need to do some introspection for a while--figure out how to enjoy, respect, love, and spend time with me.
I'm hoping this won't take long, this whole self-discovery. But I'm almost certain it will [conversely] last a lifetime. It won't ever really cease, but I think for now I need to reach a satisfying quota of selfishness. It's really been nice though. I go to Whole Foods, buy foods to cook for myself, treat myself regularly to White Gummis at Jamba, and meditate for periods of time. I'm working out regularly (praise Great Spirit), eating better, and just trying to squeeze every last bit of enjoyment out of life.
The bottom line is, regardless of what my dating status is, I need to be able to be happy. I'm also trying to be more appreciative of people in my life who have helped, inspired, and supported me through the more trying times. It's astounding to me how much love I've got coming my way. Anyways, I hope this blog hasn't been excessively corny or ridiculous, and I sincerely hope dear reader that you do something for you today. And if you're already feeling pretty good, why not do something for someone else? Maybe someone who you've neglected, someone you miss, or someone who isn't feeling as hot as you feel.
First things first, relationships have been pretty ridiculous this summer. Not going to lie. I've learned a lot through the processes, but I'm a little exhausted and tired of it all. So I decided to enter into a relationship I never even considered: a relationship with myself. Now I'm not at all going to deny the fact that this is a pretty cliched concept. Being so cliched however, I'm surprised I didn't think of it sooner. So starting now, I'm cutting myself off from anything resembling a "prospect" or potential date. I need to do some introspection for a while--figure out how to enjoy, respect, love, and spend time with me.
I'm hoping this won't take long, this whole self-discovery. But I'm almost certain it will [conversely] last a lifetime. It won't ever really cease, but I think for now I need to reach a satisfying quota of selfishness. It's really been nice though. I go to Whole Foods, buy foods to cook for myself, treat myself regularly to White Gummis at Jamba, and meditate for periods of time. I'm working out regularly (praise Great Spirit), eating better, and just trying to squeeze every last bit of enjoyment out of life.
The bottom line is, regardless of what my dating status is, I need to be able to be happy. I'm also trying to be more appreciative of people in my life who have helped, inspired, and supported me through the more trying times. It's astounding to me how much love I've got coming my way. Anyways, I hope this blog hasn't been excessively corny or ridiculous, and I sincerely hope dear reader that you do something for you today. And if you're already feeling pretty good, why not do something for someone else? Maybe someone who you've neglected, someone you miss, or someone who isn't feeling as hot as you feel.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
I really want to make sense of this...
Originally written 6/26/08
So I’m sitting here at the Amsterdam airport. Schiphol Airport, to be more exact. I think it kinda sounds like shithole, but this is one of the most modern airports I've ever been to. So maybe mis-misnomer? It’s been a long journey here, no doubt, but I’m going where I need to go to say the least. We’ll just start from the beginning, though.
This tale of sorts began with my mother telling me I was leaving on a Wednesday for my trip to Venice. Little did I know, I was supposed to leave Tuesday to arrive Wednesday in Philly to meet up with my gal pal Sara, and just fly direct to Venice from there. But, no such luck. I full on missed my Tuesday night flight, blissfully unaware.
So on Wednesday morning (it’s Thursday afternoon here in Amsterdam now, but as far as I’m concerned I’m still stuck on this Wednesday morning), I turned on my phone and was bombarded by voicemail after voicemail, text message after text message from Sara asking if I was okay, and more importantly the question, “where the hell are you David?”
And the good old narcissistic side in me said, “Ha! What a meaningless worry this is! I’m leaving tonight, Sara!” And then I finally checked out a document I should have much earlier in the week called a travel itinerary, from United Airlines. Boy was I wrong. And from there it was just a gay panic with just lots of shouting at myself and quite a bit of sobbing. I thought I was going to miss this trip entirely. How could I miss this trip?
So I called Sara and within seconds I was booked on another flight that would make it to Venice only hours after my original travel plans said I would. Of course, the sum of money required to do so was nothing to shake a stick at, and I have no idea how I’m going to produce this amount of money to cover my ass. Suffice it to say, here I am in Amsterdam, scheduled to take off in another two hours or so.
But why don’t we start with my last plane ride, from San Francisco to Amsterdam. Okay so just to put all of this into perspective, the flight left the Bay Area at around three pm. It arrived at 10:30AM in Amsterdam. I slept about an hour, shallowly, with children kicking me from behind (wonders never cease) and a rather large Scandinavian man next to me who had those “long dancers legs” but sans the dancer part. Eek. And I was pushed into that godawful window seat.
But the flight ended, and so did most of the sorrow associated with it. Can’t say I didn’t enjoy a Heine extra cold at the bar about an hour ago. And I can’t say I’m not enjoying stroopwafels as I type this whole thing out. But something just doesn’t feel right about all of this.
Forgetting a flight isn’t at all my forte. Forgetting anything isn’t really my forte, really. But I suppose there are distractions and misnformations and blindspots people simply can’t avoid, no matter how hard they try. I can’t just sit here and say this is all my mother’s fault, because it’s not. But I can’t say I wasn’t a little misled, or a little misinformed as to my date of departure.
I just hate what a gay panic I was brought into. I’ve been fighting myself as to who’s fault it was for hours now, and I think it’s finally time for me to just get to Venice, see the gal pal and just say fuck it until I return to the real world on July 7th. More job assignments are upcoming, more time still with the house to myself, and more recently, more time to spend with one of my most favorite distractions. It’s one of those vacations you’ll get to enjoy and return from, because maybe you left something (or someone?) at home you miss.
So I’m sitting here at the Amsterdam airport. Schiphol Airport, to be more exact. I think it kinda sounds like shithole, but this is one of the most modern airports I've ever been to. So maybe mis-misnomer? It’s been a long journey here, no doubt, but I’m going where I need to go to say the least. We’ll just start from the beginning, though.
This tale of sorts began with my mother telling me I was leaving on a Wednesday for my trip to Venice. Little did I know, I was supposed to leave Tuesday to arrive Wednesday in Philly to meet up with my gal pal Sara, and just fly direct to Venice from there. But, no such luck. I full on missed my Tuesday night flight, blissfully unaware.
So on Wednesday morning (it’s Thursday afternoon here in Amsterdam now, but as far as I’m concerned I’m still stuck on this Wednesday morning), I turned on my phone and was bombarded by voicemail after voicemail, text message after text message from Sara asking if I was okay, and more importantly the question, “where the hell are you David?”
And the good old narcissistic side in me said, “Ha! What a meaningless worry this is! I’m leaving tonight, Sara!” And then I finally checked out a document I should have much earlier in the week called a travel itinerary, from United Airlines. Boy was I wrong. And from there it was just a gay panic with just lots of shouting at myself and quite a bit of sobbing. I thought I was going to miss this trip entirely. How could I miss this trip?
So I called Sara and within seconds I was booked on another flight that would make it to Venice only hours after my original travel plans said I would. Of course, the sum of money required to do so was nothing to shake a stick at, and I have no idea how I’m going to produce this amount of money to cover my ass. Suffice it to say, here I am in Amsterdam, scheduled to take off in another two hours or so.
But why don’t we start with my last plane ride, from San Francisco to Amsterdam. Okay so just to put all of this into perspective, the flight left the Bay Area at around three pm. It arrived at 10:30AM in Amsterdam. I slept about an hour, shallowly, with children kicking me from behind (wonders never cease) and a rather large Scandinavian man next to me who had those “long dancers legs” but sans the dancer part. Eek. And I was pushed into that godawful window seat.
But the flight ended, and so did most of the sorrow associated with it. Can’t say I didn’t enjoy a Heine extra cold at the bar about an hour ago. And I can’t say I’m not enjoying stroopwafels as I type this whole thing out. But something just doesn’t feel right about all of this.
Forgetting a flight isn’t at all my forte. Forgetting anything isn’t really my forte, really. But I suppose there are distractions and misnformations and blindspots people simply can’t avoid, no matter how hard they try. I can’t just sit here and say this is all my mother’s fault, because it’s not. But I can’t say I wasn’t a little misled, or a little misinformed as to my date of departure.
I just hate what a gay panic I was brought into. I’ve been fighting myself as to who’s fault it was for hours now, and I think it’s finally time for me to just get to Venice, see the gal pal and just say fuck it until I return to the real world on July 7th. More job assignments are upcoming, more time still with the house to myself, and more recently, more time to spend with one of my most favorite distractions. It’s one of those vacations you’ll get to enjoy and return from, because maybe you left something (or someone?) at home you miss.
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