writer’s block

not much to say, really, except my little blogging hiatus is over. as you can see, i’ve restyled and renamed my little blog.

i wouldn’t say that i’m stubborn, but anyone who knows me knows that i’m pretty much always right, and am pretty much never to blame for anything bad that happens in my life. that’s not being stubborn, is it?

with tomorrow being my birthday*, i’m feeling particularly sensitive and retrospective introspective…

—

1) i’m single because l.a. is dysfunctional

it has nothing to do with me—this city is filled with the most bizarre boys i’ve ever encountered. at first glance, i observe outrageousness and confidence. singer-songwriters belting out tunes at karaoke at hamburger mary’s. actor-waiters being outrageous as they server up fusion at p.f. chang’s.

underneath it all, is a layer of fears—fears of whether or not l.a. will chew them up and spit them out, fears of whether or not they’re beautiful enough (big problem in l.a., there’s always someone with whiter teeth, more perfect skin, a better body), or, fears of whether or not they’ll be single for the rest of their lives.

i have yet to observe a working gay relationship in l.a. that wasn’t totally dysfunctional or lopsided. couple after couple i meet, i just can’t begin to fathom why they’re together. last night was no exception.

2) i’m stuck in l.a. because i was betrayed by a friend

i promised i wouldn’t harp on it, but it’s been a year since i found out i’d be getting booted out of the u.k. i could warp the series of events that transpired a variety of ways, but the way that is easiest for me to deal with is that a good friend—whom i later learned was completely psychotic and twisted—betrayed me.

one year later, as i was driving home from dinner, i spotted him, on the corner. dysfunctionally clinging to his non-existent youth. not the first time i’ve spotted him since moving to l.a., but the first time i had the means to just accidentally swerve 2 feet and take him out in a gory 6-points-off-my-license slip of the steering wheel.

see, even a horrible accident like that wouldn’t be my fault.

3) …

—

i had a big list in my mind of all these things that aren’t my fault, a big list outlining the shocking ways in which dysfunction keeps following me. of course, being the enlightened, self-aware, introspective individual that i am, i have to contemplate that it’s no coincidence that dysfunction follows me.

nope, i take that back. i’ve just had some bad luck [mixed in with some incredibly good luck as well] over the years, and i just need to keep on keeping on…

—

* there’s a party going on in l.a. if you’re interested. for everyone else, check back here at midnight cali time for a special present from me to you. if you wanna get me something for my birthday, check out this post.

let the sordid tales begin

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for years, i fended off my mom’s constant harassment and concern as to why i was single. for a long time, it was i’m concentrating on my studies or i don’t like any of the girls at caltech or, even better, i’m just a late-bloomer.

by the time i was 20, though, my mom’s concern progressed into despair. when i was home over christmas break in 1997, she leveled with me. eric, i’m worried that you don’t know how to love.

huh?

i’m worried that, because of the broken marriages and everything that maybe i’ve screwed you up and you’re gonna be single for the rest of your life.

eek. wow. not very easy to brush this off. my mom’s concern was genuine, and wholeheartedly motherly. my mom and dad divorced when i was 5. the alcoholic stepfather finally left us alone when i was 13. the live-in long-term boyfriend that followed, he up and left one day when i was 20. from my mom’s point-of-view, i’d been sorely single since my one and only [well, one substantial] girlfriend, jennifer, when i was 15—and it was all my mother’s fault.

so, i sat there, in my mom’s house during christmas, as she looked down upon me, sadly, probably with a bit of pity, wondering why her [finally growing into his looks, surely some girls must be chasing after him] son was so sorely single, why he hadn’t mentioned any girlfriends in over 5 years.

i sat there, making excuses, even though by that point i’d enjoyed 3 substantial relationships. the first one, my high-school crush and first love who i still pine about often, wondering what could have been, had we not been separated by age and distance.

the second one, the hot older norwegian jock who still claims to be straight even though i spent six months worshiping the ground he walked on, and him worshiping… well… let’s not go there.

the third one, the geeky bi-sexual soccer jock who cheated on me with two girls [at once] and thought nothing wrong about it.

each of these relationships were substantial enough for me to call them relationships, and substantial enough for them to contain some of the ingredients of love. if anything, for a 20yo gay boy, i was quite lucky to have had such luck, to have come to terms with my sexuality and to have had my heart broken 3 times. but, my mom knew none of this.

she repeated, again, eric, i’m worried you don’t know how to love and i dismissed it, trying to assure her that everything was okay. but, without actually telling her about my love life, about my romances, about the huge portion of my life i’d been keeping secret, there was no way to stop her worrying about me, to stop her from hurting more than i could imagine.

i came out to her a few days after i returned to caltech, wimping out by coming out to her over the phone. after a few days of shock, crying, emotions, religion, confusion, anger, questions and eventually love, i began to fill her in on the sordid details. at first, she thought i was trying to shock her by telling her so many details about boys and dating and romance and trysts and breakups and describing my hunky boyfriends in such graphic detail.

but, you see, i wanted to assure her that i knew how to love. and, although it took her time, she stop being so worried about her eldest being single and miserable and lonely. of course, she still wanted grandkids.

—

here i am, some 8 years later, though, and i’m wondering myself if i still know how to love. ok, ok, i’m being a bit dramatic and alarmist. but, when i look back at that eric—the hopeless romantic who threw himself and his heart into relationships on a whim—i laugh. i laugh, perhaps too bitterly, at his naïveté. i laugh, because i’m envious of the excitement and the silliness and the obsessiveness of it all.

god, if i only had a blog back then! no diaryland or myspace profile would be able to contain my gushing. the hopefulness, the making plans for the rest of our lives, the excitement, the hormones. writing poems about his smile, surprising him with gifts, forsaking friends, sleep, class, work, everything just to be able to sneak off with him till the sun comes up.

i’m not worried, cuz i’m very much in control of my destiny. and, when i’m ready to lose control, to remember how to love, i know it will happen. the ice will melt, the giddiness will return, and i’ll feel like a teenager all over again.

green like a christmas tree

i’m sitting here in my west hollywood apartment, with music blaring, and all the windows open, bleaching the hell out of my frazzled sidehawk hair, in pure denial that christmas is actually here.

ok, stop staring at the picture. it’s one-part aunt jamima, one-part unshaven brokeback mountain, one-part member of kraftwerk [the glasses], one-part council chav [the chain]. i’m here to talk about christmashannukwanza with you.

what’s christmas like in l.a.?

the laugh factory [famous comedy club] is advertising free christmas dinner and toys for comedians, actors and the hollywood community alone this holiday—being alone is no joke.

on my sofa is a friend recovering from plastic surgery, popping pain medication while watching some reality teevee and chatting deliriously on her cell phone.

standing in the queue at the post office today to send off the last batch of my holiday mix cds, i couldn’t help but laugh at the 3 faux-celebrities in front of me, each with incredibly large dior sunglasses, 8 layers of baggy clothes, perfectly-manscaped facial hair, and/or dogs.

overheard conversations from same faux-celebrities about how cold it was at their beachhouse in miami [girl! 47 degrees! hellllll no!], about the amazing party at the roosevelt later this evening, or about how they were hoping to get a new hummer for christmas.

after that, i strolled down santa monica boulevard, sweating in the sun wearing only a t-shirt, and brought my buddy .greg an iced caramel macchiato. we sat in the living room of his new apartment, gossiping about new years plans.

and now, final preparations for christmas festivities, which will probably be shared by two jews, one atheist, one laggard christian and lil’ ole, generically-spiritual me.

with fucking brilliant bleached hair, thankyouverymuch. hoping to get myself a hummer this evening, ifyouknowwhatimean.