What Have You Learned, Dorothy?

Or, "Fine-Tuning My Preferences."

Now that I'm single again (by the way, he still has not contacted me, and supposedly he's been back in Chicago for a week now), I'd like to present a list of "must-haves" for my future boyfriends. (These are all based upon specifically things that happened with, or were said by, Michael, a.k.a. The New Ex-BF.) In no particular order:

1. Should not have mommy issues. That is to say, he should have a healthy, loving relationship with his mother. And there should be no question as to who his real mother is.

2. He should be out to his whole family. They should have dealt with his sexuality by now. They don't have to be card-carrying PFLAG members, but his gayness should not be an after-school special anymore.

3. Should not work crazy weekend hours. Should know his work schedule. Should not claim to be scheduled from 12-5 on a Saturday, then days later suddenly claim that it's actually 2-9 he's scheduled to work.

4. Should not have large dogs, especially young dogs. I love my Bailey, but at the age of 12, he's considered a senior citizen, and behaves quietly, calmly, sweetly. I will not share a boyfriend with his fucking high-maintenance dogs. And if he has dogs, they should be trained using consistent and effective methods. And they should never, ever bite me, or my Abercrombie shirt.

5. Should communicate clearly, openly, honestly. Should call when he says he's going to.

6. Should never, ever, ever playfully bite any part of my body. I am extremely sensitive to this. Keep your damn teeth off my body parts-- don't kiss me and then surprise me by biting my lip. Not sexy. Not nice. Pisses me off. (See dogs above.)

7. Should want to go out and be in public together, at least some of the time. Should enjoy restaurants and the occasional bar. Should have an interest in current movies and popular culture.

8. Should be able to accept a complement. Should have a healthy sense of self-esteem. If I tell him I think he's cute, he should not call me a "sweet liar."

9. Should not lie about his age. What's the fucking point? Ever hear of zabasearch.com ?

10. Should eat meat. (And I mean that any and every way you want to take it.)

11. Should keep a clean home. Nothing worse than a filthy bathroom.

12. Must not refer to Obama as "the brotha" candidate. Must not use the n-word.

That's enough for now.

Falling Out of Love.

If you read my ‘Nuff Said Thursday post, you got a bombshell. And if you read about the BF’s sudden disappearance to the Sunshine State, you have some of the background of why I’m ending the relationship.

This past Friday, there was a phone message from him asking for money, as his length of time in Florida apparently precluded his getting paid (funny how that works, huh?). He left a message, asking for the favor of depositing money, with his account number, and promised a call later that evening (Friday). I went ahead and did the favor-- it wasn't a lot of money, and we've certainly loaned each other cash before-- no biggie. But that night, no call came.

So I called him Saturday morning, and questioned the fact that he hadn’t called as promised on Friday night. His response? “Yeah, well… whatever.” This is the way he thanks me for lending him money? Not a lot, mind you, but it’s the principle. I was on my way to work when I called, so I couldn't really talk, and that "whatever" comment really pissed me off, but he promised to call Saturday night and catch me up on everything (bearing in mind, he’s still in Florida and it’s been two weeks now, and he’s supposed to be coming home Sunday night). No call came on Saturday.

Sunday I was busy all day with errands and projects, but I did receive two voice mails from him. The first stated that he was, in fact, coming home that night as scheduled, despite the fact that yet another one of his aunts died. The second voice mail said he would be arriving the evening, and his mother-- his mother!!!-- was coming with him, and that he’d call later that evening. Needless to say, no call came.

In fact, no call came until Monday late—about 12:30 a.m. (actually Tuesday). The message was simple, “I just got up… call me.”

Was he home? Did his mother come with him? Where was she staying? How long would she be here? Why in anyone’s right mind would they come up from Florida to Chicago in the midst of the worst winter we’ve had in years? Why was it up to me to call him? And why was I being put at the bottom of his priority list? These questions still remain unanswered, as he has not left any messages. He calls, but doesn’t leave messages. I called his cell phone Thursday morning, and it rang and rang, finally going to voice mail. I chose not to leave a message.

He probably still has no idea it’s over. Or, he suspects it’s over and is trying to avoid having to hear it.

In my next post: “What have you learned, Dorothy?” and “Fine-tuning my preferences.”

Time to Catch Up.

Okay, I've been away faaaaaar too long. Besides frustrating computer issues at home (although I do have internet access now, my computer is running extremely slow), I've been overwhelmed with all kinds of extraneous diversions. Rather than do one endless post about them, I'll post individually on what's been going on in various facets of my life.

We'll start with the boyfriend...

We've reached the 3-month mark, and according to Stephen (whose expertise I respect and trust), the 3-month, 6-month, and 9-month points in that first year of a relationship tend to be characterized by events or situations which reveal a great deal to us about each other. Truer words were never spoken.

On January 31, Boyfriend disappeared. I spent a frantic 24 hours trying to call him, with no response. This is not like him in any way. Finally, the evening of February 1 my phone rang. He was calling from Florida! He had told me previously that his aunt was in a coma and was not expected to survive. Turns out his brother (who had a huge work project and could not get away until Tuesday) put Boyfriend on a Greyhound bus for Orlando. Why a bus? Because getting a flight out was near impossible, with the impending storm (which closed many schools and even the public library where I work). BF could not call me from the bus because he had inadvertently packed his phone in his suitcase and couldn't get to it. Even when the bus made a stop in Atlanta for a cleaning, the driver flatly refused to allow BF to get his luggage, as security restrictions forbid any luggage removal until the final destination is reached. Why couldn't BF just use a payphone? He doesn't know my number-- it's programmed into his phone. Damn modern conveniences!

So, he would be in Florida indefinitely (sort of waiting for the comatose aunt to die), and would call me daily. His entire family was there (his mother-- with whom he has a dreadful relationship-- and many aunts, uncles and cousins)... apparently this is a Latino thing. The family gathers, waits, worries, and eventually mourns together. There was a lot of healing for BF and his family, even Mom, who disowned him when he came out and who treats him like a black sheep. There were lots of long-held family secrets that were finally revealed, lots of hurt put to rest, and in the end, it was a really positive experience in many ways. The aunt died Saturday the 9th, the visitation and funeral were this week, and BF is due to return tomorrow... barring flight cancellations due to the next winter storm they are predicting.

So our first Valentine's Day was spent far apart, although he did call me first thing in the morning to whisper sweet nothings in my ear. And he had originally planned to return Wednesday night immediately after the funeral, but again the Latino way dictates that the family remain together for an appropriate period of post-funerial mourning. His leaving abruptly after the funeral would have offended his family and undone a lot of the positive things that had happened. I understand this.

My big issue from day one was why he didn't call me before getting on the bus? Well, he literally had 45 minutes to pack, ask a neighbor to take care of the dogs, gather his essential belongings, get picked up by his brother and taken to the Greyhound station. I told my therapist that if it were me, I would have called him immediately and left a message. My therapist reminded me that I was looking at this through the template of how it made me feel and how I would handle it if it were me, rather than through the template of how BF acts and reacts and deals with crisis. Good point. And it provides an opportunity for me to have a healthy dialog in the future about including one another in all matters communicative.

Next up... my health. (Oy.)

Okay, So Here's the Latest.

My boyfriend and I continue to be madly in love. It's been nearly two months since our first meeting, and we talk for at least an hour every night before bed. We typically see each other on weekends, although he came over last night (Thursday) for a little visit.

We got to talking about my ex, whom he has met. He asked, "May I pry? Why did you break up with him again?" I reminded him of the reason-- that the ex had met someone else (online, long-distance, whom he had never met face-to-face) and fallen in love. I took that as my cue to end what was already a sad relationship. Ex and I had not been intimate for quite sometime, and we had fallen out of love.

This panicked the Boyfriend, who immediately became concerned that our "no sex for six months" rule would take its toll on me and cause the end of the relationship. I calmed his fears as best I could, reminding him that I wanted to honor the decision we had made. Well, we ended up getting extremely intimate, and exploring some new activities while not actually experiencing the "big event." I told him that I didn't want him to compromise his ideals, that I was willing to wait until May. I assured him that I wasn't going anywhere, and that the intimacy and affection we share is already so far beyond what I have ever enjoyed with anyone else (especially the ex) that I have no qualms about waiting for sex (or "making love," as he insists it will be called).

It was really heartfelt and open, and I am so loving that we are letting it unfold. I have a feeling it won't be six months before we actually consummate the relationship, and that it will happen when it feels right for both of us. Meantime, it's so great to discover each other's bodies, features, skin, lips, hair a little at a time. It's like unwrapping a present when you already know what's inside. Like, "I know it's a sweater, but what color? What is it made of? I hate to tear this beautiful paper, so I'm going to take my time. I can wear the sweater and enjoy it as much as I want after I see it, but I only get to open it for the first time once. I want it to last."

Take it slow, breathe, relax, let it happen...

My High-Maintenance Sitcom Episode True Story.

My dear friend Debbie suggested I post this story, and it's worth reading for a good laugh.

I own a t-shirt with the design shown here. I bought it last year when I was playing the Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz. The make-up crew had quite a time getting my face all silvered in time for my entrance, and my costume was very cumbersome and limited my movement, so they kept saying I was high-maintenance. Hence the shirt.

So the other day Michael said I was high-maintenance. Now, I've been really good (for me), and I've been extremely proud of how easy-going I've been. I took offense to the term, and told him so. "That's a really negative thing to say. I hate that expression." He apologized and said, "Can I call you a nut case instead? I mean, after last week..."

"Last week" referred to my sudden attack of panic. So here's the story that earned me the title "high-maintenance" and/or "nut case....."

I had some pictures from my trip to NYC that I wanted to email Michael. He asked me not to use the email address I have, but to use his new one. "It's michaelreynaldo@yahoo.com." (NOTE: names have been changed to protect his privacy.) I thought it was strange, since he had told me his last name was Censario... that was in fact his old email address. I said, "What, is Reynaldo your other name?" He laughed and said yes, it was. I said, "No, seriously, where did you get the name Reynaldo?" "They gave it to me," was his reply. Now, I've had a Yahoo email account, and I know they don't just give you a last name. They might suggest a number if, for example, the name "michaelr@yahoo.com" was already taken. I didn't pursue the subject any further that evening.

But the next day, it was gnawing at me. I was at work, and being the good librarian that I am, I went online and went to www.zabasearch.com, which is a great place to look up info on people. I did a search of Michael Censario in Illinois... nothing. I did a search of Michael Reynaldo in Illinois, and sure enough, there was his address! Yahoo did not give him that name-- it was his real name! So the other name he gave me, Censario, was an alias. I literally gasped and put my hand over my mouth. Were this a tv show, the commercial break would come right now.

After the commercial, back to me at work with my dear co-worker Penny. I told her what had happened. "Why would he give you his real name if he didn't want you to know he had an alias? It just doesn't add up." My mind kept going, and then I gasped again. "Maybe he's not really a counselor! Maybe he... you know, he always has Trader Joe's bags and Whole Food bags. Maybe he's a bag boy at Trader Joe's!" Penny's response was simple: "Doug, the crazy train is pulling out of the station and you're on it." She suggested I simply call Michael that evening and ask him to explain.

Which I did. I called him and said, "I'm going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer honestly. What is your name?"

"Michael..."

"Michael what?"

"Michael Reynaldo."

"Then where did the Censario come from?"

"We had this discussion, honey, at your friend Jackie's house that night. My full name is Michael Joseph Reynaldo Censario. Censario is my grandmother's maiden name. It's a Latino custom. Don't you remember me explaining this?"

Pause. "No, but maybe I was in the kitchen when you were explaining it." Pause. "But then why did you say Yahoo gave you that name?"

"What?"

"I asked where you got the name Reynaldo, and you said they gave it to you."

"Umm, yeah, they gave it to me. 'They' meaning my family. Did you think I had like an alias or something?"

"Well... yes, I kinda did. It was just confusing, that's all."

"Look, if you want my social security number so you can do a whole background check on me..."

So there it was. I didn't dare tell him I had looked him up online. I didn't dare tell him I thought he was a bagboy at Trader Joe's. I just nodded, smiled, and listened as he told me how charmed he was by my paranoia. And the next time I saw him, I wore the "high-maintenance" t-shirt.

So, yes, I am a little high-maintenance. Okay, a lot. But I'm so worth it. He'll see.

And for Christmas, one thing I'm giving him is a gift card to Trader Joe's.

That's the kind of guy I am.

Coming Out Again.

My mom is amazing. I really treasure her. She's smart, funny as hell, and very loving. She's also a born-again Christian. I had a born-again experience in high school, around the same time I was coming to terms with my gayness... it was pretty sad to realize I was gay and going to hell for it at the same time. Over the years, I have come to loathe most organized religion, simply because any organized religion is based upon the belief system of a group of men (or one single man), thus rendering it fallible. Why else would there be so many religions around the world, right? And who's to say who is true and right and who is false and evil? I have come to an understanding that I did not choose to be gay, and that if God exists, he wouldn't banish me to hell for something that is as much a part of me as the color of my skin.

Since I broke up with my husband, my mom has said, "I hope now that you're alone this doesn't mean you're going to start dating people." After all, the word "bachelor" is so much easier for her to say than "gay" when pointing to a photo of her kids. I respect her choices, and she loves me despite my sexual orientation, although she still worries about my soul.

However, I didn't want to lie when she asked me how I plan to spend Christmas Eve and/or morning. So, I decided, at my sister's suggestion, that I should tell my mom about Michael. A good idea, I think. I approached it by saying, "I have something to tell you that I consider good news, and I hope you will, too." She figured it out before I even continued. "I've met someone very special, and we're seeing each other a lot, and we're having a wonderful time getting to know each other."

She sounded as supportive as she could, although over the phone I could hear her neck hair standing up. She asked lots of questions: "How old is he?" "Where does he live?" "What does he do?" The best was when she asked how we met and I told her, "We met through a new site called chemistry.com." "What, did you meet in a test tube?" That's funny. We both laughed at that one. I didn't go into the fact that he's the one for life, or that it was love at first sight, or any of the heavy-duty stuff. The important thing is that she knows Michael exists, and that he and I are taking it very slowly. She reminded me to be careful, as she doesn't want to see me get hurt. That was sweet.

In all, a good choice to tell her. Now, if and when she asks how it is going, I can respond with, "It's going great. We're taking it slowly and really enjoying getting to know each other." It's just what she wants to hear, and it's the truth. What more could a mother ask?

Breathe... relax... take it slow... let it happen...

Still So in Love.

Since my return from New York, I saw Michael only twice: last Sunday and then again last night. Sunday we cuddled on the couch and watched "Desperate Housewives," "Brothers & Sisters," and "America's Most Smartest Model." (I know-- "most smartest" is a double-superlative and a big grammatical no-no. The sad thing is that many, many people probably don't get the joke.)

Last night I slept over at Michael's (no sex until the 6 month mark, remember that). We watched a couple Christmas movies and went to bed, joined by his two large dogs, a black lab/Rottweiler mix and a pit bull (the picures are not his actual dogs, but look a lot like them). There was also an electric blanket on. At 4:00 a.m. I had to remove myself from the bed and go to the couch. The heat of the blanket, the dogs, and Michael was just too much! And I'm not a wearer of pj's, so you know it had to be really hot! At 6:00 a.m. Michael discovered that I was missing and came and got me-- he felt so badly for me. he turned off the blanket and distracted the dogs long enough for us to run into bed and into a nice embrace. Eventually they invaded again, of course, but we wouldn't let them in between us. I was so relieved when he suggested that, in the future, he'll keep the dogs gated in the kitchen. This way I didn't have to sound anti-dog by requesting that they not sleep with us.

Meanwhile, Michael has asked for my ring size. I was obviously thrown by the question, and he said I shouldn't be so curious about it-- he just wanted to know. Now, is it planning to give me jewelry for our first Christmas? I'd be delighted, and we both know that we are together for the long-term... but it just seemed so soon. (And, no, he wasn't referring to a cock-ring-- I asked just to clarify.)

Breathe, relax, take it slow, let it happen...

The "B" Word.

So, after leaving my sister's, where I enjoyed a lovely Thanksgiving dinner and games and lots of laughter and reminiscing, I headed to Michaels' place. He had called and reminded me that he had to work Friday, which meant he had to get up early. We had discussed my spending the night, but I got the distinct impression he really didn't want me to. So I told him I would come, and we would play it by ear.

In the car, I started thinking that I would definitely not spend the night. Then I worried that maybe he didn't want me there at all. But I really wanted to be with him, even if only for a couple hours. Once I got there, it was great; he did want me there, and even said he wanted me to stay. But I put practicality first, deciding he needed to sleep and I would rather not be driving back home during morning rush-hour. So we just enjoyed a few hours of bliss together. We re-connected, talked openly and honestly about our feelings, and then he said, "Can I ask you something?" I gulped. "Can we say we're officially dating?" I was delighted and relieved. "Of course! Yes, of course we can!"

"Because I really want to call you my boyfriend." Boyfriend. Oh, it had such a beautiful ring to it. We were on the same page. Then he whispered, "I am looking forward to falling in love with you." This is good. This puts it in perspective. I'm infatuated with him; I'm not in love. I'm deeply in "like." The idea of looking forward to falling in love made it even more wonderful, as I thought I already was falling in love. But that really hasn't happened yet, so I can continue to enjoy it all, taking it in, letting it happen.

So tonight's the big "Disco Ball" at Hydrate for Season of Concern. And I'll be there-- with Stephen, and AnnieGrace, and Michael. And tomorrow night, some friends are having Michael and me over for drinks, in order to meet Michael. My boyfriend.