the forest through the trees

while my schizophrenic heart hardly allows me peace to live comfortably while seeking personal enlightenment as a single man or enjoying a "for better or for worse" situation with another human, it does know one thing.

i think it knows anyway. btw, i should pause here to provide a bit of proof of the aforementioned enlightenment: normally i refer to my heart and follow up with an, "or where my heart would be if i had one" or a "or the lump of coal i got instead of a heart" type of rejoinder. self-effacing or pre-emptive? you know i can't commit to either.

so, here's what my heart knows: i am not a sex addict or sexual compulsive.

which is something.

this thought started kicking around a few months ago when i went to work at my new job. turns out an old friend of mine works there too, albeit in a completely different part of the world. when he and i used to live in the same city and hang around together he was going through his sexual compulsives program. it was interesting to watch that journey and be there as a friend for him as he experienced it..

but a little part of me always wondered if my frequent hook ups or the not insignificant amount of time i dedicated to getting laid could indicate i was in denial of a similar problem. i always joked and said it was "vigilance, like looking for a clean restroom on a road trip" because you never know where your next opportunity will come or "boredom", kind of ripping off gilbert gottfried on that last one.

now i have answered that question. at the ripe old age of-let's say-37.

no. i am not. (in case you missed that earlier)

here's how i decided. and, no...it wasn't the fact that i was in a relationship for 6 years. simply going without sex for that long does not indicate you are free of sexual compulsion.

the summer heatwave of '09 hit seattle as i began to acknowledge these thoughts burbling to the surface of my subconscious. while i more frequently found myself tending to my small forest of foliage in my condo-watering, removing dried leaves or aged blossoms-i realized that i had stopped chiding myself, or amusing myself as it were, with the thought that i don't own plants but rather slowly kill them. then a few days ago i remembered the relationship guide for a recovering sex addict including keeping a plant alive for a year, moving into a pet and then maybe a relationship with another.

that's what it was. i can keep a plant alive. many of them. although some are less needing of caretaking than others and there are some that did not do as well under my green-esque thumb (just getting ahead of the silver fox's claim to reviving my schefflera when he inherited it as i moved from portland to seattle) i can care enough for the needs of another thing-and, ostensibly, that would include another human.

so what the hell am i doing single? what of those claims that i am too picky, always disqualifying people for habits i deem to be negative or other shortcomings? through some miracle, i am not going to bore you with my laundry list of those attributes i find to be disqualifiers.

the reason i am not dating is simple.

i'm not going to date simply to prove i can. in my opinion, that's why there are so many break ups and jaded and bitter people out there. people are dating-hopefully-just because they can. more realistically, they are probably dating to cover up the fact that they need to have their sexual appetite fed. which is to say they are dating for validation. again, that's why there are so many break ups. once that validation ends, the need is to move on to the next source of validation to provide what one isn't providing for oneself. that cycle continues until these folks find the one person that can provide that validation for them (themselves), another soul that is as co-dependent as they are or as afraid of what being alone suggests about them to the world (love junkies), or become hollowed-out shells of people (tragic and bitter old queens).

let's just say that i am not the guy to settle for very long for one of those latter examples. i'm looking for the guy who knows who he can always rely on and wants a boyfriend or partner to enhance his happiness.

until then, i have plants to tend to.

friends like these

these are the folks you can always rely on.

neighbors you love that you can count on running into when you run into the hall in your underwear to prop open the fire door so you can create a little breeze on your floor on an impossibly hot day.

different neighbors you almost cream storming out of the elevator in the lobby as they try to board. you're in a hurry going on a murder-mart run for a frosty monster lo-carb on that same hot day. no biggie, but then you realize you haven't brushed your teeth since rolling out of bed and throwing on shorts, a tank and flip flops for the run across the street. then compounding your discomfort by realizing you may have had an entire bag of barbeque chips for breakfast in bed, too. luckily, they were coming back from the gym, all sweaty and pitty, so if there were smells it was a melange.

maybe my luck is changing with that realization. changing into galby luck!

galby luck is something i wouldn't wish on anyone, cuz it really kind of sucks. but in life, it is sometimes the small victories that get you through the day. although there are no guarantees that galby luck always works in my favor.

that said, i approach the cross walk with the signal already blinking it's red hand at me, suggesting i hold up for cars, but decide to keep strolling as i text a friend. some poor delivery guy in a blue striped shirt pushing a hand truck decides to push my luck and make a jog for it, too. we could both die or be confronted with obnoxious expressions of the drivers' displeasure since we are bound to slow them down on their way to or from where ever they are to-ing or from-ing. i am not concerned with either scenario that deeply. remember, i'm running on galby luck.

safely and noiselessly negotiating the cross walk, i arrive at the murder-mart to discover a dearth of monster lo-carb. i have to settle for the full sugar option.

so i buy two.

and a lottery ticket.

and a king sized reese's peanut butter cup.

if you're gonna go, go big.

here's the most priceless part:

on the way back home i hit the crosswalk on the red blinky part again. i'm sashaying across the street with two monsters in my hand and a reese's king size sticking out of the leg cargo pocket of my shorts.

trash. purely.

but better looking than most.

when an asian helmed a4 takes the corner from madison onto boren trying for two wheeled speed as much as an asian driver has the balls or skills to try.

i notice the passenger leaning across the driver to lean out the window toward me and yell, "HOOKER!" and realize it's a friend i used to work with.

i start laughing and waggle a monster in front of my crotch like a monsterously sized penis as the car careens down boren. something to give my friend a reminder of the stereotype he just leaned across to screech at me.

i just shake my head and chuckle at my friends.

i do love those hot messes.

then i realize that people on all four corners and sidewalks are looking at me questioningly.

i glance back around the intersection with my best, "why charge for what i can give away for free?" look.

my only recourse after this most amusing comeuppance? a "well-played, sir" on my friend's facebook page. it came out as a simple, "oh, no...you di'nt!" but the meaning was clear.

the response? "I know I laugh for ten min str8 after that. Hahaha" at least my english is slightly better than that rice-poisoned queen. lol.