A New End

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54) and as young as my sister (20) in a month.
Mission 2. Live a completely gay lifestyle (without the gay sex) for a month.
Mission Three: Live without an apartment for a month.
Mission Four: Reconnect.
Mission Five: Re-take the SATs.
Mission Five: Become a PUA (Pick Up Artist) and wing Cali to 5 F-closes.

Life is a strange fucking beast. Seriously. I didn’t know what I was getting into with this blog, writing about people and events within a singular discretion. But a few weeks ago, I had a strange realization--maybe my life wasn't meant for the world to witness. It got me thinking. And that is always a bad thing.

Well, to clarify a bit more, it was not so much my life I was concerned with. It was the lives of the people around me. The Daniels, the Jims, the Heathers and Tracys. The Alexes. The moms and daughters, the Shelfies. The intersecting, sometimes scattered lives of family, friends, people I have slept with, etc. They are the ones that make my blog world all the better. But it seems I haven’t really been returning the favor.

To make a long story short, which can be hard for me at times, I noticed a bunch of people coming here from a certain fan site. I followed the link and found a public forum discussing the assumed identity of Jim. Not sure how they found me, but they had gone through every entry, matching up details, dates, times. It was a bit overwhelming. One of the comments was that, “He doesn’t sound like I thought he would sound.” Although I can’t really say who Jim is, as a public figure, I must be accountable for his perception, even when he is simply being human. Or a friend.

Anyway, I'm not bitter. But I did end up in the middle of something that was not supposed to happen. I’m a bit wiser about tracking and search engines after this, and I’m not going to even mention who they thought Jim was because I don’t want searches coming here. But suffice it to say that I will no longer be writing about Jim, even though he doesn't seem to give a shit either way.

This weekend Rob Lowe and his assorted cast of characters helped celebrate the wedding of a good friend. This was the bachelor party I attended in Vegas a month or so ago (remember Circus Circus?). It was a beautiful Saturday night--one of the 15 days in Beverly Hills where you can see to the ocean. It was a great time filled with Mojitos, blood orange martinis and a slew of finely crafted fake titties. In other words, it was perfect. And yes, I did play some stinky stick after a prolonged period of medically-induced abstinence. The ribs were go. So was the Underdog 7.

I’ll be keeping my blog, but will be a bit more scattered in my postings. I’m still processing this twilight zone moment. Bear with me.

And on a final note, perception is not reality. We all have roles, and they change.

Now, my role is changing too.

Take it real.