Halloween is one of my favorite holidays, but this year, it is different. Almost all of the usual parties and plans have been called off because of the coronavirus pandemic. Halloween is mostly just a no-go this year. The pandemic is putting a damper on a holiday known for trick-or-treating children and festivities for adults. Vermont is allowing some socially distanced events for kids, but what we generally enjoy as adults have all been canceled. This year, there are no haunted houses, although there are some haunted trails with distancing restrictions and even haunted carwashes. For many in the LGBTQ+ community, the pandemic means missing out on their most beloved holiday, a celebration that for generations offered a chance to dress however we please and to be whomever we want. Usually in Vermont, there are a half dozen or so parties, costume contests, and drag shows at bars and restaurants across the state, though most are in Burlington.

For generations, Halloween has been closely intertwined with LGBTQ+ culture. Halloween might seem like a silly, over-commercialized day that exists for the sole purpose of encouraging us to buy things (sound familiar?). But for LGBTQ+ people, it can be a lifeline – a rare moment where we can express ourselves freely and subvert norms that restrict us for the rest of the year. Long before Pride parades were embraced by mainstream society, Halloween was the time of year when those in the LGBTQ community could freely express themselves with less fear of harassment. In the 1960s, in places such as New York and San Francisco, the gay community threw massive parties and street parades. At a time when many states still had laws prohibiting cross-dressing, it was the only day you could wear drag and not be arrested. Before gay people became more accepted, people in gay communities needed to be invisible to be safe, but you needed to be visible to other gay people at the same time. A public Halloween party in New York, San Francisco, or New Orleans would be the perfect place for gay people to dress up and meet other people. 

Probably the first time I saw large numbers of gay people was when I went to New Orleans one Halloween with my parents to see a Saints football game. This was long before I came out, but gay people were everywhere and in fabulous costumes. With its history of voodoo, stories of ghosts and vampires, and beautiful above-ground cemeteries, New Orleans becomes one giant city-wide Halloween party. I remember sitting in a restaurant one night on that trip, and a woman (possibly a man) rode by on a horse with nothing on but a long blonde wig. Later, when we went to Pat O’Brien’s Piano Bar, there were many gay couples having fun like the rest of us, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It was an eye-opening experience for me.

I think Halloween often is a favorite holiday for many gay people, not because it allows us to put on fabulous costumes, but because it allows us to be more ourselves. In the LGBTQ+ community, Halloween gives us a chance to come out of respective shells and try out something beyond our current comfort zones. For many LGBTQ+ people like me, we grew up having to wear a mask, and to many of us, every day was Halloween until we opened our closet doors. We are highly trained at hiding our true selves, so the celebration of costume and disguise is a natural combination. For today’s generation, “queer” is hardly the horrifying condemnation and accusation that it once was. However, queer has been reclaimed by the LGBTQ+ community, and this explanation may no longer carry much weight. Still, many in our community welcome the chance to express ourselves in ways that society usually deems lewd, weird, or inappropriate. Halloween is one holiday that praises all the frights and fetishes that we are told to cover up. 

The main reason Halloween is a national LGBTQ+ holiday is the fact that being gay or trans is an extension of expressing who you want to be, in spite of who fears it. Gay people are often wary of visually expressing their sexuality or dressing too flamboyantly on a day-to-day basis. Regardless of how liberal the community we live in may be, the global reality is that being any part of the LGBTQ+ community is still considered a perversion, a subversion, and even an abomination. Some of us may rarely have to address this reality, living in progressive hubs where LGBTQ+ may not be the norm, but it isn’t shocking or looked down upon. Others know all too well that a disturbingly large number of people in the U.S. still think our “lifestyle” is to blame for all that’s wrong with the world. Living in Alabama and Mississippi most of my life, I know full well what that feels like. You constantly have to put on that mask to be accepted by others and even to get a job or participate fully in the community. People may gossip about your perceived sexuality, but as long as you don’t confirm it for them, they will often overlook and ignore it. However, those same people who may ignore us will still exclude us from most things.

Being LGBTQ+ isn’t a fetish. But for many, especially those who are still closeted, it is a fantasy. For those who are out, facing the fear of exploring our fantasies, which in turn become reality, can almost be second nature. When Halloween comes around, many of us on the LGBTQ+ spectrum aren’t afraid to revel in our proclivities, whether they are ghoulish, garish, or slutty as hell, because, in the eyes of the judgmental peanut gallery, we already represent those things every day. But Halloween is the one time of year when everyone is allowed to be whoever they want to be. Even boring straight people put on outlandish costumes and “go queer” for a night to take a walk on the wild side. Those who feel they have to be in a closet the rest of the time can bust out in all their glory on Halloween. And anyone questioning their current identity has the chance to try another out in public without fear of reprisal. When dawn breaks, some of those folks will have to turn back into pumpkins while we fairy godmothers get to keep being fabulous.

Many LGBTQ+ people spend their youth suppressing their sexuality and trying to fit in with the crowd. While our friends were experimenting with embodying their sexualities openly, we were often left behind, trying to maintain a façade of normality. While Christmas and Thanksgiving can be challenging and awkward for LGBTQ+ people, particularly those who don’t feel like they can be their authentic selves around their families, Halloween is more easily spent with a self-assembled LGBTQ+ family. Dousing yourself in glitter with friends is certainly easier than pretending you’re someone you are not to keep peace in your family. Yet this is not to say that Halloween is universally popular among LGBTQ+ people. Not all gay people have fond memories of Halloween. To some, it was and is the nightmare before Christmas.

At some point in our lives as LGBTQ+ individuals, we realize that we will always be a freak to some, whether they have confirmation that we are gay or not. Regardless of how good we are at donning costumes, we eventually figure out that changing ourselves into someone else is impossible. We might as well relish in our freakdom and celebrate Halloween as the one time of year onlookers creep closer to our side of the line. If we show those ghouls a good time, you never know who might realize they are also part of the LGBTQ+ community. *

* I’ll never forget the time I was in Thibodaux, Louisiana, visiting my best friend. She and I always put on the best Halloween parties. We had been out to the bars in town dressed in our costumes. (I was a Scotsman in a kilt—fun was had by all with that costume.) On our way home, we shared a taxi with some fraternity boys from the local university. One of these guys was in drag, and I have to say, he did a damn good job at it. He was beautiful, as I am sure he was out of drag as well. I always wondered if he was one of those gay boys who took the opportunity to put on drag in public for the first time and used Halloween as an excuse, or if he was just that secure in his masculinity that he could wear a dress. He didn’t appear to be doing it to be derogatory to gay men or drag performers. So, I always wondered if he ever came out or if he just went back to being a straight, everyday frat boy the next day.

When I was young, I had a fascination with panda bears. I had several stuffed pandas that I loved. It’s funny looking back that I collected teddy bears that I often slept with at night as a child. I had one named Andy Panda and one named Sandy Panda. I don’t remember the names of the others, but Sandy was always my favorite. Whenever I was feeling down, Sandy was always there to cheer me up. She and my cat Calico never failed to be my faithful companions when I was sick or scared. Calico was an actual real cat and the sweetest animal I have ever known. When it comes to my cats, Victoria and I had a special bond, but she could be mean to other people. She tried to kill my grandmama’s chihuahua one time. Isabella is a one-person cat who is more persistent than any cat I’ve ever had. She does not understand the words “No” or “Move,” and she can be very temperamental at times. She is also a murderess and torturer when she finds a mouse. I won’t even describe some of the horrors I woke to occasionally in my old apartment. 

Pandas, though, were a fascination of mine growing up. I wanted so badly to go to the National Zoo in Washington, D.C., and see Ling-Ling and Hsing-Hsing, two giant pandas given to the United States as gifts by the government of China following President Richard Nixon’s visit in 1972. Sadly, Ling-Ling died suddenly from heart failure in 1992, and Hsing-Hsing died in 1999 due to painful kidney failure. I didn’t get to visit Washington until three years ago when I went for work, and I got to see very little of the city. I wouldn’t see my first panda in real life until sometime around 2012 when I got the chance to see the Giant Pandas at Zoo Atlanta. Even as a grown man in my thirties, I was so excited to get to see real pandas. It’s the only time I have ever seen live pandas, but it was a memorable experience.

Did any of you have a stuffed animal that loved? What brought you comfort when you were sick or scared as a child? To be honest, I wish I still had Sandy sometimes. I loved that bear.

I always find it ironic that when I don’t have to get up at a specific time, I am wide awake sometime between 5:30 am and 6:00 am. Yet, when I have to get up at a particular time like somewhere between 5:30 am and 6:00 am, I have the hardest time waking up. All I want to do is stay in bed. Sometimes, that 6 am wake-up is because Isabella has decided that I need to get up. Sometimes, she is very persistent in not just waking me up, but getting me to get out of bed. When she does this, I always check her food and water and make sure that she has enough of everything, but most of the time, she has plenty of food and water. Most of the time, I have found that when I do get up, she walks around for a few minutes, and then she curls up in my bed, where I was just lying and goes to sleep. She doesn’t let that spot cool down before she’s there and asleep. It’s very aggravating because I get up and check to see what she wants, then I go to the bathroom only to find her fast asleep in the exact spot I just vacated. I guess she’s a little spoiled.

This morning was one of those mornings when I had to get up very early. I had to be at my physical therapy (PT) appointment at 7:30 am (actually a few minutes early to go through the COVID protocols). It takes about 30 minutes to drive to the PT clinic. There are closer places I could go for PT, but I was sent here the first time I needed PT a few years ago for a neck issue. I have an excellent relationship with my physical therapist, and she has never failed to help me tremendously. While I could probably go somewhere closer, I don’t want another physical therapist. I am the same way about my primary care physician, who I will be seeing next Monday.

My internet was out all last night, so I’m only able to do a short post from my phone. Technology is great until you don’t have it.

“I do not fear computers. I fear lack of them.”

— Isaac Asimov

Sometimes, I have something on my mind, and I think it will make a good post. When this happens, and I can do so, I sit down and write the post out. Occasionally, once I get it written, I decide that I don’t want to post it. I have a few posts like that saved on my computer, but I doubt they will ever see anyone’s eyes but mine. I sometimes go back to them and reread them and edit those posts, and sometimes I do end up posting them. Rarely, I go back to a post I’ve decided not to post and then post it later.

Lately, I have had the political situation of the United States on my mind a lot, so I have written several politically-oriented posts. However, I feel like I am beating a dead horse with the vote for Biden themes. Yes, I want you to vote for Joe Biden, and I think my American readers are likely to do so. Quite frankly, if you are reading this blog and are even contemplating voting for Donald Trump, you are in the wrong fucking place, and I hope you leave and don’t come back. If you have a gay friend or family member and are voting for Trump, you don’t actually care about that person. You are homophobic, and that’s the end of it.

I also write about my health a fair amount, but I know people get tired of reading about my headaches. We won’t even get into my diabetes or high blood pressure, among the other things that I need to improve about my body. Sometimes, I guess it does seem like I am whining too much, but at the end of the day, this blog is where I write down my thoughts. If you have thoughts about what I write, you are always encouraged to leave a comment.

I have also ranted about people not following guidelines to keep others safe in this pandemic. You can only tell people to wear their masks so many times. My university has been very strict about wearing masks, and we currently have zero cases. My Texas friend is not having the same luck with her college. While they have rules, no one is following them, and no one is enforcing the rules. It’s Texas, what do you expect? My parents are not as cautious as they should be either, and I won’t even get started on my sister and her family. 

I haven’t talked much about work lately. I am still working mostly from home, but I am going into the museum two days a week. Last week, it was four days because issues mainly of the fact that I live the closest to the museum. Because of this, I am expected to go in for emergency needs and for things that “won’t take long.” Being on call all the time is trying my patience because I am not paid to be on call every waking minute. My boss and I will talk on Wednesday when we will be the only two working. It won’t matter because he will say, “We will do better and be fairer about who comes in at off times.” He always says he will “do better,” but he never does.

So, those were my thoughts last night. I had not planned to write this much. I had only planned on talking about having a post ready but not wanting to post it. My back-up plan had been to discuss Vermont Virtual Pride, which was this weekend and last week. They created a program called Pridestream, which was broadcast on the local CBS affiliate. It was hosted by François Clemmons, who was Officer Clemmons on Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood. Clemmons is gay and was born in Alabama, and also like me, he ended up in Vermont. After retiring from Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, he became a professor at Middlebury College. 

I am usually a fan of what the Pride Center of Vermont does, but this pride was a bit of a disappointment. It was supposed to feature both local and nationally-known recording artists, activists, and phenomenons, including performances and appearances by Jonathan Van Ness, Big Freedia, Low Cut Connie, Ben Cohen & Jerry Greenfield, Dwight & Nicole, Be Steadwell, Marjorie Mayhem, pineappleCITI, Amber & Lucy Belle LeMay, Maddy Jameson, Unnecessary Inventions, tip/toe, and more. They featured them all right, but I just can’t say it was entertaining. Thankfully, it only lasted an hour. Hopefully, next year’s pride celebration will be back to normal. Anyway, I had hoped to talk about how good the Pridestream was, but I’m afraid I can’t. 

Hopefully, this coming week will be better than last week was. If it turns out to be worse, I might explode on someone. I am reaching my boiling point with my coworker, and my constant headaches aren’t helping my temper. I am almost always irritable lately, and I don’t like being irritable. I want to be happy and things to go smoothly.

When I saw the picture above, I thought, “I’d like to come home to that every day.” Then, I thought, “I’d like to wake up to that every day.” I’ve been single for a while now, and there are no prospects on the horizon (certainly not in the middle of a pandemic), but it doesn’t hurt to daydream. This guy has a very sweet smile and by the looks of it, a nice little butt. He certainly has some nice arms, and he looks like he’d be pretty nice in the bedroom too. While I would settle for just someone to love me, I certainly wouldn’t turn down some eye candy. This guy is definitely eye candy.

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
If turnips were watches, I’d wear one by my side.
If “ifs” and “ands” were pots and pans,
There’d be no work for tinkers’ hands.

—Scottish proverb

I grew up watching reruns of I Dream of Jeannie and Bewitched. I’ll admit I often dreamed of either having my own Jeannie like Tony Nelson or having magical powers like Samantha Stephens. When I was bullied in school, my favorite fantasy was that with a twitch of my nose, a quick nod of my head, or even a wave of my hand, I could slam those bullies against the wall and cause them extreme pain. That may sound pretty violent, but I wanted the magical powers so that they would remember the pain but have no lasting effects from it. Maybe then, they would learn the pain they caused others. It was a frequent fantasy of mine.

I have often wondered what I would wish for if I had just three wishes. I suspect many of us have had that thought. If I were to make a grand gesture with my wishes, I’d wish for world peace, equality and acceptance for all, and that people would get the chance they deserve in life. That last one could backfire as in the old three wishes jokes. The three wishes joke (or genie joke) is a joke in which a character is given three wishes by a genie and fails to make the best use of them. Typical scenarios include releasing a genie from a lamp or crossing paths with the devil. The first two wishes go as expected in the jokes, with the third wish being misinterpreted or granted in an unexpected fashion that doesn’t reflect the wish’s intent.

Suppose I were to be purely selfish with my wishes. In that case, I’d wish to be the man I always dreamed of being: more intelligent*, taller, more handsome, physically fit with a great butt, a great head of hair, one skin tone (my vitiligo is another source of embarrassment for me), and like most men, more endowed. The second wish would be to have all the money I’ll ever need in life. I wouldn’t need to be a billionaire, just wealthy enough to live very comfortably, not have to work, and be able to travel the world. My final wish would be to find the love of my life and live happily ever after with him.

For my whole life, when I have seen the first star of the night, I have always said silently to myself:

Starlight, star bright,
The first star I see tonight;
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have the wish I wish tonight.

Since I was a teenager, I have always secretly said the same wish each time: to find someone who I will fall in love with and vice versa. This particular wish was partially how I dealt with my burgeoning sexuality. Part of my wish was always that if it was a man, then I’d know it was the right thing, and if it was a woman, then that was the right thing. Now I simply just wish for the man of my dreams, someone I will have a wonderful relationship with for the rest of our lives. So far, it hasn’t come true, but I will keep wishing on that star.

Of course, I have had various other wishes throughout my life. I’ve wished that loved ones who have died were alive again. I’ve wished that I had met friends earlier in life. I’ve wished that my parents were more accepting of my sexuality. At times, I even wished that I were dead; depression will do that to you. Of course, I’ve also wished that I had finished my Ph.D., or that I could become a perpetual student and travel the world learning new things. I’ve even wished for awful things to happen to our current president and his soulless minions. While I’d love to have three wishes, I’m not sure if I would take the selfless route or the selfish route, but I wouldn’t want to be greedy and have an endless supply of wishes. Maybe five or six wishes would be enough.

If you had three wishes and only three wishes, what would they be? Would you benefit yourself or help others? Would you advance your career, health, or financial well-being, or would you further your social, emotional, or spiritual needs? Would you blow through your wishes right away, or would you hold a few in reserve? You may be thinking this is a silly or cliché question, but our answers can be quite telling. For example, what do your wishes say about your priorities? Do they focus on possessions or enhance your relationships? What do your wishes say about your current situation versus your ultimate goals? Are your wishes far-fetched or clearly within your grasp?

*By “more intelligent,” I mean that I wish I could read quicker (I’ve always been a slow reader) and retain more of what I read. If you were to get to know me in person, you’d find out that I have a LOT of trivial knowledge in my head that emerges at random intervals. However, I am terrible with dates and names. For a historian, my mind is not chronological. I get mixed up on things very easily.

Lately, I have been a bit loquacious in my posts, but I don’t have a lot to say today. I love the word loquacious though it’s an adjective that means someone who talks a lot, I am using it here for writing a lot, but I always think of my posts as a conversation with my readers. Sometimes, my blog is just me rambling on, but I always think it’s best when we have a conversation in the comments section. I don’t always respond to all of my comments, but I am trying to do better and allow my blog to be more interactive. 

I was not familiar with the word loquacious until I picked up the book Good Omen and read about the character Sister Mary Loquacious, who was a nun of the Chattering Order of St. Beryl, a satanic order of nuns who were tasked with switching a human baby with the Antichrist. If you are not familiar with Good Omen, it’s a book by the English authors Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. Good Omen is a comedy about the birth of the son of Satan and the coming of the End Times. There are attempts by the angel Aziraphale and the demon Crowley to sabotage the coming of the end times, having grown accustomed to their comfortable surroundings in England. It’s a pretty funny book and has been turned into a six-episode miniseries, which was a co-production between Amazon Studios and BBC Studios.

Okay, that is all I have to say for today. 

Dealing with the quarantine and not having a semblance of a social life anymore (not that I had much of one to begin with) makes you really contemplate your loneliness at times. Before I moved to Vermont, I had actually begun to date men on a regular basis, some I went out with multiple times. Most of my life has been spent going on one date and never hearing from the person again. However, things had really and truly begun to change. I had a boyfriend that I cared about, and it looked like it would be a long-term thing. Then, I got exiled to Vermont. I have tried to have a dating life up here, but I’ve never been successful.

One of the first dates I went on was with a doctor. When we met, he seemed a bit standoffish, but I went ahead with the date. It was at his home on Lake Champlain. The date was a disaster. First, he fed me leftovers, when he’d originally told me he was taking me out to dinner. Then he dropped the bombshell on me. He told me that he could not date someone who was not skinny and in good shape. He had apparently mistaken me for a picture on my blog. I am pretty straightforward that no picture of me exists on my blog, and that I am not in the best shape. I am always straightforward about things, at least I’ve always thought I was. After he said that, I should have just left, but I guess I am too polite for that. To add insult to injury, he apparently decided that I needed exercise because he took me for a walk on a trail along the lake. Don’t mistake this as a romantic stroll because he lectured me the whole time on proper nutrition and exercise. I finally left and never saw his sorry ass again. He was not very attractive and had no room too judge. He was also much older than he had told me he was.

A lot of the time, the dates I’ve gone on have been much nicer. We seem to get along great and the conversation flows easily. I am a shy person, but once I start talking and get comfortable, I can usually carry on a pretty good conversation. However, it seems that after every date I have been on, whatever chemistry it seemed we had falls apart. He or I might text that we had a great time together and that we should see each other again. The guys almost always seem positive about the first date, but then, I never hear from them again. I did see one guy for a few times, but he was not romantically interested. He just wanted a friend. One time, I went on a date with a drag queen. I had seen her perform a few nights before, and then I saw her online (I think it was Grindr, don’t judge). He and I set up a date and met in Montpelier. The date did not start off well. There was a snowstorm coming in and every restaurant in town apparently closed early that night. We finally found one that was open. It was kind of comical at the time, and I guess still is. We had a nice meal and good conversation, but it was apparent to both of us that this would be a friendship and not a romantic relationship. Before the pandemic, we often saw each other at various events. She was often hosting the events as her drag persona, but she always said hello and if she was available, we usually carried on a conversation.

And speaking of Grindr and those type of apps, I rarely ever use them because it’s always the same 5-10 men, several of which are students at the university where I work (we are not allowed to fraternize with the students). When it seems like I do meet someone on an app or a dating site, they usually just want a hook-up, no surprise there. I’ll admit, I am not always opposed to that, but I don’t like to host for a number of reasons. I don’t want a stranger in my apartment, partly because strangers upset Isabella. Also, they often live far away, and 99 times out of 100, they say they can’t host, which always sends up red flags. Furthermore, my walls are a little thin, and kids have a bedroom below me. I would not want to disturb them with sex noises. I know, I’m practicing a double standard about not hosting, but it’s just something I don’t like to do. I once hooked up with a guy when I was living in Mississippi. He couldn’t host, so I did invite him over only to find out in the middle of sex that he was married and had kids.

When I first moved to Vermont, I checked out Grindr to see what it was like around here, and I met a guy who lived about two blocks away. He had just told his roommate, who apparently was constantly bringing girls over, that he couldn’t host girls anymore. He didn’t want to break the rule he’d just made, so I did let him come over. The sex was freaking amazing. He possessed the most beautiful butt of any man I’ve ever hooked up with, and I was the top this time. By the way, maybe TMI, but I am versatile. Everything seemed to go well, we really seemed to hit it off more than just sex. However, the same old story, he never responded to me again. I did run into him a few times around campus, because he also worked at the university, but for a long time, he seemed to act as if he didn’t see me or know me. The strange thing is, fast-forward four years later, he adds me as a friend on Facebook. Now, every time he sees me, he is very friendly and always says hello and calls me by name. I find it all a bit odd and don’t know what to make of it.

There was one instance of a guy wanting to get together again, but there were a couple of problems I had on this occasion. First, he was a very heavy pot smoker, which is something that triggers my migraines. Second, he lived too far away. It was quite a drive down there because I had to go over the mountains (I also got lost going home because there was no cell signal and my GPS wouldn’t work). We “watched” a movie while I was there, which was fine, but since we were doing things besides paying attention to the movie, I was somewhat undressed when not only his nearly adult son came barging into the house with his girlfriend but also his wife came walking in. I never figured out if he was divorced or just separated, but that’s not the point. So, while they settled in to smoke a little weed with dear old dad, I had a pillow over my lap covering myself up because I didn’t have enough time to get my pants back on correctly. I had pulled my pants up, but not everything was in place nor could I fasten my pants discreetly, so I had to use a pillow to shield myself. He wanted to see more of me, but I decided it would not work out and told him that I didn’t think that would happen because he lived so far away.

So, my dating life in Vermont has sucked. When it seems I have found someone that I want to spend more time with and get to know better, they never respond or if they do respond, which a few have, they are not interested. I don’t know what I do wrong or what is wrong with me. I do wish I was in better shape, but dammit, I am a nice and loveable person who just wants to find someone who loves me back. I’m tired of getting constantly rejected, especially after being told what a great time they had and how they want to get together again. It makes you just want to give up even looking. When rejection like that happens, I just want to scream at them, “Fuck you, you fucking fuck.” I saw that on a t-shirt once, and it pretty much sums up how I feel toward some people. Of course, I am not confrontational, and I try never to be mean, so I would never say it, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to say it. There are a lot of things that scream in my mind that thankfully I never utter. I really hate when people thinks it’s okay to insult someone for no reason, especially when they give the excuse, “Well, I’m just being honest. There’s nothing wrong with that.” There is something wrong with it. You’re fucking being rude, mean, and condescending. It happens online a lot.

I know we all want that handsome man to sweep us off our feet, but I don’t think that I am so unattractive as to never deserve to be given a chance. Honestly, I think the gay community holds people to too high of a standard of appearance, and we won’t even get started on the perception of age. But there are gay couples out there who are not the most perfect looking couple. They love each other just the way they are. I know that I am probably perpetuating the standard of male beauty with the pictures I post on this blog; however, they are fantasies and don’t really represent the average man. Many of them are probably airbrushed to look better than they actually look. It’s like that with porn. Men in porn are more well-endowed than the average man, and they often perform sex that is unrealistic. It may be hot to watch, but it is still a fantasy. Those men are paid professionally to perform entertaining sex on camera, and models are paid to look beautiful in front of a camera. Neither are realistic, and sometimes that standard of beauty isn’t even achievable for some of us.

How many of you have ever been chatting with a guy online and you trade pictures with him, then all of a sudden, the conversation ends? You seemed to be getting along so well, but as soon as he realizes you are not the ideal that he want, it’s all over. I would suspect that most of those instances go like this: you saw his picture and (honestly) thought that he was not the best looking person or maybe he’s not in the best shape, but you seemed to have a connection, so you don’t really care how he looks. That has happened to me. When a guy was very good looking, it was usually a catfish. The truth is, I have met a lot of men who were unrealistically shallow and for no good reason. They want an ideal that they don’t fit themselves. I try to be realistic in my approach to men. I admit that I have not always been that way. At one time, I was young, had a head full of dark brown hair, and was in decent shape, but that was before I spent five years teaching spoiled rich kids in grades 7-12. Now, I am older, I have mostly gray hair which I am losing, and I’m not in the best of shape. I know I could try harder to look better, but I have always found that really difficult if you didn’t have a workout partner to keep you on track.

I just want to find someone to love me for me. I am an intelligent and kind person. I may not look like the perfect specimen of man, but I don’t think I am the ugliest man alive either. I think I have a lot to contribute to a relationship. People love to say that there is someone out there for everyone. If the adage is even true, the problem with it is that the person may live far away from you. I’m honestly afraid I will never find the person that is out there for me. He may just not exist. I just don’t want to be alone the rest of my life.