Written last night

I layed over last night in Tampa. A straight flight attendant, Chris and I were the only ones who wanted to go out to dinner and have dinner so we hung. I admit that I have a prejudice against straight flight attendants because the majority of them play this machismo game of I�m not gay, I�m not gay, I�m not gay. But he didn�t. He seemed like a nice guy who�s just as lost as I am which makes me incredibly attracted to him which in turn sickens me to know end. It�s kind of the When Harry met Sally thing. Can a straight man and a gay man be friends? Of course there�s a part of me that questioned his sexuality when he agreed with me that certain men were hot or not. But then again I spent most of Thursday night trying to hook him up with a girl. On a side note it was a good ego boost when I realized that I could still attract female attention. In some ways I think I do better with women than I do with men now. What does that mean? Are gay men�s standards too high or are female standards too low. Anyone who wants to chime in please do. I love getting responses to this train wreck called a journal, blog, diary whatever.

Anyway Chris and I went out for beers and wings and got a good buzz and then when to this meat market-dance place called Blue Martini. I had so much fun. I danced so much. I never dance anymore for a lot of reason. 1. JAB�s knees are shot because of his dancing when he was young. 2. JAB dances�strange. He needs a lot of space and we all know that you don�t get that in a dance club and he used to always end up getting into fights with people who bump into him. 3. For JAB and I to dance together would mean that we would have to go to a Gay dance place and I hate Gay dance places because it would mean that I would have to take off my shirt. Since JAB�s weight gain this past year it�s not going to happen and no matter how much weight people say I�ve lost I won�t do it.
Friday, Chris and I were so hung-over. There�s nothing like having a 14 hour duty day and hung over. Trust me on this.

The problem is that I have now I�m faced with that nagging problem of keeping up with someone. He gave me his number so I could try to hook him up with a waitress at a local establishment. Why is it that I can never call people or even answer their calls? I�m so shy. Is it really shyness or just some mental illness that I have?

Here�s a prime example. I have had layovers in the days where two diary land favorites live. I wanted to email them and say hey, let�s meet for drinks but then I went through the whole thing of what if they think I�m stupid or I talk too much or I�m too black or not black enough. What if I drink too much and hit on them. What if they hit on me? What if they don�t? This can�t be normal. In the paragraph before I stated who the people were but I became too afraid to list their names. Even though there�s a huge part of me that thinks that I�m hip and cool and fun to be around there�s always that national study that states that men think better of themselves than they really are, the numbers were particularly high in Black men.

Ok enough self discoveries for tonight. How big a looser am I.

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