A Rose Isn't Always Just A Rose

Did anyone have a bet placed on how long The Devil would last? Well, mark your calendars, we’ve lasted an entire week. That’s not to say I haven’t been surprised by what I’m faced with.

For the most part we have a routine, wasn’t that fast? He calls me late in the evening and I walk the eleven blocks to his apartment. We talk for about twenty seconds, lights go off, pants come down. I have to add as a side-note that never before have I had sex with one person for seven consecutive days. I’ve had serious relationships and not had sex more than two days in a row. I usually get bored or hit with a sudden headache that prevents us from doing anything. I do think I’m getting the “feelings” for this one, but there’s a catch. Like a great deal on a new car, I’ve come to find out there’s some water damage.

The Devil was burned by his boyfriend of two years when he cheated on him. In order to prevent such a thing from happening again, The Devil, has set up dating rules. They are simple, straightforward and confusing. He won’t get serious with someone without dating for three months. This rule I think of as good common sense, plus it helps to eradicate the feeling of being rushed. The second rule is not so simple. Having had his ex cheat on him, The Devil, believes that having an open relationship will prevent this from happening with future boyfriends. If you haven’t heard of an open relationship, it means you can have sex with other people, but you still come home to each other.

He mentioned this to me as we were going to sleep, not allowing me to react before he rolled over. I lay there feeling blindsided. When I had arrived at his place earlier I had been told to close my eyes. When I opened them The Devil stood in front of me holding a rose. The last time a guy gave me flowers I dumped his ass. I was astonished when chunks didn’t begin to rise in my throat. I actually smiled and accepted the yellow flower unaware of the twist the evening was going to take.

I’m confused more than usual because I like this boy. I don’t know if I would be able to live with rule #2. I like the idea of having that freedom, but am I comfortable knowing my boyfriend is out having sex with other guys? What if he forgets to use a condom and brings home a disease? What if he finds some guy he likes better? To complicate the matter more, we went out with The Devil’s roomie and he said something. He said he loves me. It terrified me. It terrified me because I believe it and I said it back. I haven’t been able to get those words out of my mouth in three years.

Now I’m caught in the middle of my own confusion. On one hand I have this seemingly perfect guy and on the other I have all these questions. I’m not sure if I should call it quits before I get in too deep, or for once in my life just go with the flow.

Date With The Devil

To begin I should sum up how things officially ended with douche-bag Dollar. After dumping me and telling me that he can’t talk to people after a break-up, he invited me to coffee. Long story short, he spent the entire thirty-five minutes telling me what a negative person he thought I was. I was floored to find this ultra-negative person telling me that I was too bitter and negative for his high class-wine from a box drinking-self. I’m a Bitter Ben, even a Negative Nancy, but give me a break.

Faced with the prospect of dating my hand, I decided to look around online and see what was available. Once upon a time, in a past life, I actually managed what was a semi-successful relationship with someone I met online. Obviously that ended, but a year is a personal best. I ran across a guy and we chatted a bit before deciding to hang out. When you meet someone from the internet you have to wonder what you’re getting yourself into. Will they look like their picture? Have they gained 50 pounds since they took the picture? Are they going to chop you up and stick you in a trash can? I live in New York, it could happen.

You must be wondering why I named him The Devil? Across his back there is a tattoo: Lucifer. I find it humorous that I have a black cross on my back. A little mix of good and evil? I would have thought myself to be the evil one, but role-playing is fun. Again, you are probably curious as to how I’ve already seen this tattoo. I won’t lie. I put out on the first date, no alcohol needed. Hopefully that doesn’t come across as sad and desperate sounding as it was playing back in my head.

The Devil looks like an all around bad boy. The tattoos, the nipple piercing and the kinky side, to my surprise when it comes to relationship stuff he seems to be for it. Most gay men are more interested in pinning you down, getting their jollies and heading home (or sending you home). I don’t want to make any snap judgments about where this is going because the minute I do it will begin to crumble. I come to this conclusion based on recent dating adventures such as the Dollar ride I was on and my crash on Wall Street.

For the time being I’m going to do it the hetro way and just go with the flow. As in the hetro-male way, I know the ladies are just like me when it comes to being all up in your head. I won’t hold my breath but I’ve got my fingers crossed as I head back out for another date with The Devil.

Rent(minus)Control

How many times as a child is a person sent to their room? I can recall a few times off hand, but the times I’ve locked myself in seem to be more memorable.

I came home from Baltimore feeling better than when I had left. I brought a locking knob for my bedroom door. I figure that if people are going to break in I don’t want to make it any easier for them to get my belongings. I installed the knob, shutting the door to make sure it locked. PERFECTION! Or so I thought. I unlocked the door but it wouldn’t open. The piece that connects the door to the wall was stuck. A slight panic came over me. I only had a Philips screw driver, making it impossible to pop the lock.

I needed tools. I searched my room. I had a large green bottle that had a thick base. I used it as a hammer to get the hinges out. Paint was covering the hinges making this a difficult task, not to mention the feat of not shattering the bottle. I got the three pins out but the door wasn’t budging. Working the screwdriver in between the door and the frame I was able to get my fingers in enough to pull back. I should probably mention that I unscrewed the knob and it fell out onto the kitchen floor. Here is where I would grin innocently and turn a little red as I tell people this.

Our bedrooms doors are very strange. They aren’t solid wood; instead, they have frosted plastic-glass in the middle to dress them up. The flimsy door was creasing near the lock, giving me the impression that if I bent it back farther the door would end up in two pieces. New plan: I found an emergency roadside kit in my closet (from when I still drove a car). I used some zip-ties to get a grip on the hinges. I pulled back as hard as I could. The only thing that broke free were the ties, leaving me on the floor and the door in its frame.

After three hours I gave in and called my roomie. She was still at work and wasn’t planning to leave for several hours, not to mention it takes her two hours to get home. I told her to hurry if she could, but not to worry about me. I continued to work on the door, leaving an impressive number of gouges in the molding around it. I took a break, happy to have a television in my room. Sadly, I had the Republican Convention or 90210. I gave in and watched the Republicans for about twenty minutes before going back to mindless entertainment.

Nearing eight hours after locking myself in, my roomie arrived home. A swift kick to the door brought it down. I was finally free! I find the entire situation to be funny in the regard of how I’ve been feeling in my own life. I’ve felt so trapped and unable to control what’s been going on around me. It’s funny that I actually managed to end up in a physical situation of no control. I’ve been feeling much better as of late. Far better than I had when I got back from Baltimore, I almost wish I had locked myself in there sooner.

Third Time's a Charm

There are moments in life when u want to pull your hair out and then there are the times when you want to pull other people’s hair out. Today however I felt like beating a man to death, or at least until he cried like a bitch.

My roomie woke me up early this morning to see if I wanted to ride the train into the city with her. Having not slept for two days I wasn’t interested in doing anything. I slept for another three hours, when I heard this odd banging. I pulled myself out of bed and walked into her bedroom. I literally shouted, “What the f#ck!”

I cannot even begin to describe the amount of surprise I felt when I saw a man climbing through the window over the fire escape. He had pushed it out of the frame and was halfway in when I stumbled onto him. I sprinted back to my room to call the cops, he ran up the fire escape. I returned to the window, the guy was long gone. Ten minutes later the cops were at my apartment for the third time in the last thirty-three days for a burglary.

I won’t lie, I’m totally proud of myself for chasing the douche nozzle off. Either he thought we were gone, or he’s not watching us very closely. Had I left with my roomie I doubt she would have come home to her flat screen television. If you recall we were robbed twice in August. We both lost our laptops and she lost an iPod and digital camera. I got on the phone and called our apartment manager. I have had enough, I told him I want bars on the windows or we’re moving out. 

You may be wondering why we didn’t move after the second robbery? Well, we installed the super expensive locks, which our friend the burglar must have noticed, considering this time he decided to come in the window. Also, we live in New York City and moving is one of the hardest and most expensive things you can do. It’s almost as hard as finding a job, considering I’ve been looking for three months and still can’t get hired. 

I can’t say this hasn’t fueled my paranoia. I don’t want to leave our apartment for fear that we’ll come home to nothing. I also don’t understand why out of six units in this one building we are the only one that ever gets burglarized and it’s happening every two weeks. I used to think it was one of our neighbors, but most didn’t live in the building when this all started happening. There is also the fact that he went up the fire escape, rather than down it. The cops suggest that it’s someone coming across the roof tops from another building, comforting. 

I’m more upset over the fact that I broke the head phones for my iPod today. I know, how messed up are my priorities? Honestly, having lost my laptop I could care less what they take, but I don’t want my roomie’s shit getting stolen. It almost makes me want to leave this city, but I won’t. Even though I keep getting my ass kicked, bruised and bandaged I just can’t move away.