Last night, oh what a night. Bill and I in the apartment having deep meaningful talk. Bill seems to wish I was like every other gay man. I am not. I am unique. I told him he has a diamond and would rather have a cubic zirconia. I am the diamond if you haven’t figured it out. Now don’t go thinking, ‘what an egomaniac.’ If you know me you’d know that I wasn’t. Or am I?

It was a long talk. I came home and he had the TV on for the sake of noise. He correctly figured out that I would’ve freaked out without something making noise, because initially he wasn’t so chatty. I was stressed out when I came home, and he felt it when we hugged each other hello.

I found out that he spent a year and a half more in the playing field while he left me on the bench for 12 of those months. That wasn’t too cool. And still I forgive.

He mentioned that he was upset with me for rubbing my rendezvous in his face on Wednesday night. I did feel bad about that, but also told him that feeling bad for 2 and a half hours is really nothing compared to feeling the way I was feeling for twelve months. Homeboy does need to get over himself. But I still think he’s a good man. Flawed definitely, but a good man. And like my diamond comment, I too have flaws. Gasp. Clutch the pearls.

Anyway, I do want to work this out. I once again reiterated the fact that couples therapy is in order. This whole situation last night, was not a panacea. The problem is both of us and it’s bigger than both of us. We obviously want to make this thing work. And once again I remind myself that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

There ya go, the old me. Cynical and jaundiced. With a dash of wit.
Or a mote of wit. There’s self-deprecating me.
Hello, good to meet you. I’m John. I’ll be your baby tonight.

Looks promising, no? And there’s me, beating myself up. Something I do quite well. Yeah yeah yeah. Yes it was incredibly douchie for Bill to do what he did, but I too have done some incredibly douchie things in my life. The karmic wheel turns yet again, and it’s run over my foot.

He asked me if I wanted him to stay over, and I said yes. So after the talking he was doing something on his computer as I sat at mine writing last night’s entry. It was nice to have him in bed next to me, and I don’t think either one of us snored.

And there was no sex involved. Spooning, yes.

On a lighter note, I met someone who interview for at the Animal Farm I am employed at. Nice guy, handsome, named John O’Toole. And he didn’t look like Phillip Seymour Hoffman or Drew Carey. Or Robbie Rist, for those that have been playing the game called My Life for a while.

John was a grad student at Columbia and interviewing for some position at the firm. He nattily attired. Nice half Windsor knot in his tie. Darker complexion than me, and had dark brown hair. I stood up and shook his hand with a grin on both of our faces. I asked him how the O’Tooles were doing and he said he had no complaints. Which made me wonder if he was a bona fide O’Toole, because the O’Tooles I know are nothing but complaints. A joke

His interview lasted about a half hour. On his way out I told him to tell everyone I’ll see them for the holidays. I got a kick out of it. I wonder if he did? Everyone in the building security staff that mans the front desk were all a buzz about the ‘other’ John Ozed.

Now that I think of it, he was pre-interviewed the day before and they thought well of him to ask him and someone else for a second round of interviews. Did they bring him in with another candidate for a laugh?

But between John Ozed and the other guy, I would’ve picked John Ozed instead of the other guy, A. Hister.

Definitely.