Viva La Vida

Thank God it's Friday.  Seriously, I'm starting to think that maybe I'm not cut out for this school-thing five-days a week.  I liked it last semester when I'd do a little bit of work for each class once a week.  It was easy.  I got everything I needed to out of the way, but I also then had enough time to do other things, like look at porn, which is what the Internet is for, by the way.  But no, my professors think that their classes are the only classes that matter.  So I'm stuck in a five-person tug-of-war for my brain output, and it kinda hurts.  

On the plus side, I did get to spend a bit of the evening last night with Drewtwo.  We went to the local mall -- if one would call it that -- and did a little clothes shopping.  Then I did laundry at his place while we ate dinner and looked up things on YouTube.  Yes, You-, not X-, unfortunately.  We haven't been doing that sort of thing as frequently as we had been, but that's a whole other story.

Anyway, also last night, I bought a cd for the first time in months:  Avenue Q.  The story behind this cd starts about a year and a half ago or so when I purchased a used copy from eBay.  I paid with it using my PayPal account and I waited by the mailbox for its delivery.  I waited and waited.  And waited some more.  Still no cd.  I'd email and email the woman I bought it from over and over, and she never responded.  Then when I threatened to go to PayPal and eBay with my grievances, she responded and asked that I give it one more week to get there.  Then if it didn't, we could sort things out.

Another week went by and I got nothing.  So I emailed eBay and PayPal about not receiving my merchandise.  Here's the rub:  by the time I filed a complaint, the time limit on filing a complaint and having eBay and PayPal having your back had expired.  And the woman closed both her PayPal and her eBay accounts.  So I was out $10 plus shipping and handling.

So I was a little wary buying the cd last night for fear that something similar might happen in some weird, unexplainable way.  But it didn't come to that.  Everything worked out just fine and I'm having fun listening to it right now.  I'm definitely a musical fan.  Drewtwo on the other hand, not so much.  But I'll get him to that point.  Slowly slowly.  I did get him to admit that he liked "If You Were Gay" and "The Internet is for Porn."  That's a step in the right direction.

Oh, and I piqued his interest with the prospect of catching "Naked Boys Singing" next time we're in New York City.

It's All Coming Back to Me Now

Evidently I haven't posted in a little over five months.  Hmm.  I'll try to bring everyone up to speed if there's anyone still interested.  

Back in August, about the time I ceased to exist on the blogosphere, I began taking classes at a semi-local university.  I was technically full-time with 12 credits.  I had four classes; three online and one once-a-week evening class on campus.  Needless to say, these classes kicked my out-of-shape intellectual butt when piled on top of my regular work schedule.  But I continued on like a champ and ended my first semester with four A's.  This is the part where I brag that for my political science class, I got a 99.4% final grade.  

Why complete 12 credits if I'm not going to go the whole way, right?  Right.  But in order to accomplish this goal, online classes and evening classes aren't going to be enough.  So I had to decide whether I wanted to give up on university life once more or drop everything in my life and go back to school.  It shouldn't have been so hard to choose, but it was.  Ultimately, however, I quit my job, packed up shop and moved an hour to the university town.

It just so happens to be where Drew lives, as well.  He and I are still together.  Monday was our nine-month anniversary.  By more than double, this is my longest relationship.  So every day is new territory for me.  He and I briefly broke up back in September -- for about a week or so -- because of some very unfortunate happenings.  But that story is for another post.  Suffice it to say, we're here, we're queer, we have our ups and downs.

I can't say that Drew was my sole reason for moving an hour away from home, but he certainly was the catalyst.  I mean, I always knew that I wanted to go back to school.  The timing, though, never seemed right.  I never knew when the time for me going back would arise.  Knowing Drew, dating Drew, and being encouraged by Drew made the time more of a pressing issue instead of the abstract ideal it had been for five years.  So now I'm back at school and he and I live approximately ten minutes apart.  60+ minutes as opposed to 10 minutes.  It's much nicer.

I'm in between jobs right now, which completely sucks my dong.  The money that comes with a job is always very nice, but for me it's also about the routine.  The constancy of having a job, having something to do, is reassuring to me.  It almost relaxes me.  Without a job, as I am right now, I'm in a nearly constant state of flux.  I have my application out to a few places, some more promising than others, so I hope that this part of my life will start to equalize.

As for my classes this semester, I'm up to 15 credits.  Two literature classes (I am an English major, after all), and three general education classes that fulfill certain requirements:  World Politics, Geography of the Non-Western World and History of the Modern Era.  Fun all around.

Though my specialty is English, I was a bit apprehensive about my two literature classes because of the amount of reading involved during my first real semester back in the world of academia, especially when one of them is focusing on poetry of the Restoration period.  However, I have found in just a week and a half that I'm really enjoying these classes.  Both have given me a better appreciation for types of literature and literature eras.  I'm thinking that sometimes my posts will include something I've recently read and a short summary of my thoughts on it.  I know that sounds incredibly boring to anyone but myself, but this is my blog.  And those who wish not to read it, can just skip over those posts.

So that's where I am now.  I feel like I've aged about twenty years in the past five months.  I'm not the same person I was then, I don't think.  Sure, of course I'm going to continue talking about sex, TV and rock & roll, but I think I've gained a new perspective on things.  So I hope my blog lives up to the memory you have of it before my hiatus.  If not, let me know and I'll try to shake things up a bit.  Maybe I'll throw in a dick pic every so often.  

Thanks to all of you who've kept in contact over the past five months, and thanks to everyone for pretending to be interested in what I have to say.

Leavin'

Reading the online version of the New York Times this morning, I came across an interesting article with a promising title: "G.O.P. in House at Risk in Northeast." I live in the northeast United States, and I hoped that perhaps, by the grace of God, my House representative might be included in the at-risk members of Congress. Alas, it wasn't meant to be. My low-life, gay-hating, son of a disgraced and corrupt former representative wasn't even named. He's slippery like that.

But another name stuck out at me: GOP Representative Vito Fossella. Why was that name so familiar? I thought and I thought, and finally I read the sentence that included his name. He's the double-douche who pretended to be all family-values oriented, even refusing to show up at family functions his lesbian sister would be attending, who later got slapped with embarrassing revelations twice in two weeks -- once for the news of his recent DUI and then for the news of committing adultery three years earlier and fathering a child out of wedlock. He out-edwardsed John Edwards. And he isn't seeking reelection this year.

The New York Daily News summed up this piece of trash nicely: "As congressman, Fossella voted to prohibit any funding for joint adoptions by gay couples. He has voted for the Marriage Protection Amendment, a federal prohibition on gay marriage. He also demanded housing funds be held back from San Francisco unless it repealed its domestic partnership law."

Good riddance, Mr. Fossella. Don't let the door hit ya.

Got My Mind Set on You

Oh yeah, in case you happened to be wondering: Drewtwo and I have been dating for three months and two weeks, as of Saturday August 2, 2008.

Bleeding Love

Okay, a little back-story before my story: Matt and I used to "date" a few summers ago for about a month. It wasn't so much dating as it was two guys hanging out and doing stuff together. By "doing stuff," I totally mean non-sexual movie-watching and dinner-eating stuff. We kissed once the entire month and it was so ungodly awkward that I never tried it again. I don't think he had much experience in the matter, nor did he have an innate sense of how kissing works. It was like he didn't know what to do with his lips, so he decided to move them around like the thrashing arms of someone drowning. He also told me that night that he couldn't imagine putting a guy's penis inside his mouth because that's where pee comes from. It was duly noted and quickly filed away in the "never needed to know" file.

Fast forward to the following summer. Matt's in love, and thankfully by this point it is no longer with me. He's set his sights on a boy named Brent. Only problem is that Brent does not share Matt's deep feelings and he's something of a man-whore. Brent is pretty cute and uses this cuteness to get things out of guys. He has a history of screwing around with sugar-daddies, and sleeping around with more than one guy at any give time. But Matt's just sure that Brent is the one and will not look at reason. So my little caterpillar grows up and flies away to Baltimore to live closer to Brent. (Did I mention that they met on MySpace?) A few months later, Matt's phoning me, crying that Brent's acting like a dick and that he's not what Matt expected.

Big surprise, right? But here's the remarkable thing: Matt doesn't want to move back, and he doesn't want to stop trying to make things work with Brent. And so Matt doesn't. For over a year now, I've been kept abreast of the ins and outs of the Brent/Matt love-hate-fest, despite my objections to both hearing about the exploits and having him continue to be exploited. Brent has told Matt, to his face, that he's worthless and won't ever find anyone to be with. And Matt chooses to push forward and be Brent's friend, with the hope that some day Brent will look at Matt, fall deeply in love, and spend all eternity with him.

Completely bonkers. So here's my story. This evening I logged on to the Internets to check my email after being out of the house for most of the day. AOL IM automatically connected me online as well. I almost immediately got a message from Matt.

MATT: hey
ME: heya
MATT: sup?
ME: not much. just got home. checking email, etc. you?
MATT: just got back from the beach
ME: oh cool
MATT: went to da oshun hon
ME: huh?
MATT: went to da oshun
MATT: dahn at da shore
ME: oh, i get it
MATT: yeah it was an interesting trip to say the least... the drama that circles Brent
ME: yeah
ME: why you'd go anywhere he is confounds me
MATT: uh well he took us all... well and this went in my favor as well... I played his game and won this weekend
MATT: he had 2 of his friends with him... he had his fuck buddy Jarrod, and his friend Ryan that I think he wants to put on the list... well while he and Jarrod had a huge fight... Ryan and I hooked up
ME: if you're friends, should you be playing a game where one wins and one loses? that's not really friendship. if you feel like you always have to try to one-up someone, chances are it's not a healthy connection
MATT: like I said it's in my favor, cause he shut up... and isn't trying that crap with me anymore
ME: for now
MATT: no, I think he learned, cause if he wants to play games I can play just as well as he can... I have in the past and most likely would in the future choose not to
ME: well, that's cool. but it still remains: if you're friends, should you be playing a game where one wins and one loses?
MATT: no, its not good
MATT: but my whole winning here is to show him what he's doing to me... throw it back at him, talk about it and move on... and that is pretty much what happened

I'll give him that he's a few years younger than I am. But neither of us are in junior high school. And neither is Brent. He needs to sever communication with the asshole and chalk up the whole thing as a learning experience. No good is going to come from their continued co-existence. I just hope he realizes this before Brent can do even harsher damage to the poor boy's already shockingly low self-esteem.

Summertime

With most of my shows not returning until the fall, and Lost coming back next January with Battlestar Galactica, summer can be a very dull time for TV watching without the use of DVD boxsets. Having fallen away from Survivor over the years and not really feeling the magic of American Idol as I once had, I am no longer all that keen on reality television series, let alone garishly gaudy game shows. Reruns are mostly a thing of the past with the release of DVD boxsets and full episodes on the Internets, so the airwaves of the basic networks are mostly filled with unamusing, albeit newly released, clutter.

So what's a boy to do, right? Well thankfully cable television has been very good about picking up the networks' dropped ball during the summer the past few years. TNT can boast The Closer, which returns July 14 with its fourth season, and USA has Burn Notice, returning July 10 for its second season, Monk, returning for a seventh season on July 18, and Psych, also returning July 18 for its third season. The Closer, in my opinion, is as good, if not better, than any other detective drama on television. It's beautifully written, brilliantly acted, and entertaining as sin. I'm not sure I can think of an episode I didn't like.

With Burn Notice, Monk and Psych... well, they're pleasures. Not quite guilty pleasures because they're usually well-written and well-acted, but they're not going to knock your socks off with their ingenuity and clever plot twists. Monk has a series-long plot line concerning the mysterious murder of the titular character's wife, but it's not as enmeshed in each episode that you're chomping at the bit trying to figure out the mystery like you're doing with Lost. And in Burn Notice, there's always the curious mystery of who issued a burn notice on the main character. But it's just in the background; it's a means of moving the plot along from one mostly stand-alone episode to another.

And now, as if I didn't have enough to fill up my DVR, USA has given me In Plain Sight and ABC Family has pumped out The Middleman.

In Plain Sight is pretty much like any of the other USA summer series, only the main character's shtick is that she's a U.S. Marshall with the Witness Protection Program, who has a frakked up personal life that contrasts her work ironing out the lives of her charges. After three episodes, I'm hooked.

The Middleman is a bit more -- how should I say -- free-wheeling in its presentation. With aliens, monsters, mind-controlled apes, and androids, the television show based on a comic book series written by a writer from Lost has Men In Black written all over it. And yet, it's different. The dialogue is super snappy, reminiscent of Aaron Sorkin's dialogue for The West Wing, with witty pop-culture references thrown in for good measure. I have high expectations for the next episode. Though, if all else fails, I can just watch it muted. I mean, Matthew Keeslar. Damn.

I Should Tell You

Okay, where was I? Let me think. Oh yes, Drewzwei and I. Okay, so today, Tuesday, June 10, 2008, marks our one month, three week and one day anniversary. But who's counting, right? Yeah, okay, so maybe I am. And maybe it's the banner on my cell phone, in front of a picture of the two of us at a weekend retreat late last month. But I have a level head about all this. Honest.

So far so good, I suppose. Nothing too extraordinary to report. We see each other at least once during the week, and usually spend the night at one another's house over the weekend. This past weekend, I was at his place, where we took advantage of the unseasonably hot weather Saturday night by swimming in his pool. Don't worry, I know the warnings about swimming in the dark, but he is a life guard, and, dammit, it's just plain hot. Needless to say, we were out of our trunks in a matter of minutes -- something I've never done before. It was something I had never done before, but it's an experience I hope to try again real soon.

Sexually, we're about where we were last time you heard from me (yes, yes, I know it's been awhile!). We still haven't sealed the deal, so the speak, but we are nearing that momentous occasion more and more every day. In fact, last Tuesday when he spent the night here with me, I was all ready for it. Earlier that day, I had bought the condoms and everything. But by the time we got through the day, ate dinner, hung out with my sister and her fiance, and finally got some alone time without them, Drew and I were pretty exhausted and didn't do much of anything. I'm not entirely disappointed, though. Had we actually done it then, it would've been more because of lust and horniness than because it was the right time to do it. But we will soon. Oh yes.

And you know that as soon as I do, I'll be right here posting about it. But don't worry, I'll try to better keep this blog updated between now and then. Until tomorrow.

Let's Spend the Night Together, Part Two

What's a boy to say to that, right? So of course I said it back to him. I hesitated, as is called for in situations of unexplained I-Love-You sightings, but I responded in kind because of a combination of being a bit drunk, a bit horny and unable to hurt Drewdos's feelings at such a vulnerable moment. We quickly went back to fawning over one another and ended up falling asleep in each other's arms. It was nice. Well, more than nice, obviously. It was pretty damn awesome falling asleep, naked, in the arms of a guy who not only likes you for you, but likes you regardless of all the faults you see in yourself. (And he never pressured me to move the relationship forward from where we were at that moment, sans oral, etc.)

The next morning we woke up to the wafting smell of French toast cooking upstairs. The nice woman who owns the house decided to work her magic on the loaf of Italian bread Drewdos and I bought the day before. The two of us had already woken up three times during the night to start fooling around a bit. So when we smelled breakfast, we weren't too hard to get out of bed. (Figuratively and literally, of course).

Drewdos and I took our breakfast outside on the porch under the awning. It was absolutely delicious, and the meal was a delight because of how very easily Drewdos and I can chat about anything and everything. We get along really well. But there are infrequent moments of frustration where I feel I could just strangle him for some of the things he says.

Because we had woken up, gotten out of bed and headed upstairs in a matter of a few minutes, I had just thrown on a tshirt from my duffel bag and a pair of shorts. The tshirt isn't new -- in fact, it's old -- but it's very comfortable. And considering that I thought I would leave to go home sometime in the morning, it was a perfect shirt to wear for the ride. But I guess it didn't meet Drewdos's level of clothing attractiveness.

Before we headed upstairs, he commented on the small hole in the back of the shirt. For being as old as it is, a small hole is a pretty small price to pay to have a comfortable shirt that is mostly acceptable to wear outside the home. Then, after we finished breakfast and decided to make a quick stop at the local state park before I headed back home, he looked at me dead serious and asked, "Are you going to change your shirt?"

Double-you tee eff. Seriously. At his disposal, he has two huge closets full of clothes, and a chest of drawers that wouldn't even fit in my bedroom full of every imaginable article of clothing under the sun. Earlier that morning before I fell back asleep after one of our mid-morning romps, I soothed myself back to sleep by counting the pairs of shoes on the shelf in his closet: 24. And then there's me. I spend the night at his place and live out of a duffel bag. I have very limited space, so I cannot plan for every occasion. I arrived at his house the day before with very limited top-half clothing options: the tshirt on my back, an undershirt I had worn to the bar the night before (which went under a polo), and the shirt that I was currently wearing that had a small hole. That shirt evidently wasn't acceptable and the one I drove in the day before was a bit gross from the long car-ride, so I was stuck wearing the undershirt from the bar. I smelled like beer and cigarette smoke. Now that's romantic.

Needless to say, I wasn't a happy camper at the state park. I really tried to keep a happy face, but he knew something was up.

A few hours later, on my way back home, I stopped to see my sister and bitched about that morning. She agreed that it was a pretty petty thing to say, especially since we only officially started dating the day before. But whatever. When I got home, I texted Drewdos to tell him that I made it safely, to which he immediately called me to talk about what was bothering me. I tried to pass it off -- as I normally do when confronted with, well, confrontation -- but he was relentless. So I spilled. He claimed that he was joking, though I don't think he was, and said that he was very sorry that one of his comments upset me so much. His sincerity was true, which made me feel really bad because he felt really bad about an off-the-cuff remark he made that really upset me. (I don't deal well with confrontation. Did I mention that?)

We talked things out and moved past the whole incident pretty easily.

The next day, Tuesday and most of Wednesday were filled with hundreds of text messages back and forth. My phone holds about 100 texts in its inbox before some need to be deleted to make room for new ones. I have to dump my inbox about once a day, which means that Drewdos and I exchange at least 200 messages every day. How did we ever live without this form of communication?

He visited me on Wednesday, so I showed him the points of interest around my town, including the windmill farm (ooh!), the lake (ahh!) and where I went to high school (astounding!). We met up with one of my sisters and her fiance for wings later that evening, which was both interesting and heart-stoppingly scary at the same time. Things went very smoothly, though, and all parties got along as expected. Afterward the four of us went for ice cream and went our separate ways, which means that my sister and her fiance went home, and Drewdos and I went to Walmart. It's where all the gays go, remember?

About an hour later, we said our goodbyes, and we ourselves parted ways. It's never easy being right there beside him and having to drive away from one another. I still don't have that instant attraction that I had with John, and I'm still wary deep-down about him being younger than I am, but I feel connected to him when we're together. With John, I would long for and push for every opportunity to see him. With Drewdos, I'm more ambivalent than fanatical about seeing him. And yet when we're actually side by side, I can't imagine not being thus. It's a pickle of a situation. I'm much closer personally with Drewdos than I ever was with John, and maybe that's scaring me unconsciously.

Maybe I'm just not used to someone fawning over me and who is so easily able to profess his feelings for me. At the risk of sounding pretty, well, gay, we have two codes that allow us to send random, thinking-of-you text messages to one another: imy and ily. I miss you and I like you. Both are true, and both are very exciting to receive. And both are things John would very rarely ever say to me. Ever.

to be continued -- there's always this past weekend to talk about.

Let's Spend the Night Together, Part One

Okay, so, the second sleep-over. Hmm. I got to Drewtwo's house around 2:30 p.m. or so without too much trouble. I didn't miss any exits on the highway this time, and I remembered exactly how to get to the house when I got into town. He met me in the driveway for one very long, very intense kiss, and then took me by the hand to his bedroom apartment where we laid on his bed for awhile relaxing, watching TV, talking and kissing.

We had talked earlier in the week about playing tennis if the weather was nice, so I made sure to pack my racket and my balls (of the tennis variety). When I arrived at his place, the sun was shining high in the sky, very few clouds dotted the sky, and the temperature was warm but not too balmy. By the time we emerged from his bedroom an hour or so later after my arrival, the town was caught in the middle of a very heavy downpour.

We needed, nay, we had to get out of his apartment for fear that we would be caught in the making-out void for all eternity, so we went to the mall to walk around for a bit. With Mother's Day approaching, he wanted to check out the Hallmark store for a present or two. I was just along for the ride, but quickly praised God for bringing me to the midst of a used-book sale in the middle of the mall. While I was perusing the paperback titles -- "The Bourne Identity" by Robert Ludlum, "The Exorcist" by William Peter Blatty, some Tom Clancy novels, oh my! -- Drewtwo noticed two friends of his approaching the book sale and went to talk to them. I was just minding my own business, salivating at the mouth and sporting some serious... well, you get the picture, when all of a sudden I hear my name: "Zachary?!"

Except it wasn't Drewtwo's voice. It was a woman. I turned and saw my friend Maria and our mutual friend Clint. I was over an hour away from home, in a really run-down and crappy one-floor mall, and there before me stood two people I know from back home. After a few "What the fuck are you doing here?" questions, it turned out that they were in town for a wedding and had some time to kill before the reception. (Long periods of time between the wedding ceremony and the wedding reception really bite my ass.) At that point, Drewtwo brought over his two friends to introduce to me, after which I introduced my two friends to him. Good times all around.

After the mall Drewtwo and I went to the grocery store to pick up some food for dinner, and then headed back to his place to prepare it. Evidently, his parents brought some steaks with them the last time they visited, so he had a few in the freezer for such an occasion. We had taken them out before going to the mall, so they were relatively ready to go by the time we got back to the house.

I can definitely hold my own in the kitchen, as I've stated before, but once again I found a guy who is rather territorial about his domain. With our steaks that evening, we decided to have risotto, which was about as simple to make as adding water and milk and mixing in the packet of seasoning. But even this I wasn't allowed to touch. Not so much not allowed. Just discouraged. Anytime the risotto looked like it needed to be stirred, he'd rush over and take the wooden spoon from my hand and paddle me with it and do it all himself. Whatever. I guess I'm used to it.

For all of my acumen in the kitchen, I have very rusty grilling skills, so I told him that I'm glad he knew a thing or two about it because dinner would've been ruined otherwise. It turned out he didn't know any more than I do, maybe less. He didn't let the grill preheat before he put the steaks on the grill, he flipped them too early and too often, and he put far too much seasoning on one side of the steak before flipping it over and having it all fall off and burn on the hot grill. I wanted to say something but I kept quiet out of respect for his manhood.

Nonetheless, dinner was delicious, the dinner conversation was wonderful, and the rain ceased long enough for us to enjoy a meal under the awning.

After dinner, we went back down to his bedroom to continue our conversation horizontally. We had just gotten very comfortable lying in each other's arms while watching Bridget Jones' Diary when his friend Lauren called to ask that we go out to the bar with her and her boyfriend and some other people that night. Initially, I wasn't feeling it. I was far too cozy being in bed with him, just holding onto one another and gazing longingly into his eyes. But then it hit me: if this is all we do, this is all we have. If we just do this during our first times together, this will be what our relationship is based on. That can't be too healthy. So we agreed that we'd go out with his friends for a beer.

Of course, after a long day of book shopping, grocery shopping, dinner eating and TV watching, a shower was in order to cleanse away the day's grime. Needless to say, because he and I believe in conserving the nation's resources, which include potable water, we agreed that taking one shower together instead of two separate showers was the most economical. Enough happened to make it fun and exciting, but not so much that I feel all that dirty. We'll get to more on that later.

The bar his friends were going to was within walking distance of Drewtwo's place, which came in handy because we didn't have to worry about getting behind any wheels, so we headed out around 10:30 p.m. In addition to the regular ID-checking and cover-paying, I was treated to a big burly man asking me to lift up my shirt enough so he could check out my ass -- his cover was checking for weapons and alcoholic beverages, of course, but he and I both know he wanted me.

Drewtwo's friends, I must say, are pretty nice people. I had a really good time with them, drinking, laughing and swapping college stories. From what I heard from Drewtwo the next day, they liked me too, which is a good thing.

Another reason for my initial hesitation to going out to the bar with his friends is my shaky resolution not to go too far with Drewtwo until I'm sure we're ready. Several times that day alone, both of us almost crossed that line. The other had to slow things down at that moment, which is telling to me because I know he feels the same way I do about this situation. So if we're that close to taking the relationship to the next level, adding alcohol into the mix was not a very good idea to me. I mean, I know how I am. I can be persuaded easily and become more forceful in persuading others into having some fun.

Nonetheless, I agreed to go, and gave myself a one-beer limit. Three draft beers and a shot later, I'm two sheets to the wind and stumbling home with Drewtwo back to his place and his bed. He had been drinking too, but, unlike me, he could hold his beer far better than I was. We crawled into bed when we got home, moved closely to one another, started kissing gently, and that's when he laid the question of the night on me.

Did he wait for me to be drunk? Had he been thinking about it all night? Did I really do it for him so much that he would ask me such a thing? What if I answered his question and it wasn't what he was looking for. I obviously couldn't drive home in this condition. Had he planned this?

There I was in his arms, mostly coherent but most definitely buzzing, when I was asked that strangest of questions: What would you say we are? "Gay" was my initial answer, but that's evidently not what he was looking for.

Drewtwo: I mean, we're obviously more than just friends. Are we boyfriends?
Me: Sure.
Drewtwo: So you're my boyfriend.
Me: Hell yeah!
Drewtwo: And I'm your boyfriend.
Me: It's how that works.
Drewtwo: Sweet.

(Seriously, that's the dialogue. I remember it vividly.)

He then proceeded to tell me how much he likes me, to which I responded that I like him a great deal as well, and that I think we get along great together.

That's about the time when he said that he liked me. Only, he didn't end the second word with -ike. Somehow, in the grand scheme of mixed-up drunk messages, he ended the second word with -ove, like glove without the g.

to be continued -- duh.