Yesterday was the day that rained crazies. First, at work at the library, I was attacked by another library employee. Having moved around his behemoth cart by picking up my tinier (but still book-laden) cart and only just placing it down, he started ranting and yelling at me. At first, I had no idea what to do.. it was a library after all - an age-old institution of peace, harmony, and NO yelling. I quickly regained my composure (or as much as I can when so completely thrown) and stammered out that I was only just there for a second. Well, tried stammering out. He kept cutting me off with his screams. Mostly: "Get out of my way!" and "Why won't you get out of my way?!" and "I'm trying to work HERE!" and "What, don't you understand? I am calm. What I don't get is WHY WON'T YOU GET OUT OF MY WAY SO THAT I CAN WORK?!?" In his defense, at this point, I was intentionally remaining in his way, although not really because my cart was truly quite dinky and he could have easily maneuvered around me. Here's the thing - I have something of a temper. I am very good at keeping it under wraps. But, these days, when losing a job is looming over head and school isn't starting off super well and so many other things, I find myself hoping every day for some kind of conflict that will allow me to inflict pain and suffering on another human being. I chose to steady my hands, although what I wanted to do was push his cart down the aisle and throw all of his books onto the floor. Instead I walked away. Found his supervisor. She was basically of the mind that I've only been here since September and he's been here for years (assuming she had the right guy in mind, as I did not think to get his name as I did not think he would give it to me) and that was basically all she had to say. My queerfit wasn't strong enough. I think the combined queerfit of me and my boss (when I tell him today as he was gone yesterday) will force some kind of action. Then when I arrived home there was an email from a guy I'd been corresponding with for about a week now. We had plans to get together this weekend. In the email, he thanks me, "Austin," for being thoughtful enough to call and cancel. I am not Austin, nor have I ever been. I emailed him back, asking him if he was doing a Blake Shelton impression or had the wrong guy. He emailed back that he didn't have the wrong guy, and that he was just impressed with me, Austin, because so many gaie guys just do not know how to be respectful and call if they are going to cancel for a date (sex). I responded to this saying that it is indeed a lacking trait in gaie men, thoughtfulness, but that I am still not Austin.
And then the crazy hit the fan. He emailed me back, "I thought you were called Austin, I am sorry darling! maybe it wasn't you that called me then? was it? someone called me to cancel plans with me? so if you are taking all this credit on behalf of someone else well then that's fucked up." I replied: "1. Uhm, no, I am not Austin. 2. I did not call you. I do not even have your phone number. 3. We had no plans to cancel. 4. I think you must be crazy if you think I'm 'taking all this credit on behalf of someone else' and calling that 'fucked up' when through the course of all of these emails, the one thing that's remained constant is that I've insisted that I am not who you seem to think that I am." His response: "ok bitch fuck you too lol." My response: "Awesome. So now I can be quite certain that you are crazy and rest safely in the understanding that we won't be getting together on Saturday evening. See this as my being very thoughtful, much like Austin, and canceling on you. And with more than a few days notice --now that's classy. Best of luck in all of your endeavours. SWS2.1" His response to this was no response at all as the email bounced back to me. Even though I'd only emailed him a matter of minutes later, he'd already blocked me. And finally, the third of this day of one-acts, was receiving a series of emails from a very unattractive (but nicely muscled) man on a sex site disapproving of my stated sexual identity. Evidently, I am not a top. Nothing about me says top. In fact, he is sad for me because I am so clearly a bottom and how dare I have the audacity to proclaim otherwise? To be on here, looking to penetrate, when I all really want is a thick, hard cock driving through my anus like an elephant on parade? These are not the words he used. My words are significantly better. It suffices to say that, yet again yesterday, I was thrown.
I went to an Ivy League undergrad.
I go to a top NYC law school.
I date men (well...).
I live in Bed-Stuy.
I don't need more to say,
just more room to say it.
Etc.