My So-Called Love Life

This site -- my anthology -- is the story of a man, a young man, trying to find his way to love. Experiencing everything in between and serving you his heart on a silver-freaking-platter to the naked eye, for the whole world to see; relate, indulge, delve, and hopefully learn from his mistakes. Happy Dating! Copyright © 2004-2011, "My So-Called Love Life" ® Mario Ion. All Rights Reserved.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

World War We

The spectral and most often misapprehended ideal of dating is most commonly blurred on whether or not someone is compatible with you. And frankly the most tedious aspect of dating is the in-between phases; picking through flaws, getting to know the person, accumulating whether or not there is any substratum for anything more long-term, in terms of relationships.

It's hard to find that person in a world where we have websites like A4A to distort the realities in the eyes of other men. We're limited to 550 characters of self-explanation, and 5 pictures to capture moments of narcissism and maybe some self-loathing. Most gay men alike are only interested in shaking your hand and showing you to their bedroom. And the ones that are more interested in some lesser sexual / sensual meeting only seem to be interested in getting away from their real life for the moment. There are those you date and find no interest in, those you sleep with but find no heart in, and those you just hang out with and find no real point in going further. It's the in-between process that kills existentialism in the idea of Romance and Love.

I've spent a great deal of my dating life ascertaining my many dispositions and intents, believing I know what or who I want in my life. So I surrounded myself with friends and lovers alike, fucked countless others, dated many more. Somehow nothing ever stuck. Granted I've landed a few longer-term relationships, some years, others months. Often times I find myself longing for some sense of interaction with another person; be it hanging out, grabbing a bite to eat, comic commentary over a movie, stimulating the synapses in our brains with intellectual conversation, or even outspoken soft romantic gestures with a sexual pun or two thrown in the mix. It seems like it was just yesterday that I was a youthful teen, not bothered by the reality of how lonely life becomes when you're an adult.

I had it set in notion that when I move out of New York and into Pennsylvania, I'd be a different person; that I would drop my walls and let in some fun in life; meet men, sleep with them, date them, and just try to be a little less sheltered. Today that notion changed. I've been down that road many a times before, when I moved to Kansas City, and even back to New York for a short period of time. It hasn't gotten me too far aside from a few scars, a few holes in my heart, and a currently incurable disease as a reaction to being burned and heartbroken to such an extreme.

I think it's hard for anyone to really know what they want in another person, as we are ever evolving and changing. Just a year ago I wanted to be a little more uninhibited and start having some fun. But today? Today I just want someone to be there to enjoy a Thanksgiving dinner with our families, to rip open presents you've been dying to buy them, under the Christmas tree and a warm fire, and to welcome a New Year with a kiss. Time goes by a lot faster than we like to admit, and seasons come and go almost too quickly. Sometimes quick enough that you don't have to sit there and ponder the many pleasantries you can experience during these times. It took me remembering my birthday, coming up in January, to really sulk in the truth that I've never really had someone special to celebrate it with, someone special to wish me that happy birthday I normally hate hearing from others.

How do you find someone significant in a corrupted system of ideals mostly driven by stereotypes and stereotypical men alike? Everybody wants material, beach bods, Hollywood smiles, and pornstar sex. Nobody has time for reality and love anymore.


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