Father Abraham

I just got back from a rugby game followed by a rugby social. Rugby socials are a long-standing tradition where, after a game, the two opposing teams come together and drink heavily. Usually, rugby songs are sung.

During the social, somehow a drunken debate popped up over what makes something "gay."  One camp held that an action was only gay if "balls touch," another argued it's not gay if you say something manly afterward, and a third held that it's not gay if you're not hard.  The debate was left unresolved when rugby songs started up.

Rugby songs are filthy, obscene ditties that just about every rugby player knows. Some of the lyrics vary from team to team and some teams know some songs that another team doesn't, but in general if one team starts singing, the other team starts singing along.

Well, we had gotten through the usual songs of "I used to work in Chicago," "Days of the week," a few others that have slipped my mind, when the a player from the other team gets up on a chair and starts singing "Father Abraham."  Now, I don't know "Father Abraham." Neither does anyone else on my team, but we followed along as best we could, clapping in time with the music, gesturing with our arms when prompted to. "To the right" and we all stuck our arms out to the right. "To the left," and again to the left. "To the right again," we did. "To the left again." "Shirts off!" and sure enough, we took our shirts off. "Pants off." Fewer followed along this time, but I and couple others on our team did, while their entire team did. "Boxers down." Two guys on my team, myself and a senior, followed suit. And their entire team dropped their undershorts.

Here we were, standing drunkenly naked in the middle of a room full of drunk, naked rugby players. And no one sported a hard on. They then mooned us all, allowing us a pleasant view of the tattoo on most of their asses, and then the clothes went back on.  The best part was one of them shouted "none of us got hard, it's not gay!" To which Sam, the guy on our team who had been arguing that point the whole afternoon, shouted "YES!"

Good times.

Invictus

Tomorrow, Spring Break begins.
Earlier Today, I had two midterms.
And two weeks ago yesterday, my depression reached a terrifying low point.

Thankfully, my friends were there, are there, when I needed them to be and nothing bad happened. I got extensions or exemptions on the work I missed around there and my professor brought in his dog that Friday to keep me company. So, yeah, that sucked balls.

But I saw a psychologist, I've been referred to psychiatric health over at the med center, I've signed all of the paperwork releasing my information to them, and I have my first appointment on May 2nd. That's far off, but I'll be fine until then.

And when I do get help, I'll be open to medication. Anyway, that raps up that for now.

Onward to the far more interesting things we care about: my sex life.

Karla and I slept together.  Oh wait, you thought I meant I fucked her? I didn't, we just literally slept together, as in we ate ice cream and watched a movie together in her bed and that slept together.  We hang out, we share notes, we eat together, she knows I want her, and she says she thinks I'm cute. But she also says I'm like a brother to her and we can never, ever be romantically involved. And then she complains about how all guys treat her like an object.

I would like to point this is not the first girl to treat me like this.  Somehow, all of the girls who I find intellectually, physically, emotionally attractive see me as a close friend, a confidant, a brother, but never as a sex object. Which is really, really weird because most of the gay guys I know want my cock. It's a strange dichotomy.

Speaking of gay guys, Max wants to know why I'm not sleeping with him anymore. The reason is I'm lazy. He's decently far away, I've had him a dozen times, he's not that cute, we don't do anything kinky. Sex with him has lost a great deal of its appeal.

Ralphie and I are probably never going to see each other again. How tragic. He's coming back home tomorrow for Spring Break, I'm leaving tomorrow. Unless we run into each other in the late afternoon, we're not going to see each other.  And after this spring break, he's not coming home again. He's graduating, moving even further away, and going straight into grad school for architecture. So, I won't get his delightful ass again in the foreseeable future.

Joe has contacted me again. We're going to grab dinner together in a couple weeks, he's going to tie me up in a motel room and we'll see what goes on from there.

But tomorrow, I leave for a cross country trek that will take me to the west coast and back over the course of 9 days, and that'll be good.