Year 2004-2005

Mid-Life

I truly feel that I am now in the middle of life.

When you start pondering whether you've saved enough money for the remaining years of your life, you must know you're in the middle of THAT life.

And when your fun is fifty percent real and fifty percent recollection THAT too is a sign you're in the middle of life.

I sometimes wonder if I'm having enough fun, especially when friends tell me I must quit working everyday to have more fun somewhere doing something else. Could they be right?

No. I think I am right.

At 43, my concept of fun is significantly different from my twenties and thirties, and I am not saying I am a true representation of gay life in general, but man, the fun I had was so tiring and at times disgusting I had to push away so many friends.

When I first came to Fort Lauderdale, I was barely 30 years old and my first gay friend was a Pinoy Nurse who, and I ain't lying, could not sleep a single night without hitting the bars. And he won't go to the bars alone.

Guess who HAD to accompany him. Man I was so pissed every night.

He'd say, "Alex, lets to go Adam's Bar, we'll have a drink and watch the strippers."

I'd grunt but would say, "Awright."

Two drinks and two rounds of strippers later, he'd say, "Alex, I'm bored (knowing only too well he wanted to pick someone for a quickie) lets go to another bar."

"But Ed, you know YOU and I have to work tomorrow."

"Alex, please we'll stay in this bar just thirty minutes, please, please, please."

I'd grunt. "Ooooohkaaaay, thirty minutes."

Four hours later, "Alex, can we go to this other bar."

Now, this was probably the tenth bar and I was already cross-eyed looking at people and strippers and inhaling smoke and all for what? Waiting for my friend to find someone to have sex with for the night.

I had to get rid of him.

My friend was so Manila-esque in my twenties. In my twenties, forget about sleepless nights, I was all over Manila, in fact, if you'd find a tree standing somewhere in the city, you'd probably find me behind it doing something with someone. I mean, who can beat me - who else would have sex beside a garbage bin smelling shit? I was continually hoping the next thing I'd grope wasn't a turd. That was sickening. But man, I was the non-stop flowing testosterone, sexually charged, fuck machine. I was the Master of Ceremonies of Manila Bay who had sex even with the guards watching Jose Rizal. Oh I was so pretty then.

Of course, all that tapered off in my thirties; and in my forties, I am enjoying sex only in spurts.

I'm afraid I'm following the old joke about f.

When you're in your twenties, you f twice, thrice even five times a day.

In your thirties, you f everyday (in your honeymoon especially).

Three times a week you f in your forties, followed by the seven-year itch before your fifties.

In your sixties, it may drop to twice a week.

In your seventies, you f once a week.

And in your eighties, you just say 'f you'.

If you can't speak (like you had stroke or somethin'), you just give her(or him) the finger.