It appears my mutant power of being attracted to unavailable men has flared up once again. It’s the end of the summer and I have a crush on someone. On a straight someone.

I sure can pick ‘em.

I’ve been remaining pretty cool about it. It seems all those years of corporate America taught me how to subdue my feelings in the face of adversity (or awkwardness, in this case). I figured I’d be a little old for this kind of thing, but I’ve been single for about a year and a half now and have had a string of shitty dates. And the dudes I meet in between those dates are shallow, pretentious, one-note losers with no personality or drive. They’re not interesting; they’re just some boring fags looking for the next thing to keekee about or dude to lie on their backs with. (Hey, a guy has needs!)

Talking and hanging out with the crush is…refreshing. It’s refreshing because he’s carefree, smart, creative, sarcastic, and is intelligent. He’s everything I’d want in a guy…if he were gay. But he’s not. And I’m too old to pull the “let’s test if he’s gay” game. Besides, I’m convinced the only place that game really works is at Morehouse.

So until I find The Future Mr. Karsh, I’ll just sit and daydream openly about the crush, hearing his voice, laughing at his jokes, and dying a little bit inside when he starts talking about the kind of girl he wants.

*sigh*