Y'know, Shir - when I came out to my dear friend John, some years after I'd realised I was gay, he went home and said to his g/f that he was sad I'd not trusted him with this before. (He told me this much later.) Apparently, her response was that he shouldn't be so silly, because he had no idea what circumstances were making it difficult for me to come out to my friends. She is a wise lady.
In my case, 20+ years of religious intolerance, both external and internal, stopped me telling *anyone* until I was in my mid-twenties. It can take people quite some time. That's not personal, though.
I don't understand. If you are already sure he's gay, what distress is it causing you?
Seeing him going through this and battling himself, on his own. He doesn't have a lot of self confidence to begin with, so I can't imagine what this is doing to him.
But. I was only venting and joking, and clearly it's the wrong place, crowd and possibly thing to say to begin with. Again, I apologize.
actually, Shir, I thought that was exactly it. You were seeing his pain and you know he doesn't have to be alone. But You were telling us because, of course, you can't say it to him . That would be rude.
How bad would it be to arrange a coffee gathering with closeted friend, and friend you want to connect him with? And then, if chemistry seems to be happening, take an emergency "call" that you have to leave them alone.
I just saw .
I'm hanging out at the local cafe for a bit. Matt has a 4 hour gig at the local art gallery. Laptop, soup, and coffee. I have had at least three conversations about facebook, including one woman who understood why her friend played farmville ( even though the woman was speaking with didn't play) .
Mmm, soup.
I've got bread rising, and I'm making spaghetti now. Not sure where this cooking mood came from, but I figure I'll use it and make a bunch of stuff I can eat for a while.
Mmm, soup, indeed. I have chili simmering on the stove. My entire apartment smells like yum.
I have discovered that I cannot microwave homemade beanballs in the tomato sauce the way I can with the frozen ones -- they turn to mush. Tasty mush, but mush.
I had Indian buffet for lunch with a bunch of other Indians from Meetup.com. (There was also one white girl who had dated an Indian guy and had Indian friends and liked Indian food and Indian culture.)
Two people of interest in particular:
One girl asked where I was from in Texas, and I said Arlington, and she actually knew where that was, to my surprise. She asked, for kicks, if I knew So-and-So and So-and-So.
Did I know So-and-So and So-and-So? We were in the same Indian dance group throughout junior high and high school! She was their
cousin.
I love small-world moments.
And there was one guy...named Sunil. He works at Dreamworks, and he invited us to a free screening of
Fantastic Mr. Fox
next week. He said we should exchange numbers, and as I was leaving, I called to him, "Sunil..." And holy shit, that was
so weird to say.
I imagine you Davids and Toms and Amys and such call people your names all the time, but this was such a foreign experience for me. I've only ever met a couple other Sunils, and one is older than me so I address him as "Sunil Uncle," which is less cognitively dissonant.
