Women

I've noticed that in US gay bars, it is more and more common to find women hanging out with their gay friends. I think I'm witnessing a generational shift. Just a few years ago, it was unusual to find even one woman at a gay bar in New York. Last night, I did a bar crawl with a visiting friend. We went to five bars in Midtown West and the East Village, and every one of them was full of women. I was shocked.

I struggle with this because—I won't even try to hide it—I don't want to socialize with straight women in gay bars. I worry, however, that this is the attitude of a gay misogynist dinosaur. The price gays are paying for greater mainstream acceptance is the loss of our counterculture. Some find this acceptable, but I'm uncomfortable with it. I can, and do, interact with women everywhere else. I'd like to have a few places where I can be with just men, but it looks like there will be fewer and fewer of those.

Last Sunday, there was one very drunk and very deluded woman walking around at New York's one and only cruise bar in a bra and braces. She went into the men's room and started whining about how she was gay man trapped in a woman's body and was offended because no one at the bar wanted to talk to her. Really, honey? You're hanging out half naked in the men's room of a gay bar and feeling lonely? Try taking a walk down the street. You'll make lots of new friends.

Finally, I couldn't take anymore of her whining—she wouldn't leave the bathroom—and I shouted out over the stall wall, "You're not welcome here for the same reason men aren't welcome at the ob gyn: we don't belong there!" And then I asked security to make her leave. This was an extreme example of the trend, I'll grant, but it shows there are no exclusive gay bars left in New York, or possibly anywhere. I'm not happy about this.

Yellow

Over the weekend I managed to tackle a painting project I'd been dreaming about for years. My previous roommate had taken some paint purchased by his previous roommate and painted the hall near the entrance. It was a toxicly bright yellow, and every time I walked in the door I wanted to change it. After this year's endless winter relented and we finally had a full weekend without rain, I fixed it, by extending the living room's color. I think it makes the room look bigger.

Bust

The Berlin trip was kind of a bust. I can't blame Berlin. The weather was perfect: six days of sunny warm days and cool nights. The problem was me sleeping past noon every day and not feeling especially inspired to do anything. Maybe an April trip was too soon after my December visit, or maybe the difficulty I have eating well over there just left me worn out.

I'm planning to go back in September, as in, I've already booked an apartment and bought a plane ticket, but I'm really thinking I should save the vacation days, and cash, and do something else. Like saving the money.

Yeah right. Almost as soon as I starting thinking of canceling the September trip, I started thinking of what else I could do that around Labor Day. Southern Decadence comes to mind. If there's one thing I can say about New Orleans, it's that I will have no trouble finding something to eat. I almost did this trip back in 2008, but a hurricane changed my mind and I went to the Folsom Street Fair later that September instead. It's a pity Southern Decadence always falls in hurricane season, but it sure keeps the hotels and air fares reasonable.

I should give myself another week to think about this, but I dread the thought of another trans-Atlantic trip anytime soon.

Packing

A friend talked me into going to Berlin for Easter. I'll fly the Atlantic for any excuse nowadays, so it took little persuasion. It's fascinating how different cultures honor the Resurrection in their own way, and the Berliners' approach, I can appreciate.

The hardest part of a trip to a big fetish event is the packing. Whatever else one might say about such occasions, there is no question costume changes are a huge part of it. Mix the rarity, for some of us, of opportunities to wear our gear with the naturally queeny inclination not to be seen in the same outfit twice, and voilà: overstuffed suitcase. Leather is heavy, especially the boots, and if you want to avoid heavy luggage fees from the airline, some editorial selection is necessary.

I don't fly until Tuesday night, but as I'll be busy with work Monday night, I started packing already. I've been at it for an hour, and not a single item has made it to a suitcase yet. First I arrayed all the gear on my bed: tops, bottoms, accessories. Then I put away the impulse buys I never wear but still like to look at. I check the event calendar and ask, will I need more than two outfits of latex? Should they be street legal? Will I have an occasion to wear this neoprene singlet, and if I do should I bring my wrestling shoes, which I would not otherwise wear? Will three pairs of leather slacks be enough, or too much?

And then there's cotton. For some reason no matter what I pack for, I always bring two or three times more t-shirts than I need. This time it should be easier, because my favorites are from Berlin, but I have this rule about not wearing bar or shop t-shirts in the city where I bought them, because then it's not special, so I have a smaller selection to tempt me.

As important as the fetish gear is, having comfortable clothing is also key, for daytime tourism. Translation: bring a lot of jeans and top layers. Doing this reminds that I've more or less given up on mainstream stylishness, except for work, and it's a little depressing. On the other hand, t-shirts and jeans are a timeless look for a reason.

I'd better get back to it. I haven't even determined if a trip to the laundromat will be necessary this weekend. Sigh.

IML?

I've made plans to attend International Mr. Leather in Chicago once again this year, but I'm thinking of skipping it to save money. I have a feeling if I go I'll have an okay time but wonder why I've chosen to spend Memorial Day Weekend holed up in a crowded hotel in downtown Chicago. If I don't, I'll probably wish I were there, but at least I'll be $1200-$1500 richer. (It's not possible for me to do it any cheaper, not with the constant temptation of the vendor market.)

Why is it these days everything I do requires a decision about spending money? It was easier to justify expenses like this when it only meant going deeper into debt, but now that I'm flush, it's about ending 2011 with $x in the bank or $x-1200 in the bank. What would Suzie Orman do?

Telecommuting

I've been working at home a lot lately. My job has evolved to where it is 70% web-based workflow, so there are few technical reasons for me to be in the office and fewer reasons still pertaining to coworker interaction, as my team is geographically dispersed.

I've been enjoying the freedom of it. There's nothing like waking up at 8:00, booting up the laptop, and being on the job at 8:30 while still in my robe sipping coffee. I'm also cooking for myself more, which is nice and healthy, but I'm getting tired of frying things.

There were points when I thought there were simply too many distractions to work at home, namely the TV. During the uprising in Egypt, I was glued to CNN an entire afternoon when I ought to have been working. But the novelty of TV at work wore off, and CNN's incessant coverage of right-wing lunatics made switching the boob tube off an easy decision.

My company offers the option to work full-time at home. I can't imagine wanting to do this in July or August, in my un-air-conditioned apartment, but if I evict my roommate, his bedroom would make a decent home office, and I could air-condition it. The company would pay for a dedicated phone line, internet access, and a printer, which would take some of the financial sting out of living alone.

Of course, my commute to Midtown, door to door, is only about 30 minutes on a good day, I've got a couple of new Brooks Brothers suits gathering dust, and there's truly a lot to be said for Midtown happy hours. Maybe I won't give up the cubicle yet.

Alone

Last year, after I paid off my debt and my roommate told me he was moving out, I had a decision to make: find a new roommate or go it alone. I could afford to live alone, but it would mean giving up travel and being more conservative financially than I've ever managed to be. I chose the roommate.

I've come to regret that choice. It's not that my new roommate is bad. He pays the rent, has a sweet disposition, and spends a lot of time running around the city. He'd be perfect if only he weren't such a slob. Three months into our cohabitation, I'm fed up with cleaning up after him. I didn't place many conditions on him to move in, but I was clear about my expectation of a thorough biweekly housecleaning. He's not doing it.

More than that, I've been feeling, as a single 40-year-old, that I shouldn't be dealing with anyone else's messes. It's time to make a sacrifice to get some privacy. So I've decided that I will live alone by 2012. The only questions are whether to stay in this apartment, and if so, how soon to evict the party bear.

I have a good deal on rent here. It's a two-bedroom apartment priced only slightly more than many one-bedroom apartments are going for in this area, but it has some deficiencies. The renovation was sloppy, the stove needs to be replaced, and so does the carpeting. The neighborhood has grown noisier as more bars have moved in, and with my landlord living across the hall, I sometimes feel like I'm under scrutiny.

A change of scenery could be good for me. I've been exploring other parts of Queens, and there are some really wonderful neighborhoods out here. Off Skillman Avenue in Sunnyside there's a small enclave of ivy-covered homes with gardens that looks like it was transplanted from England. On 90th Street in East Elmhurst there's a row of cottages so cute I could pinch myself, and in Jackson Heights almost every block has a different style of housing, not to mention the vibrant gay nightlife.

But if I stay here alone, I'd be the rare New Yorker with a spare bedroom. Sometimes when I'm vacuuming or cleaning the toilet, I fantasize about what I'd do with my roommate's space. I could move half my clothes in there, get a desk and have a home office, and get a futon couch/bed for company. I could list it on Ebab.de and make new European friends. The possibilities are endless.

But now I need to clean the bathroom sink of someone's hair…