So Lucky Bachelor #13 had no problem around the size issues that I was anxious about. Actually I was kind of disappointed. I had pre-visualized the scene, “No, no, not that, get it away from me–help, help, somebody, help, police!” I wish I could tell you about what he does for a living and all the fascinating details of his job, but he’d get fired, would never talk to me again, have a breakdown and end up living in my basement. No wait, he’d have to get on the waiting list–the last one still hasn’t moved. I can tell you all about the most intimate details of my boring existence because I’m an artist and any controversy could only help further my ambitious 5 Year Plan.
I began photographing my “italian cypress” last week. (3 photos of hairy dude arranged to look like a columnar fastigiate. Remember the Katharine Hepburn interview with Barbara Walters?) I couldn’t find the right kind of point on my furry model for the top of the shrubbery, and he wouldn’t let me photograph the places which would have completed the picture perfectly. Whatever. He’s no longer so easily swayed to follow my commands. Gone are the days of complete subservience to my every aesthetic whim.
This project is a lot more difficult than I had anticipated. Rather than shooting a bunch of images and then assembling them into something–the form appearing out of my shuffling images around–I’ve already designed the final piece and am trying to find the right parts on my model to fit the picture. Poor D has to stand there with his hands over his head, or his leg on a stool, for hours at a time.
Rather than shooting something on D that’s shaped like the top of an italian cypress, I’m draping him in the same background fabric used in the other images in the piece, and kind of creating an area that approximates the same shape. What was the background will now be foreground, and create a kind of tension that’s going to make the piece much more dynamic visually.
For New Year’s Eve I was supposed to go to Bearracuda, but my disco nap gave way to sleep inertia and I ended up watching the fireworks from my window while flossing my teeth in my underwear.
I can’t take another year without a boyfriend. I feel very lost without a mate, yet I guess I’ve progressed to a point where I’m not willing to play house with just the first person–or second or third or fourteenth–who crosses my path. Alas, I keep plugging away… I just want something to feel, I don’t know, worth it all. Not really perfect, just sexually and intellectually challenging enough to warrant the huge chunk of time devoted to avoiding being productive.
I told my Married Man that I needed a break. It’s only been a few days and already he’s asking after me. I needed a break because, well, frankly he’s just so desirable. And so very NOT. He is married after all, so don’t get attached Little Bunny Coco. “Danger, Will Robinson!!” Aren’t there unmarried guys who read, direct plays, have seen Odd Man Out, paint, cook, are totally excited by me, and haven’t made porn films or been the Featured Bottom at some Bear Party Hug Thing?