Andy has grown tired of my pet names. He doesn’t want to be called “sweetie.” He doesn’t want to be called “honey.” This leaves me in a difficult spot. I’d like an affectionate nickname for him, but none that I’ve thought of fits the bill. He suggested “Droobie,” which is what his dad called him when he was a baby, but I’m not crazy about that. I guess I could just call him “Andy,” but that’s his actual name and everyone calls him that anyway. I want my own, personal nickname for him, darn it. Now and then I call him “my little rhino,” but that isn’t suitable for daily usage. I’m stuck.

Pre-summer thoughts: I’ve already grown weary of seeing bone-thin gay men in tight clothes everywhere I go. It’s either svelte or buff, lean or pumped. Subconsciously, “body image” issues are on my mind constantly. And this is despite the fact that I’m 5″11″, 175 lbs. and work out about 3 times a week. At the most absurd moments, I find myself feeling angry and resentful at guys who are just naturally thin, who can eat whatever they want, drink as much as they want, and yet always complain about how their clothes DON’T fit. Our whole mainstream stereotype of beauty is so sickening, and yet I feel it’s programmed into me and there’s little I can do about the fact that it automatically attracts me. I know there’s a gazillion books already written on this subject, but I just don’t feel like reading about it. They’re just stating what’s obvious to me already: advertising, marketing, and gay culture make up a trilogy of mindfuck.