Date #44: Crazy A** Motherf**ker

This is why I really think I should turn straight:

Gay men can be too crazy for even me to handle sometimes.

Por ejemplo--

I met Parker over the summer at a club one night. We exchanged numbers, and he seemed like an awesome guy.

So awesome, in fact, that he already had a boyfriend.

Now, don't think that's what this entry is going to be all about. Parker was very upfront about his having a boyfriend--granted, he still took my number--but he almost instantly let me know, as soon as we started texting, that he was taken.

I wasn't too disappointed by this--I only ate one tub of Breyer's strawberry ice cream--and I kept in touch like any mature gay guy would...

...You know, in the hopes that the two of them would break up.

And lo and behold, one day Parker texts me and tells me that he's having trouble with his boyfriend and that's why he hadn't texted in awhile--

(To be honest, I hadn't really noticed--at this point, he had moved to back burner status.)

--But he said he definitely wanted us to get together sometime soon.

ATTENTION GAY MEN WHO MAY NOT BE AWARE THEY'RE OBLIVIOUS: Big pet peeve of mine? When a guy asks you to hang out and then later on claims he just meant it in a friendly way. Yes, of course, gay men can just be friends and hang out as friends, but that has to be established before the invitation is extended. I don't think it makes someone man-hungry or desperate to assume that when someone asks them out, it's with the assumption that it's a date of some kind--this goes for straight people too. I've noticed a lot of my guy friends go out on dates only to hear the girl say later--"Why can't a guy and girl just hang out as friends?" Because men and women aren't meant to be friends. They're meant to breed. That's one thing me and the Baptists agree on--just like how gay men are meant to...not breed but do the thing that would lead straight people to breeding--that's one of the things me and the Baptists do not agree on. Every once in awhile friendships will be made, but we live in a society were everyone is either looking for sex, a relationship, or in some optimistic cases--both. So make sure you're clear where you stand with someone before you offer to try out bathing suits in front of them...or something.

End of rant.

So now, a week goes by with no text from Parker. Finally, he texts and says that things are over with his boyfriend and when can we get together? I tell him pick a time, and he says okay.

Another week goes by.

He texts again and asks if I'm free on Friday. Now, during the lulls where he isn't texting, we don't talk at all, but when we do text, we usually converse and discuss different things, and it's clear we would get along really well at least on a very basic level. I'm mentioning this so that you, my blog-reading friends, are aware that in addition to him pursuing plans with me, we also spent a long time talking. So if there was anything he wanted to tell me, he would have had plenty of opportunity.

He did, however, tell me an awful lot about his boyfriend. Apparently, the guy was a few queers short of a pride parade.

PARKER: He's completely insane. He always accused me of cheating on him. He'll give me the silent treatment for no reason at all. I couldn't go anywhere or do anything without him getting on my case. Living with him was like being in a prison. He used to check my phone and text message things to guys I was friends with--just to scare them away. It was nuts.

RULE #14567 of Dating: Never go out with a guy leaving a bad relationship.

When the time finally came to hang out, we went to a movie. About halfway through it, I put my hand over his--so yes, I made the first move, but I didn't exactly grab his crotch.

(You'll see why I'm being defensive in a little while.)

He smiled at me. I took this as a kind of go-ahead. I leaned over and kissed him. He seemed a little nervous about it, but didn't exactly pull away. We kissed a little bit more and then just settled down and watched the movie.

We parted ways in the parking garage--he said he had to be up early the next day.

And that was that.

I texted him the next morning to let him know I had a nice time the night before and that we should do it again.

That's when the fit hit the shan.

I got this text back a few minutes later:

Listen you dirty gay slut, I want nothing to do with you, so just leave me the f**k alone!!!

Clearly, he was pissed. I mean, he used three exclamation points.

I texted back:

Okay, well, nice knowing you.

Then he texted back:

That's right, you ugly f**king scumbag. Stay the f**k away from me.

Clearly, this wasn't Parker talking. I remembered what he said about his ex-boyfriend text messaging people and pretending to be him. But how did the guy get ahold of Parker's phone? Were they still living together?

I texted:

So I'm assuming this is the pscyho ex-boyfriend?

He texted:

Try psycho current boyfriend, crazy ass motherf**ker. Do you enjoy mauling people in the movie theater?

It was then I decided I'd had enough arguing with Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. I texted him to tell Parker that I was a never huge fan of junior high and I have no interest in reliving it.

He texted me back:

I'm sorry. He stole the phone from me. I told him what happened last night and he got really mad. I told you he was nuts.

Three things instantly popped into my head:

1) Why would you ever tell your ex you went on a date with someone else? Let alone give them enough details to get mad over?

2) Why did he still refer to himself as the current boyfriend.

3) Oh my God, I'm an f**king idiot.

I texted:

Are you still going out with him?

After a minute:

Yes, I thought you knew that.

Okay, let's review. Step one, he tells me he has a boyfriend. Step two, he tells me he and his boyfriend are having problems. Step three, he tells me he and his boyfriend are over and asks if we can hang out. Step four, he bashes his boyfriend to me. Step five, we hang out. Step six, he goes home to his boyfriend and cries about being attacked by some gay homewrecker a la yours truly.

I called him.

ME: Are you kidding me with this? You told me you were broken up.
PARKER: We were, but we worked things out. It's complicated.
ME: See, I would have liked to have heard that before we hung out.
PARKER: I thought we were just hanging out as friends.
ME: You thought that you were going out on a Friday night to a movie with some guy and nobody else--a guy whom you've conversed with several times, whom you met in a club and gave your number to, whom you've vented to about your boyfriend, and you thought that I was just supposed to assume that this was going to be a friendly outing? Have you been living under an orientel rug for the past thousand years? We went on a date.

(Lot of whom's going on, I know, who knows if I'm even using them right.)

PARKER: I'm sorry, I--
ME: And why didn't you try to stop me from kissing you?
PARKER: It was a little awkward. I mean, I didn't want to turn away, and I do think you're cute, it's just that I really want to work things out with Michael. But at the same time I really didn't want to be rude.
ME: You are a looney f**king tune-y. Just an F.Y.I. Did you actually used the term 'mauled' when you described what happened?
PARKER: I had to embellish a little, otherwise he would have gotten mad at me.

Anyone got a wrench? A crowbar? Maybe a really big paperweight? Something I can beat myself over the head with until the world makes sense?

ME: Terrific. Well, I hope you two are very happy together.
PARKER: Thank you. That's very mature--
ME: I WAS BEING SARCASTIC!

I hung up on him.

Then I got another text.

Haha motherf**ker. Look who won.

Okay, whatever, I'm 12. I don't care. I texted back:

You got your shady boyfriend, a f**ked up relationship, and the image of my lips on Parker's neck. I have my sanity, my freedom, and a stomach flat enough to wash guest towels on--yup, you definitely won this round, Champ. Good luck in the finals.

And that was that.

ME: I don't know if I can keep this up. They're all so f**king crazy.
FRIEND: Honey, your mouth is getting so dirty. Go put a c**k in it or something.
ME: It's all this dating. It's driving me nuts. I realize there are social problems that can't be avoided, but going out with a guy who lives with the Son of Sam shouldn't be one of them.
FRIEND: It's too bad you couldn't get him in bed. Adultery is the best aphrodisiac.
ME: Please, I probably would have woken up with a horse's head next to me.
FRIEND: It would still be more attractive than what I woke up next to this morning.
ME: Oh, I forgot to tell you the best part--

So I got a text from Parker.

Um, do you have a blog?

I texted back:

Um, yeah--I do.

He texted me:

Apparently some people I work with read it, and they guessed it was me. Plus, my boyfriend had one of his friends send it to him. I guess he knows some people who read it too. Everyone knew you were talking about me and him. Why didn't you tell me you were going to do that?

To which I texted back:

Oh, I thought you would have assumed I have a blog where I write about guys like you in the hopes that society will then shun people like you and your crazy boyfriend. Plus, I figured as long as you were going to be claiming you got mauled by me; I might as well show you what that would be like. Give my love to the desperate housewife :O)

Fifty-six more dates until a utopian gay dating planet, ladies and gentlemen...

Date #43: Clingy Dingy

There's one thing I always hate accusing guys of being:

Clingy.

I feel like guys only call other guys clingy when they're not all that interested in them to begin with, so the term shouldn't even exist.

Let me give you an example.

When a guy you don't like calls you twice in one day, you say--

"Oh my God, this guy won't leave me alone!"

When a guy who has a six pack and perfect hair calls you twice in one day, you say--

"Oh my God, he just called again! He's totally into me! Let me text him again so he knows that I'm still interested."

Let's face it, ladies and gentlemen, "clingy" is in the eye of the beholder.

My other favorite is the type of guy who likes mystery, so that when a guy is clingy, the mystery lover loses interest.

People, isn't one of the basic building blocks of a good relationship communication? If so, shouldn't that mean that the more a guy communicates with you the more likely you are to be able to develop something real with him?

I tend to prefer the life of the party as opposed to the wallflower in the corner, but hey, everyone has their preferences.

Now that I've soapboxed about how much I dislike the term "clingy," let me tell you about my date with the clingiest of the clingy.

I knew I was in trouble when he called four times before the date even began.

These were not calls to ask directions, or confirm meeting times, or even to figure out simple logistics--all that was squared away in the first phone call. These were just...check-ups, I guess you could call them.

Extra Phone Call #1:

CLINGY DINGY: So are you excited about tonight?
ME: Uh...yeah. It should be a lot of fun.
CLINGY DINGY: I know. What are you wearing?
ME: Now or tonight?
CLINGY DINGY: Tonight. (Laughs...loudly) Oh my God! Did you think I wanted to have phone sex that is so funny! Oh my God, do you do that?
ME: Um...no, not really. I mean, that wasn't what I was saying.
CLINGY DINGY: That's so hysterical. I bet you're really funny, huh?
ME: Well, I usually try not to make whoever I'm with shoot milk out of their nose if that's what you mean.
CLINGY DINGY: HAHAHAHAHAHA! Oh my God, you're so priceless--in a cute kind of way.

Extra Phone Call #2:

CLINGY DINGY: Hey, do you have any food allergies or anything?
ME: No, not that I know of.
CLINGY DINGY: I just don't want to go somewhere where you might have an allergic reaction or anything.
ME: I should be okay. I've eaten at lots of different places.
CLINGY DINGY: That's cool. I'm glad you're so laidback. Some guys are just so uptight, you know? It's incredible how uptight some guys can be.
ME: Well, for the most part I'm pretty easygoing.
CLINGY DING: That's cool. (Pause.) That's cool.

Extra Phone Call #3:

CLINGY DINGY: So, what's up?
ME: Um...not much. Is everything okay?
CLINGY DINGY: I'm just bored.
ME: Where are you?
CLINGY DINGY: At work.
ME: They let you talk on the phone at work?
CLINGY DINGY: Whatever. Let the f**kers fire me. I'll sue their ass for discrimination.
ME: How would they be discriminating against you if they fired you for talking on the phone at work?
CLINGY DINGY: They'd be discriminating because I'm gay.
ME: Oh...
CLINGY DINGY: Get it?

Extra Phone Call #4:

CLINGY DINGY: I'm kind of hard right now.
ME: See you tonight. Bye.

I had to stop by Turner's apartment just to calm myself down before the date. If I were a drinker, I probably would have knocked back a few while I was there. Turner gave me yogurt with chocolate crunchies in it and offered to do the age-old job of friends everywhere.

TURNER: I can call twenty minutes after it starts and tell you that your Aunt Becky has just been attacked by a cougar.

My poor Aunt Becky--she's had meningitis, a brain tumor, gone through two fatal car accidents, and now a cougar.

ME: That's okay, Turner. I just need to face the music.

That's when Turner suggested the "Cling to the Ding" plan.

TURNER: Do you ever wonder what would happen to a clingy guy if he dated an even clingier guy?

Tell me this isn't the set-up for a very special episode of Frasier.

ME: You mean, I should out-cling him?
TURNER: Look, we've all been clingy at one point or another in our lives--and it's because we're more into someone than they are with us. So all you have to do is make yourself seem like the more interested person and then in turn this guy will become--
ME: Less interested.

Oh my God, it was so simple. Instead of acting uninterested and having this guy call me drunk at 3am once a month for the rest of my life, I could just pretend I really really like him and scare him off that way.

ME: Turner, you're a genius.

(Granted, this was one of the methods Kate Hudson used on Matthew McConaughey in How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, but this was going to be a full frontal assault on Sir Calls-a-Lot.)

I showed up at the restaurant and the first thing I did was start to overcompliment.

ME: Oh my God, you look so hot.

CD was instantly thrilled. Little did he know I wasn't going to stop turning on the charm until the charm tub overflowed and poured into the downstairs neighbor's living room.

CD: You think so? Hot?
ME: Oh my God, so hot. Like--so hot. I can't believe how hot you are. Do people tell you you're hot all the time? Cause you really are.
CD: Um...thanks.

He was grinning from ear to ear, but already I could see that thought cross his mind:

Wow, this guy really likes me...why does he like me so much?

Then I started in with the questions.

ME: So do you like your job? What's your family like? Do you think I could meet them someday--like, if this goes well?

He was still smiling, but now cracks were showing.

Wait a second, I really liked this guy, he's thinking, why all of a sudden is he annoying me?

Then in came the "plans."

ME: I'm going to Florida sometime soon. You should totally come. It'll be great. I mean, I know we just met and all, but think how much fun it'll be. I'm going down there for three weeks. I mean, think how much we'll know about each other after three weeks!

Now I could see complete and total fear in his eyes. This guy was looking for the exit.

What a total freak! I mean, who the hell would like me this much? It's such a turn-off to be liked this much! I mean, if the guy's not going to be a challenge, what's the point?

ME: (In a whisper.) Not to freak you out or anything, but my dead ex-boyfriend looked just like you, and I thought he and I were like--soulmates.

I think it was at this point Clingy Dingy wished he had a friend to call him and tell him his Uncle Joey had just been taken out by the Indonesian mob. Unfortunately, it was clear he had previously never run into a situation similar to this one.

As soon as the check came, he was out of there. I'm not even sure he officially said good-bye, I think he might have just nodded in my direction and then bolted for the door.

Too bad, I still wanted to try out my "Did I mention I'm really attracted to Jeb Bush?" line.

FRIEND: Fucking genius.
ME: Not really. Although it was pretty funny.
FRIEND: And too much work. You should have just done what I do.
ME: Told him to fuck off and then drank until he became cute enough to screw?
FRIEND: Nooooo. Told him to fuck off, then drank until he became cute enough to screw, and then screwed his hot friend with the tongue ring.
ME: How does this have anything to do with him being clingy?
FRIEND: Honey, I don't ask the questions here.
ME: Thank God for small favors.

I called Clingy Dingy to thank him for a great time. He didn't answer me, but I did leave a message.

ME: I just wanted to say that you're like, the best guy I've ever dated. I totally want to--I don't know--marry you in Massachusetts or something.

That, my friends, is called the cherry on the sundae.

Date #42: Dirty Talk

So in fact, the Internet may be hurting me more than I realize.

My name and e-mail address was given to a guy named Oliver that Brian thought I would like. He e-mailed me and asked for a date. After hearing nothing but nice things about him from Brian, and seeing from a recent photo that he mildly resembles a preppy Topher Grace (--I love Topher Grace, ps) I agreed.

As per usual, neither I nor the guy to wait until the date to get some info on each other, so we started IMing each other the night before.

Brian had described him as being "shy, reserved, you know, the quiet type."

Two minutes into the conversation, he asked me this little gem of a question:

OLIVER: So how big is your #$%^?

(And no, ladies and gentlemen, he wasn't asking about my kneecap.)

ME: Um, that's a little forward, no?
OLIVER: Oh, come on. We're both adults here.

Adults, to my knowledge, do taxes and drive mini-vans. They don't ask other adults how mongo their bongos are.

Still, I don't want to be considered a prude, so I compromised.

ME: Let's just say I'll tell you one day assuming this dates and others following it goes well.
OLIVER: A coy boy, huh? That's f**king hot.

P'scuse me?

ME: You're not exactly what Brian described, you know.
OLIVER: Oh yeah? How did he describe me?
ME: He said you were shy and quiet.
OLIVER: In public, yeah. But in bed I like to howl.
ME: Howl?
OLIVER: Just like a f**king love wolf, baby. You like that?

Oh Christ...

I told him I had to get to bed soon, and that ended the conversation.

The next day at lunch, I relayed to Brian that his friend was a teenage werewolf.

BRIAN: You're kidding. Oliver?
ME: Yes, Oliver.
BRIAN: I've heard him say three words the entire time I've known him.
ME: Well, maybe you should try getting in the sack. That might open him up a little bit.
BRIAN: I wouldn't have even suggested you go out with him except that he always seemed nice.
ME: It's not that he wasn't nice; it's just that he was a bit of sex-maniac.
BRIAN: That's not always a bad thing, you know.
ME: Why do you think I didn't cancel the date?

To be honest, I can't say anyway I've ever dated has been on the wild side--in the "I howl in bed" kind of way anyway. I'll admit, I was a little intrigued.

But then I kept getting texts like these all day.

FROM OLIVER: Do you like it when guys run their tongues over your stomach?

Then--

FROM OLIVER: If things go well tonight, I want to tie you down and bathe you in saliva.

And then--

FROM OLIVER: I was just looking at your picture. You are so f**king hot. I can't wait to #$% all over you, you dirty #$%^sucker.

That was when I started to reconsider, but it was already 7:30pm and the date was at 8pm.

Part of me expected to be humped as soon as I walked into the restaurant, but instead I found Oliver sitting there quietly waiting for me.

He stood up, gave me a hug, and we were shown to our table.

Dinner was quiet.
Conversation was limited.
Lots of awkward silence.

Finally, we were done. I was wondering what happened to Dirty Oliver, so I thought I might encourage him a little--dangerous though that may be.

ME: So, do you want to do anything...?
OLIVER: Um, I don't know. I think I better just go home.
ME: Oh, okay.
OLIVER: You're really...nice, by the way.

Oh, I get it. He's not attracted to me.

ME: Hey, it's okay. I'm not everybody's type.
OLIVER: Actually, you're exactly my type.

Pause.

ME: Oh.

Pause, pause.

OLIVER: Yeah.

Pause, pause, beat, pause.

OLIVER: I'd better go home.

And he did.

FRIEND: You expect me get off with material like that?
ME: Sorry if it was a little anti-climatic.
FRIEND: Anti-climatic? That boy is a #$%^tease!
ME: He's not the first guy I've met whose all talk.
FRIEND: That's why I like to cut talking out all together.
ME: That's what happens when you live in a society where walls are created by technology, allowing people to expose their true selves only to have them hide again once they're out in the light.
FRIEND: I'm sorry, honey, were you saying something? I heard a social commentary coming on and I started looking for gay porn online.

I got this text an hour after the date:

FROM OLIVER: So when are we getting together again so I can #$%^ on your #$%^?

I didn't answer him back--I just didn't feel like talking.

Date #41: Me and Mrs. Brown

You remember Dwight, right?

The Republican who asked me for a second date after our combative first date and then had the good sense never to call back.

Well, he called back.

DWIGHT: I need a favor.

Apparently Dwight was having a family get-together and he needed to bring a date. Having been so busy getting his party's ass handed to him in the bygone election, he hadn't really had much time to get out there and meet other like-minded Republicans. (Not to mention the fact that gay Republicans in Rhode Island are few and far between.)

The get-together was his mother's birthday, and she had threatened to invite a date for him if he didn't show up with one.

ME: Your mother's okay with you being gay?
DWIGHT: My mother and I have...very different opinions about things.
ME: She thinks you should blindfold the prisoners before you shoot them whereas you like to see the whites in their eyes?
DWIGHT: Something like that.
ME: Terrific. I'll go.
DWIGHT: Really?
ME: Why not? I'm assuming there'll be food, and you owe me a seocnd date.

(Now that we're getting near Date #50 I keep worrying I'm going to run out of guys, so I'm trying to get in any date possible.)

Dwight's family lives on the East Side of Providence in one of those "this place is so old there's a good chance there's a strictly servants section of the house."

We showed up looking quite regal. Dwight encouraged the "professional professional" look, so I busted out the jacket, tie, and serious demeanor.

When the door to the place opened, a very pretty woman dressed in flowing floral sarong opened the door.

This turned out to be Dwight's Mom--Barbara.

BARBARA: There's my boy!

She hugged Dwight--clearly more physical contact than he enjoyed--and then turned her attention to me.

BARBARA: Oh, and this must be your life partner.

Oh Christ...

It was then I noticed the expression on Dwight's face. It was a grimace mixed with a stifled laugh.

DWIGHT: Give it a rest, Mom. Where's everybody else?
BARBARA: Inside. I'll get your coats--and your ties.
DWIGHT: Mom--
BARBARA: Dwight, it's my birthday. I'd prefer it if nobody was dressed like they were going to audit me.
DWIGHT: Fine.

We removed our coats and ties--something that made me very happy. Barbara was already scoring points in my book.

As we moved through the house, I could see what Dwight meant when he said he and his mother had "different opinions about things."

The house was not the house of a Republican mother.

There were books everywhere. Working in a library, you get pretty good at scanning the titles of books and then determining what kind of person is in your presence.

Mrs. Brown had books on Che Guevera, Nelson Mandela, Arlo Guthrie, Jimmy Carter, Gloria Steinem, and the clincher--Fear of Flying by Erica Jong.

Oh yeah, this woman and I were going to get along just fine.

We went into a very nicely decorated dining room where a table of assorted men and women--all over the age of 40--were seated, chatting away and not even noticing us enter.

Mrs. Brown spread her arms and said in a loud voice--

MRS. BROWN: Everyone, the boy has arrived.

I heard Dwight let out an embarrassed sigh. I could tell he was less than thrilled by his mother introducing him like this.

MRS. BROWN: Now, let's now scare him away too quickly like we did the last one. My Dwight isn't getting any younger.

Uh...what?

ME: Does she mean me?
DWIGHT: Oh, didn't I tell you? You're the guest of honor.

Oh Christ...

ME: But it's her birthday.
DWIGHT: It doesn't matter. This is going to wind up being about me, you, and how we feel being gay in today's society.

The only thing I think about being gay in today's society is that there definitely aren't enough original musicals...does that even count?

Mrs. Brown assumed her spot at the head of the table and motioned for Dwight and I to take our seats. Dwight looked as if he were preparing for battle with a sword made of passive agressiveness, whereas I just looked at the door a few times and considered bolting.

One of his mother's friends broke the seal--

MRS. BROWN'S FRIEND #1: So Dwight, still supporting the murder of innocent men and women your own age?
DWIGHT: Yes, Uncle Mike, I still support the war.

Okay, change Mrs. Brown's friend to "Uncle Mike."

MRS. BROWN: Apparently my son is going to support this war until the participation rate is so low they come calling for me.

This got a few good laughs around the table.

I had to admit, I felt sorry for Dwight. I mean, I'm not for the war, but I'm also not too big on publically humiliating someone who's just trying to celebrate their Mom's birthday.

This was my attempt to change the subject:

ME: So Mrs. Brown, Dwight tells me--

Now, usually when you start off a sentence like that, you have something to follow it up with--but Dwight hadn't told me anything about his mother that could even be posed as an appropriate question, so all I was left with was--

ME: --that it's interesting being your son.

This is why I make an awful host at parties. Luckily for me, Mrs. Brown didn't seem phased in the slightest.

MRS. BROWN: Interesting? Is that how my son is describing it nowadays?
DWIGHT: Yeah Mom, I bumped it up from 'borderline disturbing.'

Mrs. Brown's Friend #2 slammed his fist down on the table.

MRS. BROWN FRIEND #2: Why is it every time I come over here you're disrespecting your mother?
DWIGHT: I don't know Uncle Rich, because she makes my life a living Hell?

Strangely enough, the retort shut Uncle Rich up and he went back to his drinking.

MRS. BROWN: So Kevin, how long have you been seeing my son?

From now on, honesty would be the best policy.

ME: This is only our second date so far.
MRS. BROWN: Oohh, one more and he gets in your pants, huh?

Laughs all around, except for me. I settled for mortification.

DWIGHT: Mom, I'm warning you--
MRS. BROWN: Oh come on, he looks like a fun kid. Back when I was your age, we used to screw first and eat dinner later--and that was on the first date.

More laughs--realizing the door was no longer a viable option, I began looking for air vents to crawl into as a means of escape.

MRS. BROWN: I hope my son told you that his mother is from the 'kinder' generation.
MRS. BROWN'S FRIEND #3: You're at a table with a bunch of ex-hippies, kiddo.

That would explain the smell of burning candles everywhere.

MRS. BROWN: Carla, don't call him 'kiddo.' It's so demeaning.
ME: I don't mind being called 'kiddo.'

I was doing anything to placate the crazy, ex-hippie mob.

After a few minutes, Dwight got up and disappeared. I excused myself and followed him up into his room. From behind me I heard Mrs. Brown say--

MRS. BROWN: I wonder what those two are up to.

More maniacal ex-tree hugger's laughter.

I found Dwight in what I assumed to be his bedroom--or what used to be his bedroom. It was devoid of any kind of life, but there were some posters of Regan up--I kid you not, I didn't even know they made posters of Regan.

Dwight followed my gaze.

DWIGHT: Do you like my posters?
ME: Yeah, I want to get one. Do they make ones that say 'Homophobia is good America'?
DWIGHT: What do you think I have on the inside of my closet door?

I sat down on his old bed with him.

DWIGHT: So on a scale of 1-1o, how much do you hate her?
ME: She's not that bad, actually.
DWIGHT: Compared to who? Mrs. Bates?
ME: I've seen worse.

See the "Meet the Family" entry.

DWIGHT: A lot of people think the way I am is a rebellion against her.
ME: Is it?
DWIGHT: Of course it is. I don't want someone like that being proud of me. It'd be like being one of Castro's top aides.
ME: I thought Castro was Secretary of State under Regan?
DWIGHT: Ha ha.
ME: Seriously Dwight, she's not that bad. She's kind of funny actually. Besides, it could be worse. At least she's accepting of who you are.
DWIGHT: Too accepting.
ME: Would you rather having the pendulum swing the other way? Look, she's your mother. You're stuck with her. And the way I see it, as long as she doesn't beat you, disown you, or date the same people you do, you didn't get such a bad deal.

Dwight looked at me and smiled.

ME: What?
DWIGHT: You're not as big of an asshole as I thought you might be.
ME: Gee, thanks.

Then he leaned over and kissed me on the lips.

DWIGHT: And that's all you're getting as long as the Electric Kool-Aid Acid Bunch is downstairs.

With that, he bounded out of his bedroom and went back downstairs.

FRIEND: Eww, you kissed a Republican.
ME: It tasted like dead babies.
FRIEND: Really?
ME: No, it was fine.
FRIEND: Honey, coke fiends, strippers, sodomites--all acceptable, but a Republican?
ME: A kind of...sweet Republican.
FRIEND: That's like a...like a...
ME: An oxymoron?
FRIEND: Yeah, pick one and go with it.

We finished out the dinner without a lot of extra theatricals. I think everyone realize that Dwight was probably upset about how the evening began. I could tell a kind of peace was made when they brought out the cake for Mrs. Brown and Dwight stood behind her and kissed her on the cheek after she blew out the candles.

I went home that night and called my Mom to say hi.

MY MOM: You know I saw this show about teenage gay bashing on Oprah--

--And hung up after about a minute.

Hey, nobody said you have to follow your own advice.

Date #40: Straight Up

I know, who doesn't love a good Paula Abdul reference?

I was really hoping to avoid the issue of "straight-acting" gay guys, since I feel it's pretty much been done to death.

After reading Ragan Fox's poem about "straight-acting" guys, I decided that I was no longer going to refer to myself or anyone else using that term.

(It was a semi-"Richard Pryor comes back from Africa and won't use the 'N' word anymore" kind of thing.)

Of course, I realize that while it's possible to change the world--

--It's almost impossible to change gay men.

So I figured there was no point in dedicating a whole entry to the problem of gay men using the term "straight-acting" and since I hadn't experienced that particular problem up until this current date, the issue was never even pressing.

But now--it's pressing.

When you go out on a second date with a closet case, certain things can be expected:

1) Having to duck down in the passenger seat because he thinks he might have passed his mother's Focus.

2) Eating at a buffet style restaurant because neither one of you knows anyone tacky enough to actually go to one of those places--ergo, the risk of being seen is incredibly low.

3) You're going to be asked to "tone it down."

ME: Did you seriously just tell me to 'tone it down?'

After a lovely buffet style meal, Shawn and I headed to the mall where I--of course--had to make a pit stop at Borders to see if they had the new Alice Munro book.

(Yeah, whatever, I know I'm a nerd.)

Of course, I ended up in front of the showtunes section, and when I saw they had Pipe Dream (a rare musicalization of John Steinbeck's Cannery Row) I practically squealed.

PREFACE: I would not say that I'm a "loud" person. I can be exciteable, yes. Enthusiastic, you bet. And at times, when I'm pissed, I'm even bitchy with a twist of cut somebody. I am not, however, "loud." This has nothing to do with me not wanting people to know I'm gay, by the way. I just don't like drawing attention to myself in any way, for any reason, and especially not by being one of those annoying people who look like they never stopped caring about whether or not Hanson was better than the Spice Girls.

Yet, there I was, holding an almost-impossible-to-find copy of a never-heard-of-by-most-people Broadway musical, and being a tad loud.

Shawn was noticeably uncomfortable.

SHAWN: Kevin, just chill out a little.
ME: I'm sorry. I know I must seem a little crazy right now, but we're talking obscure Rodgers and Hammerstein's here.
SHAWN: Okay, that's great, but that guy over there is staring at us.
ME: He's probably hoping I drop it so he can come in and snatch it away from me.
SHAWN: Are you serious?
ME: Shawn, this is a big deal for me. It combines two of my favorite things: The work of John Steinbeck plus the music of Rammerstein.
SHAWN: You gave Rodgers and Hammerstein's a nickname?

This is the point in the date where I realize that I'm the crazy one who needs to be blogged about so that people can make fun of me, and I chill out a little bit. But as we were walking out of the store, Shawn said:

SHAWN: Look, I don't want this to be a big thing, but when we're hanging out, can you try to be a little more "straight-acting?"

This is where bitchy-don't-get-cut comes into play.

ME: Did you just actually use the term "straight-acting?"
SHAWN: Come on, Kevin--
ME: Because apparently I'm Priscilla Queen of the Desert, right?
SHAWN: I didn't say that.
ME: You know, instead of getting on my case about how I act, why don't you thank me for putting up with having to duck behind cars in parking lots and not saying anything while you're talking on the phone because someone might want to know why a boy is in the car with you.
SHAWN: Kevin--
ME: By the way, if someone's concerned just because there's a boy in the car with you, they may be trying to tell you something.
SHAWN: Look, you knew what you were getting into here.
ME: You're right, except now I don't think I'm into it anymore.

With that, I started walking back towards the parking lot, and I didn't check to see if he was following me until we had both gotten to the car.

ME: Then I drove him home and that was that.

I was over Turner and Brian's watching television and eating microwave popcorn.

BRIAN: What an ass.
TURNER: Really though, Kev, it's just a term.
BRIAN: It's a fucked-up term. Don't try perverting his mind just because you're dating the brother of said ass.
TURNER: It's excusable to want to be discreet.
ME: Did you ever think that the only people who are ever discreet are people who are hiding things and that someone whose good at being discreet may also be good at things like lying, cheating--
TURNER: Where is this going?
ME: I don't know. I'm too pissed to argue coherently.
BRIAN: All I know is, I'm going to act how I want to act and if any guy has a problem with that, then he can kiss my glittered, tight-pants wearing, Bette-loving, Joan Crawford-imitating, Will and Grace quoting--
ME: --Showtune loving--
TURNER: --Limp wristed--
BRIAN: --Sports hating, confrontational, I'm-here-I'm-queer-get-used-to-it--ass.

Whooping ensued--in which even Turner was involved.

BRIAN: Great now I feel like Whitney in Waiting to Exhale.
TURNER: Aren't we kind of discriminating though ourselves?
ME: Against who?
TURNER: Against guys who are just generally straight-acting?
BRIAN: I'm sorry, but find me a guy who doesn't like Trick and I'll show you a man who needs to reconsider his homosexuality.
TURNER: You make it sound like we're all flaming queens. We would probably all be considered 'straight-acting.'
ME: Consider yourself whatever you want, Turner. I consider myself gay. Just gay.

Brian held up a glass of soda.

BRIAN: Here's to just gay.

And we toasted...like true men do.

Later on that night, Shawn called me to apologize for getting me so angry. I didn't exactly let him off the hook, but I told him that dating a closet case probably just wasn't for me. I did, howeer, let him know that should he ever decide to come out of the closet, or should I ever decide to take up the accordion, I'd give him a call.

Whichever comes first.

FRIEND: The boy needs to have sex in a public restroom. That'll cure his fear of getting found out and open him up to the glorious world of exhibitionism.
ME: Perhaps. More likely, he just needs time.
FRIEND: Now did you ask him if he spells 'straight-acting' with an '8'?
ME: I didn't bother.
FRIEND: I have to admit, I do love a masculine boy.
ME: At this point in this little challenge, I'm just shooting for 'nice.'
FRIEND: Honey, nice you can pick up at a bar on Tuesday--you should be shooting for hot.
ME: Let me rephrase. As long as someone's comfortable with who they are, I'll be comfortable with them as well.
FRIEND: Aww, look at my little public service announcement. So you aren't going to tell me to stop queening out in the movie theater every time the Dreamgirls trailer comes on?
ME: Please, I still need an oxygen tank every time they show that thing.

So as we go into the forties, that is my goal.

Find someone comfortable in who they are.

Oh, and comfortable with me as well.

PS. The Favor

I've made it so that now anyone can comment on the blog, and not just people who belong to blogspot, so comment away!

-Kevin-

Date #39: Trapped in the Closet

Let's face it, it was bound to happen.

I mean, how many gay dates can you possibly go on before you end up dating a closeted accordion player?

Here's how it happened:

Brian and I were giving Turner a hard time about dating Zach while prepping Brian's apartment for a gay tupperware party--

BRIAN: I swear they're going to be the next big thing.

--When Turner suddenly put forth a challenge-esque statement.

TURNER: I bet you guys would date a closet case if he was appealing enough.

Brian and I shot each other the "wigga, please" look.

Don't get me wrong. I've gone out on dates with closet cases before. There was a time when they were even attractive to me just for being in the closet--this was back when I was young and thought India.Arie was totally going to go the distance in the music industry.

Brian had a similar P.O.V. on the situation.

BRIAN: I'd sleep with one, but date one? Never. I don't need that kind of stress.

Turner scoffed in that gay way--the "Who switched Judy at Carnegie with Minelli on Minelli again?"

I related a story to Turner about the last time I dated a closet case.

Once upon a time, Kevin tried going out on a date with a closet case from Brown. When Brown boy's roommates came back to the dorm room early, Kevin was shoved in a closet for three minutes and then instructed to run out as fast as he could with his jacket over his head. He did so, but only while screaming "Your roommate likes scrotums!" at the top of his lungs--causing the word "scrotums" to echo down the hallowed halls of the Brown dormitory. Truth be told it was actually kind of fun--and I lived happily ever after.

Turner was still making his onion dip when I finished the story, and even though he enjoyed it, I could tell that he had probably experienced something similar with Zach. With a little coaxing, I got it out of him.

TURNER: Let's just say, fooling around in someone's garage when they're about to have practice with their garage band is not always the brightest idea.

I gave him a hug and slyly dipped a tortilla chip into his premade dip.

TURNER: You dip your chip in me again and we're going to have a problem.
ME: Now that's something you've never said to me before.

Brian walked in to check on the progress of his brownies. I think it was safe to say that we had reached the gayest portion of our evening.

BRIAN: So which one of Zach's closet case friends do you think Kevin and I would be all goo-goo gaga over?
TURNER: Not one of his friends. His brother.
ME: Excuse me?
BRIAN: His brother is gay too?
TURNER: Yeah, and it's not looking too good for his little brother either.
BRIAN: They must be playing the original cast of Hello Dolly! to them in the womb.
ME: They should try the Pearl Bailey/Cab Calloway cast. That turns you gay and black.

Turner put the dip in the refrigerator and then smiled at me.

TURNER: So what do you think, Kev? You up for the challenge?

Hey, when am I ever not up for a challenge?

It was a little strange going out on a date with the hope that it wouldn't go well. Technically, I'm not even sure it should be going in the blog, but since there was the possibility that it could go well, I figured it was okay.

So here's the deal for those of you wondering how this was going to work:

Turner andI show up at Zach's house where I would be introduced to his brother, Shawn. Zach and Shawn are both aware of each other's gayness, and they're fine with it--but they don't talk about it with anyone else--not even with their allegedly younger gay brother, Jon. Due to the fact that they're both in the closet, our double date was going to consist of us going to a bar and watching sports while secretly whispering to each other about how often we shave our stomachs.

That was the plan at least.

What actually ended up happening was that Turner and Zach got stuck in traffic, so I arrived at the house to find only Shawn there and nobody else.

Awkward, you say?

Just wait, I say.

We waited in the living room and had a nice little chat. Shawn was incredibly nervous about going out on a date. As much as I tease Turner about Zach, he was clearly better adjusted to being gay than Shawn was. He kept fidgeting and asking me the same questions over again, only to apologize profusely after he had done so. Appearance wise, he didn't look all that much like Zach. With the exception of a few noticeable mannerisms; you wouldn't even know they were brothers.

SHAWN: So...do you want to see my accordion?
ME: Is that some kind of euphamism?

He laughed, but I was serious. His brother is a drummer in a garage band, and he plays the accordion?

ME: Who are you? Weird Al?
SHAWN: You going to pick on me now?
ME: No, I think it's cute. I just can't believe someone whose afraid to admit he's gay is willing to say he plays the accordion.
SHAWN: You want to see or not?
ME: I am dying to see.

That was how, when Zach and Turner finally arrived, they found me on the living room sofa singing along--probably off-key--with Shawn, who was standing on the coffee table playing "Bella Notte" from Lady and the Tramp.

ME and SHAWN: ...Side by side with your loved ones...

Off to the side, I could hear Turner whisper to Zach--

TURNER: I think I won this one.

Shawn and Turner decided that maybe they preferred pizza at their house over beers at some dive. So we put on ESPN and waited for Domino's to arrive.

ME: So how did you guys find out that the other was gay?
SHAWN: How else?
ZACH: We found each other's porn stash.
TURNER and I: Ahhh...
ME: That must have been odd.
ZACH: We didn't talk about it for months.
SHAWN: Then he started borrowing stuff from my stash.
ZACH: That was when we had the talk.
SHAWN: By the way, you need to give me back that magazine you took.
ZACH: I didn't take any magazine.
SHAWN: Well, then--

ZACH and SHAWN: Jon.

Once we had eaten pizza and watched some television, Zach and Turner went back to his room to crash--cough cough have sex cough cough--while Shawn and I finished up the cheesy bread in the living room.

ME: So how was your first date with a guy, Shawn?
SHAWN: Um, it was okay. I'd maybe do it again.
ME: Oh yeah?
SHAWN: Yeah.
ME: You don't sound too enthused about that.
SHAWN: Well, I mean, I would do it again if it was with you.

Awww...C'mon that's cute. Closeted homosexual or no closeted homosexual.

I then put my arm around him and we kind of just slunk down on the couch and semi-fell asleep like that for about an hour until I realized I had work the next day and had to go. He walked me out and I gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Plans were made for a second date.

I pushed a meatball towards him with my nose.

FRIEND: What?!?!
ME: Just wanted to see if you were paying attention?
FRIEND: Don't try to trick me, whore. I can hear a humingbird's wings flapping over the sound of a Tijuana poolboy in ecstasy.
ME: I'm going to let that image leave my head before it even finishes entering it.
FRIEND: So you like the accordion playing coward?
ME: He's not a coward.
FRIEND: Oh sure. He'll cuddle with you and watch ESPN, but will he have sex with you in front of six other guys?
ME: What does that have to do with anything?
FRIEND: Nothing; I'm just putting that out there.
ME: The truth is, I remember what it was like to be scared like that. Nervous. Paranoid. Thinking my parents would disown me. Thinking my friends wouldn't like me anymore.
FRIEND: Who said anything about telling your parents and friends? I would bury my parents alive before I'd let them know I like boys. I'm just saying if you can't walk into a bar, take your shirt off, and dance on the box to "Venus" by Bananarama--are you really free?

I think I flip-flop most of the time when it comes to the issue of guys being in the closet. Part of me thinks you should encourage people to come out, because most of the time it really is for the best, and another part of me thinks it's just better to shut up and let them do it on their own.

When I stopped by Brian's tupperware party after to see if he needed help cleaning up, he asked how I did.

ME: Let's just say I'm meeting the challenge.

Hey, maybe next time I'll get a polka.

A Favor

Hey Everyone,

I know, I know--a post that doesn't involve a date--shocking!

I just wanted to ask you all, before you enjoy the latest ramblings of yours truly--to do me a little favor.

Just for my own curiousity, I'm wondering how many people actually read this blog. So I was wondering if--under this post--you could comment with something--anything actually, it doesn't have to be genius. Just say:

Hi!

Like the blog!

You're a whore!

Anything like that will do.

Also, if you've got some friends that aren't aware of the blog who you think might like it, send it on to them. I feel my misadventures in dating are like graham crackers in pre-school--

--They should be shared.

Have a great day,
Kevin

Date #38: Sing Out, Louise!

I love my friends.

Let me just put that out there right now. I have some of the best friends on the planet.

That being said, my friends can be idiots at times.

And by "at times," I mean "a lot of the time."

I think the reason I'm drawn to them is that when you're as a big a goof as I am, having friends who screw up just as much if not more is somewhat comforting.

This all goes back to my previous entry, and the topic of Nick.

BRIAN: So basically everyone's going to think I'm a racist.

I still haven't divulged the blog to Brian yet, but over a recent NC lunch, I told him that I'd discussed he and Turner's reaction to Nick with some people, and they found it--well, racist.

BRIAN: I don't care what you say--a lot of gay guys feel the same way I do, even if they won't admit it.
ME: Okay, okay--we've gone over this.
BRIAN: And a lot of them may say I'm a jerk, but how many of them have actually dated black guys.
ME: Well it's not like there's a plethora of black gay men out there, Bri.
BRIAN: You don't know that for sure.
ME: Sorry, I'll grab the statistic sheet before I leave the house next time.

Of course, if this entry were just about Brian having a problem with me dating Nick, it would identical to the last entry.

But it isn't.

You see, my blog-friends, this entry is about a little something I like to call: A 180.

And like all 180's, it happened--

At karaoke.

Confession time: I go to karaoke nights too much.

Sometimes twice to three times a week.

Don't ask me why. It's part me being a ham, and part knowing that I'll be guarenteed a laugh.

It's semi-club scene without the pressure, and yet the opportunity to meet people who are as dorky as you are because they're at karaoke night.

For me, it's just a good time.

When I revealed this to Nick, he asked if he could come with me the next time I went. I said sure, even though I knew that Turner and Brian would be there, and that there might be some sort of confrontation.

NICK: You afraid I'm going to mug them?
ME: Either that or spit some jive at them.
NICK: You are aware that just because we've made out, you don't get to make black jokes yet.
ME: Oh yeah? When does that happen?
NICK: After the bondage and sodomizing.
ME: Strictly Polish jokes it is then.

Relax, I'm 1/4 Polish.

Nick and I got to karaoke just as Brian and some Drink were singing "Ain't Nothin' Like the Real Thing."

NICK: Apparently he doesn't have a problem doing Marvin Gaye.
ME: Hey, you wanted to come here.

I brought him over to the table where Turner, Zach the Closet Case, and Brian were sitting. I gave everyone a hug and then took a seat. Nick sat right next to me.

ME: So Brian, who was the Drink you were singing with?

(Drink = Drugged Up Twink.)

BRIAN: I don't know his name, but I did get his number.
ME: Gicchi gicchi ya ya da da.
BRIAN: Indeed.

Turner had thrown back a few drinks and so was giddier than usual.

TURNER: Nick, you plan on singing?
NICK: Oh no, I don't sing.
TURNER: Really? You look like you'd be a good singer.
NICK: You think? Tell me, do I remind you more of Al Green or Al Jarreau?
ZACH: Who's Al Jarreau?

I think I started to sweat a little. Confrontations tend to make me nervous unless I'm involved in them.

Don't ask me, it's a child-of-divorce thing.

TURNER: I didn't mean anything by it.
ME: Nick, I don't think he--
NICK: I was just giving you a hard time, Turner.
TURNER: Oh...
NICK: You can take it, right?
TURNER: Sure, of course.

A silence descended on the table. It was like a WASP Thanksgiving after it's just been revealed that Dad boinks the pool boy while Mom's at the P.T.A. We all wanted to say something but nobody could think of anything.

Brian broke the silence as only he knows how.

BRIAN: So Nick, do you think I'm racist because I don't date black guys?

Oh Christ...

NICK: Yes, Brian, I do.
BRIAN: I think you're wrong.
NICK: Sadly, you don't get to determine if you're a racist or not.

No, we leave that job to Oprah.

NICK: I don't have any kind of dislike for black people; I just wouldn't date any.
BRIAN: But it's okay if we go to the same bars as you.
NICK: Don't even go there.
TURNER: Guys, this might be a little too serious for karaoke night.
ZACH: I agree.
ME: Me, too. Smokum peace pipe or something.
BRIAN: Now you're going to say Kevin is prejudiced against Native Americans, huh?

For the love of God, somebody sing Pat Benetar.

NICK: You know what's funny? I bet if you could just get past the stereotypes in your head, you'd be all about dating black guys.
BRIAN: Excuse me?
NICK: You heard me.
BRIAN: So you're saying if I just went on Dr. Phil and got yelled at for being a descendant of slave owners I'd be banging black guys from here to Seattle?
NICK: That's right, Tightie Whitie.

This entire time Turner had his hand on my knee and was squeezing it to indicate that I should do something to stop this little altercation.

ME: You know what? Somebody has to sing sooner or later, so it might as well be me.

Here comes the 180.

NICK: That's okay. Brian and I are going to sing.

I think my head just about swiveled off.

ME: Excuse me?
NICK: I think it's time for a little Ebony/Ivory action.
BRIAN: Thanks, Stevie, but I already sang.
NICK: So you'll sing again. I'll go put the slip in.

As Nick got up, I followed him, leaving my two friends and Zach to look on--clearly perplexed.

ME: Nick, what are you doing?
NICK: I don't mean to sound cocky, but I'm about to make that boy drool.
ME: Are you saying you're going to seduce him?
NICK: You got it.
ME: In front of me?
NICK: Kevin, I'm not going to do anything with him. I just want to screw with his head a little.
ME: And you think I'm not going to have a problem with that?
NICK: Something tells me you're going to enjoy it.
ME: Wow, I'm getting way too easy to read.

In a few minutes, Brian and Nick were called up to the mic.

I knew Brian was in trouble the minute the song started.

I'm driving in my car...

Granted, the first time two men had sang "Fire" it was at the Men Strike Back Concert on VH1--the successful but never repeated counterpart to Divas Live--and it was done by Enrique Iglesias and Tom Jones.

But Enrique and Tommy never did it like this.

I'm not sure you'd even call it a duet since Brian spent the majority of the song sitting in a chair while Nick stood behind him and put his hands everywhere but the kitchen sink.

Don't get me wrong, he sputtered out a few lines here and there, but Nick owned the song.

To make things even better, Nick has one of the best voices I've ever heard at a karaoke night. I think half the room wanted to do him by the time he got to--

Your words say quit
But your words they lie
Cause when we kiss
Oooohhhh...

Fire

Turner had resumed grabbing my knee, but this time I think it was to stop himself from rushing the stage. Even Zach's mouth had dropped and showed no signs of coming back up.

Meanwhile, Brian was onstage clearly trying not to jump out of the chair and hump my date right there and then.

When the song had finished, Nick practically got a standing ovation. He gave Brian a hug and then the two of them came back to the table.

Brian was clearly flustered. Nick just grabbed his coat and put his arm around my shoulders.

NICK: I'm kind of tired. Do you think we could beat it early?
TURNER: Beat it--what? What did you--
ME: Sure, let's go.

There were protestations all around. Clearly my friends were hoping for some kind of group make-out session at that point, but Nick and I just made a tasteful exit.

ME: That was incredible.
NICK: No gay man can resist a good ditty.
ME: I don't think I've ever heard a black guy say 'ditty' before.
NICK: Remember what I said about the black jokes.
ME: Okay, well the night's still young. How long will the bondage take?
NICK: Hmm...Maybe I can get you into the midnight slot.

We actually only ended up making out in his dorm room and then falling asleep--not wearing much, but still, just falling asleep.

FRIEND: That's hot.
ME: So you've changed your mind about the black guys?
FRIEND: Honey, you can't just change people's opinions in the blink of an eye like that.
ME: See, that's the thing about guys that I think Nick understands.
FRIEND: What would that be?
ME: That if you can make them want to do you, you can pretty much abolish any other problem they might have with you.
FRIEND: No, there's a whole psycho babble interrelated hoo hah I read in an article somewhere that suggests it's just suppressed blah blah blah.
ME: Well, the point is, at least they've sort of changed their minds. I talked to them the other day and they raved about how hot Nick is.
FRIEND: So you're now the guy dating the guy everyone wants.
ME: You got it.
FRIEND: Terrific--fuck off.

God, now I know how Idina Menzel must feel.

Date #37: No Big Deal

I've noticed a disturbing trend among gay men.

Well, first, let me get to the date.

It was with this kid named Nick who goes to Brown--engineering major a.ka. too smart for me, but oh well, what the hell.

We went out to dinner, saw a movie, and pretty much had a grand old time. We talked about his upbringing--yes, some people still say upbringing.

Nick was raised in Georgia and just moved to Rhode Island for school two years ago. Obviously the shy type, it's clear he's just starting to come out of his shell. It took three really lame jokes of mine just to get him to crack a smile, but after that he was fine.

When I had walked him back to his dorm, I gave him a big hug and we planned on another date soon.

Good times right? That's what I thought.

Oh, by the way, he's black.

BRIAN: He's what?
ME: He's black.
BRIAN: You mean African-American?
ME: Are they making black Polish-Americans now?
BRIAN: Kevin!
ME: What? Clearly I'm not racist. I'm going on another date with the guy.
BRIAN: You are?
ME: Of course I am. The first date went great.

I saw Brian look down at his lovely plate of lettuce and three carrot sticks--he was suddenly very weight conscious. I think it must be the result of a failed date he went on with a snotty nineteen-year-old from Abercrombie and Fitch. The date ended with Brian being told he wasn't "pulling off" the shirt he was wearing. Ever since he then he seemed to be laying off the carbs.

At the mention of a second date, Brian noticeably stopped making eye contact.

ME: So yeah, I'm really looking forward to a second date with him.
BRIAN: Oh...That's...okay.
ME: Don't tell me you have a problem with me going on a date with a black guy?
BRIAN: No, I'm just--nothing.
ME: Brian, we're at Nordstrom's Cafe. It's not like we're going to offend all the black people dining here today.
BRIAN: It's just that--I've never actually been attracted to black guys.
ME: Oh my God. You're one of those guys?
BRIAN: What are you talking about? What guys?
ME: The gay guys who say 'Oh, I'm not really into black guys.'
BRIAN: Well, I'm not.
ME: Now that is racist.
BRIAN: How is that racist? It's a preference. It's like not liking guys with too much body hair.
ME: You can shave body hair.

I was pretty sure we were about to break into Avenue Q.

BRIAN: I think I'm entitled to like who I want to like.
ME: You are. I'm just surprised that the people you can be compatible with have restrictions on them based on the color of their skin.
BRIAN: I'm sorry, Dr. King. Call me shallow, but I can't help it. I've just never been attracted to black guys before and I'm surprised that you are.
ME: Well, maybe you should give me a little more credit than yourself.

Oooohhhh snap.

We finished our lunch with the subject at rest--clearly it was a little too hot-button and Brian were still on thin ice from the dinner party.

That night, Turner had invited me to go with him and his closet case boyfriend to a show at a local bar where the boyfriend's band was playing. Turner had been instructed that he and I should sit in the back so that we wouldn't draw too much attention. I thought it was pretty insulted to be asked to do that, but Turner didn't want to make waves with the boy, so in the back we went.

I asked Turner if it would be okay for me to invite Nick to stop by and he said sure, but when Nick walked in around song number three, I saw Turner get the same expression on his face that Brian did.

Even so, Turner was perfectly polite. He, Nick, and I conversed about as much as you could expect to with the music blaring around us. Apparently Zachary--the closet case's--band was into the 'just scream your consanants' kind of music. When they had finished their set, Zachary casually made his way to the back of the bar.

NICK: Why is he sneaking over here like that?
ME: He heard we all have cooties.
TURNER: Kevin, stop.

Zachary was a little on-edge--same as when I met him--but he thought the set went well, so his mood was elevated. When Nick excused himself to go to the bathroom, I decided to see what the two boys thought of my scandalous choice of dates.

TURNER: Oh, is he black? I hadn't even noticed.
ME: Oh, come on.

I relayed the story of my lunch with Brian.

ZACHARY: I kind of agree with him. I can't see myself being into black guys.
TURNER: I could, I guess, but you can't blame someone for having a prefence.
ME: Now, is that a preference, like a height preference, or a preference like a 'they should have their own schools' preference?
ZACHARY: Whoa, kind of harsh, no?
ME: No, I don't think so.
TURNER: Kevin, don't get so dramatic.
ME: Sorry, I'm sitting in the back of a bar because my friend's boyfriend is ashamed to admit he's dating him. It's a little difficult discriminating when you're already being discriminated against.
ZACHARY: That's way out of line.
TURNER: Actually, that's not too out of line, Zachary.
ZARACHY: Whatever, you're the one who wanted to come.

With this, he walked away.

TURNER: Can't anything with you just be easy?
ME: I'm sorry, but this whole 'not into black guys' thing really disturbs me.
TURNER: Why?
ME: Because minorities shouldn't make it even harder for other minorities. Because I know deep down it has nothing to do with physical attraction and more to do with concealed racism. Because gay people are supposed to be too smart for ignorance like that.
TURNER: I can't comment on how smart gay people should be. I just sat through a half and hour of bad hard rock just so I could get some cuddle time in later with the drummer. I'm like a new-age groupie.

I gave Turner a hug. Anyone who sees themselves as new-age groupie needs one.

I drove Nick back to his dorm room, and before he got out of the car, he asked to have a quick talk.

NICK: Are your friends giving you a hard time about this?
ME: My friends give me a hard time about everything. This is no different.
NICK: Don't sweat it. It's not that uncommon.
ME: But it should be uncommon. This is 2006. We have TiVo now. The world should be perfect.

Nick laughed.

NICK: In the meantime, make life easy for yourself.
ME: How should I do that?
NICK: Let people have their imperfections.

With that, he kissed me and got out of the car.

I drove home and watched Guess Who's Coming to Dinner? Just because it seemed appropriate. Why can't the world have more Katherine Hepuburns in it, I thought.

ME: Would you ever date a black--
FRIEND: No.
ME: There has got to be some black guy you would--
FRIEND: No.
ME: Taye Diggs?
FRIEND: No.
ME: Tyrese?
FRIEND: No.
ME: Morgan Freeman?
FRIEND: Haha...no.

I'd love to say I went to sleep and had a dream about white gays and black gays living in harmony, but in reality I dreamt Sidney Poitier and I were on a rollercoaster together.

Go figure.

Date #36: The 2am Idea

I woke up.

I woke up grateful that I did the math and realized I only need to do around seven dates a month or so to finish this project by my 23rd birthday.

I was definitely going to need a little while to comprehend the stupidity that is yours truly, ladies and gentlemen.

Let's start with where I woke up.

BRIAN: Are you kidding?
ME: Do you hate me?
BRIAN: Hey, it's your funeral.

Three hours after waking up, I was sucking bad grilled chicken at NC and trying to make sense of what I'd done. Brian was there for the post-mortem.

ME: I don't know what I was thinking.
BRIAN: You don't even have a clue.
ME: Well...
BRIAN: Because I definitely wouldn't hate you if I could laugh at you. You can't really hate someone whose life you find mortifying.
ME: My life isn't mortifying enough already?
BRIAN: A best friend's life can never be too mortifying.
ME: I think it all started with me thinking it would be a good idea to start texting people at 2am.

Here's the funny thing about me: I don't drink.

I don't drink...because I don't need to drink.

At around 2am, if I'm awake, the stupidest ideas usually pop into my head. Ideas that would normally only pop into the head of someone who is either bipolar, or plastered off their hoo-hah.

Previously on 2am, I've...

...Imagined a hit sitcom starring Kirstie Alley as a tranvestite.
...Gone as far as dialing the number to buy one of those egg pans that you can flip without spillage.
...Eaten an entire carton of Edie's strawberry ice cream--and no, I wasn't stoned either.

On this 2am, I randomly started texting.

For some reason, we're awfully brave when we text, aren't we?

People whose numbers I would never have the guts to dial I freely text flirty and even confrontational messages to--as long as it's 2am.

This night, one ex-boyfriend, two ex-friends, one good friend, and one person who should not have gotten a text from me all got messages.

Cut to me an hour later laying in bed texting to the good friend previously mentioned with the phrase: "What did I just do?!?!?!"

TURNER: You never answered me. What did you do?
ME: I don't think you want to know.
TURNER: You slept with Connor.
ME: No, I wasn't that brave.
TURNER: You slept with Charlie?
ME: Why would that be scandalous?
TURNER: You slept with me? Was I good?
ME: Ha ha.
TURNER: So who was it?

You remember how the last entry ended right?

ME: I think I found what I'm looking for.

Again, something a drunk person would say--or something I would say at 2am.

MICHAEL: Shut up and take your pants off, queer.

Yeah, that should have been a red flag.

Let me explain...

I texted Michael--Army Guy--the following:

Hey, just wanted to see how you're doing.

He texted back.

Come over, I want to play.

I texted back.

Okay.

Because I thought, whatever. I'm in need of physical attention. Celibacy sucks. Nobody loves me. People are mad at me. I can't do anything right. I want to have sex with someone whose been in the United States military. I want to do something stupid. I want pretzels dipped in onion dip. I'm not right in the head. Oh God, is it 2am?

Then Michael opened his door wearing only black boxer briefs and I said:

I think I found what I'm looking for.

Which, at that moment, couldn't have been truer.

I would have been happy to let the whole thing go, but after my lunch with Brian where I divulged that I had done it with one of his semi-exes, I got yet another text from Michael.

Let's have dinner tonight and then get nasty.

Oh Christ...

Do people still refer to having sex as being "nasty"? Because I thought that went out with the Latin explosion and Alicia Silverstone.

I did agree to meet up with Michael, but only to set him straight.

We went for drinks down near his school, and of course, he looked cute.

I'll admit I did consider that it might not be so bad to have a f**k buddy, but then another part of me remembered that during "the nasty" he had told me I "f**k like a Marine," and even though I was admittedly flattered, I also knew I could never do anything with him again.

It would just be too awkward.

He sat down and we got to talking.

I explained to him that I tend to make bad choices at 2am, and while I had oodles of fun, what happened the previous night could not happen again.

MICHAEL: Why not?
ME: Well, because that's just not who I am.
MICHAEL: Are you saying you're, like, religious or something?
ME: No, I mean, I was celibate, obviously that's over, but it's more about me looking for something deeper in my life.
MICHAEL: Okay.
ME: I'm glad we can be adults about this.
MICHAEL: Yeah.

Silence.

MICHAEL: Do you want to do it one more time for old time's sake?
ME: Sure.

Turn your judging eyes away. It's not like we did it in a back alley.

FRIEND: No, but that would have been hot.
ME: Are you kidding?
FRIEND: All the best Queer as Folk sex scenes take place in back alleys.
ME: Well, I'm not Brian, I'm more of a Michael.
FRIEND: You're a bottom?
ME: ANYWAY--it was nice. We got closure. Both of us did. I think we can refrain from ever having that happen again.
FRIEND: It was really bad the second time and now you're not attracted to him anymore, right?
ME: Pretty much.

Still, as a I drove home--for a second time--I wasn't as ashamed of myself. After all, I'm allowed to make mistakes.

Big mistakes.

Huge mistakes.

But still, I'm allowed. I'm 22 for godsakes. Cut me some slack.

Come on, that Marine thing? That's hot. Admit it.

...Off to church I go.