Date #67: Surprise, Surprise

There are some problems you just can't spot.

Miguel had joined Paye's dance class fairly late, and neither Turner or I gave him much attention. He had joined the class with a girl whom we assumed to be his girlfriend and the two of them pretty much kept to each other.

So imagine my surprise when he myspaced me to ask me out on a date sometime.

BRIAN: Guess the girlfriend's just a hag after all.
ME: I'm really shocked, actually. They're incredibly couple-y.

Brian and I were grabbing a quick lunch before shopping for clothes. Actually, Brian was going clothes-shopping, I planned on just standing there to watch him shop.

BRIAN: So is this guy cute?
ME: Super cute.
BRIAN: So my next question is: Are you twelve?
ME: Thirteen and a half, actually. Want to go to the movies on Friday? I want to see Night at the Museum.
BRIAN: Are you being serious?
ME: Yeah, we never hang out anymore.
BRIAN: I'm a little busy.
ME: Doing what?
BRIAN: Just being busy.
ME: I'm sorry. I can no longer see you. You just descended into Shadytown.
BRIAN: Can't a boy have any secrets?
ME: All right, all right. I won't ask anymore.
BRIAN: Of course you will. You hate not knowing anything.

This is true.

ME: I do not!
BRIAN: Kevin--
ME: Fine. Be that way. See if I tell you any more about Miguel.
BRIAN: So have you asked him about the girl?
ME: No, not yet. But I plan on--Hey!

The next day at class, Miguel and his lady friend were late for class so we didn't get to iron out plans beforehand. Turner and I conversed quietly while Paye taught the group the swing number from Kiss Me, Kate.

TURNER: Maybe they dated before he came out?
ME: Maybe he's still in the closet. He didn't exactly ask me out in a public fashion.
TURNER: Maybe they're joint serial killers like on Nip/Tuck.
ME: Oh my God, how cool would it be if I dated the Carver?
TURNER: What are you 12?
ME: Why does everyone keep asking me that?

I think because I've been feeling a little giddy since Miguel asked me out. He looks like your typical high school jock who happened to age really well. Knowing that he was interested put him in a whole new light (which I realize is a little sad). Now his smile seemed to glow a little more, the way he laughed every time he and his partner screwed up a step made me laugh a little to myself for some reason, and his pecs seemed to show through a little more in his tight, grey t-shirt--

TURNER: Kevin!
ME: Sorry.
TURNER: If you don't start paying attention, you're going to swing me into Don Juan.
ME: That t-shirt is very becoming on him.
TURNER: That's not the only thing that's going to be coming on--
ME: Hey!

Everyone in class stopped to see why I had shouted--including Miguel and the girl.

ME: Get the turn right, or don't do it at all!

And the dancing continued.

Later I stopped by Mrs. Brown's house to see how things were going with Dwight. Apparently ever since Dwight moved in to take care of her they were getting along really well.

DWIGHT: I might feed her rat.
ME: Like Baby Jane?
DWIGHT: Exactly like Baby Jane.
ME: She'd have to be in a wheelchair.
DWIGHT: That can be arranged.

I heard Mrs. Brown hobble over to the staircase.

MRS. BROWN: Dwight?
DWIGHT: Mother, you're not supposed to be walking around like that.
MRS. BROWN: You just don't want me up and about because you want the house to yourself for sexual reasons.
DWIGHT: That's right, Mother. I'm pleasuring Kevin as we speak.
ME: He's doing a great job, Mrs. Brown!
MRS. BROWN: Then you should be thanking me, Kevin. I was the one who insisted he get braces sooner rather than later.
ME: This has now gotten uncomfortable.
MRS. BROWN: Could you one of you boys help me with my make-up? The fiancee is coming over.
DWIGHT: Then I'm leaving, Mother.
MRS. BROWN: That's fine. It'll give me the freedom to be louder during our lovemaking.

And it's time to go.

ME: I'm sorry, Dwight.
DWIGHT: My hair is going to turn white any day now.
MRS. BROWN: You should dye that, sweetheart. Gays can be very superficial. Now bring me my make-up so I don't look like Anne Bancroft in Great Expectations.
DWIGHT: There isn't enough make-up in the Western Hemisphere.
MRS. BROWN: I heard that!

After a quick run home to shower and change, I headed up to meet Miguel at his house in Warwick. On the way there I thought about how nice it was to be giggling about someone again. I remember the first time I ever went out on a date with a guy. For the first ten minutes I was shaking so uncontrollably, I had to go into the nearest men's room just to calm myself down. There was that excitement of realizing who I was, and that this was my life: Dating guys was going to be my life. Over time that feeling just kind of faded and now every guy is just 'another guy.' But this guy--there was something different about this guy. And I was shaking again, and I kind of liked that.

I got to Miguel's house and he opened the door half-dressed--literally. He had a towel around him and nothing else.

ME: I think we might be doing this date backwards.

He laughed and then apologized. He'd been running late all day. I told him it was no big deal and sat down on the couch. That was when I noticed the toys. Toys, everywhere. Little children toys...

ME: Um...do you...baby-sit or something?

He called out from the other room.

MIGUEL: What was that?

It was then that I heard it. A baby crying. I looked over at the hallway as the girl from class walked out holding a baby--wait, let me rephrase that--nursing a baby.

I jumped up off the couch so fast I almost tripped over a Dora the Explorer doll.

ME: Uh...hi.
NURSING GIRL: Hi. Sorry. She has to eat.
ME: No problem. I'm eating later. Not you, but--with Miguel. We're going to eat. So yeah.
NURSING GIRL: Gotcha. Miguel should be done in a second. The baby-sitter backed out at the last minute.
ME: Is this--

Miguel popped out of the hallway at that moment in a button down shirt.

MIGUEL: Oh Kevin, you know Nina right?
ME: From class.
NINA: We've never been technically introduced.
MIGUEL: And this little girl--
NINA: --Is our daughter, Mara.

Should have seen that one coming a mile away, right? Nina took off a little while later for her own date, and Miguel and I waited for the baby-sitter together.

MIGUEL: We had the baby together, but it wasn't one of those 'I thought I was straight' things.
ME: So then it was...?
MIGUEL: The 'I wanted a baby' thing. I wanted Nina to be the mother of my child and she wanted me to be the father to hers, and why not just do it now? I want to be raising kids while I have energy and lots of life ahead of me. I didn't want to wait until I was forty and not live to see my grandkids. My father almost passed away last year and I thought, how awful is it not to be able to meet your grandparents let alone remember them?
ME: You put some thought into this.
MIGUEL: Hey, it's hard. I'm not saying it's easy. And I don't blame you if you want to run.
ME: Hey, I'm not running.

I'll wait until after dinner to do that.

Truth be told, I love kids. I want to have kids...someday. But I don't really think about when I'll be raising them. I want to have them when I'm ready, whenever that may be. And if it's never...

ME: ...Then it's never, I guess. I don't want to be responsible for more screwed up people in this world.
MIGUEL: I understand that. But trust me, I'm a good father to my daughter.
ME: And how's Nina going to feel if you ever find someone?
MIGUEL: Same way I'll feel if she finds someone: As long as they're good to Mara, they're good with me. There's nothing wrong with having a few extra people in your life who care about you.

God, this guy's good. I mean, he has good answers, but that doesn't mean I'm leaning towards becoming a stepdaddy.

ME: Look, I still would like to...continue the date, but I think we're definitely at different points in our life right now, Miguel.
MIGUEL: I completely understand. I'm sorry I wasn't upfront with you sooner.
ME: Oh, it's okay. And for what it's worth, you have a beautiful daughter.
MIGUEL: I know, don't tell Nina, but she gets all her looks from me.

I laughed. We ended up calling the baby-sitter and telling her not to bother coming over. Instead we ordered a pizza and watched a movie with Mara. (Miguel had a tape of Allegra's Window--you know I love me some old school Nick Jr.)

At around 11pm, I decided to call it a night.

ME: Thanks so much for everything.
MIGUEL: No problem. I sorry you didn't get what you bargained for.
ME: Doesn't mean I didn't end up getting a bargain.
MIGUEL: That mean I'll get a second date?
ME: How about just a nice convo here and there?
MIGUEL: Guess that'll do.

I could see he was a little sad, but it was an expectant sadness, like--'Well, there goes another guy.' Another guy. Funny, huh?

It always sucks when I'm the one who has to let someone down--luckily, it doesn't happen often. Still, I was I could be that surprise to someone. That guy whose going to hang around when everyone else has taken off. Now here I was with that chance, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't be the knight in shining white armor.

SCOOTER: Whatever Meredith. Don't pull that Grey's Anatomy shit with me.
ME: I knew coming over here was a mistake.

On my way home, Scooter called me and asked if I wanted to watch a movie with him. I tend to enjoy random invitations so I said yes. We were watching The Departed and I was telling him all my dating woes. He was being his usual sensitive self.

SCOOTER: Can I ask you something?
ME: Shoot, Scoot.
SCOOTER: What is it exactly that you want?

It's here where I should mention that late at night something happens to me. I start to say random things that appear to be true but also appear to be things I would never admit to at--say--3pm or 11:30am. My mouth opens and odd tidbits just pour out of me.

ME: I want to be in someone's AIM profile.
SCOOTER: Excuse me?
ME: I want someone to use me as an obnoxious away message with song lyrics.
SCOOTER: Oh my God.
ME: Like PQ <3 KB "Always and forever."
SCOOTER: I might need a bucket for this.
ME: Hey, I'm being honest.
SCOOTER: I can't believe that Mr. Maturity and Mr. Superiority--
ME: Hey!
SCOOTER: --Wants the same thing a--
ME: --A what? A 12-year-old wants? Hey, newsflash, maybe I want all that because I never got it when I was a kid. I've known I was gay since I was 13. But you don't get to date boys in junior high. I didn't get to take a guy to my prom. I mean, my highschool years were terrific in terms of friendships and whatnot, but I didn't exactly get to go boy crazy like some of my girl friends did. I got to date one guy for one week, and that was it. I had my first real date my sophomore year of college. So yeah, maybe a part of me is still going through puberty. Maybe that's what we're all doing. Maybe that's why we're all so fucked up. But the fact is, what makes me ultimately happy isn't the mature, romantic, adult stuff--I mean, it's great, but it just sort of makes me smile. What makes me all crazy and joyous and 'love rocks' would be an away message that says 'Kevin Broccoli, I love you' or 'Nite Kevin' with a kissy face next to it or the date someone met me or somethin stupid like that. I keep thinking I miss feeling that way but the truth is I've never felt that way because I've never had that happen to me before. And it would just be nice to know what it feels like. That's all.

I have no idea where all that came from, nor could I believe that I just said it all to Scooter. He came and sat behind me, and I just stayed where I was. I felt exhausted all of a sudden. A guy I had thought was going to awaken the inner kid in me instead turned out to be where I don't want to be until God knows when. I anticipated Scooter to do something perverted, but instead he just put his head up against mine and wrapped his arms around me. Then he whispered in my ear--

SCOOTER: Would 'Kevin Broccoli, you're my hero' do?

I laughed.

ME: Yeah, that would be okay.

I turned a little so I could look at him. This big idiot with big beautiful eyes that seemed to just be saying "I know I'm a big idiot but I like you a lot." Scooter rubbed his hand up against my face and put his forehead up against mine.

SCOOTER: Kevin Broccoli, you're my hero, and you're also the first guy I've ever fallen hopelessly in love with...

Sharp intake of breath. That's all I could remember was taking a sharp intake of breath. Then I stood up to leave.

SCOOTER: What are you doing?
ME: Scooter, I need to go.
SCOOTER: I'm sorry I said that.
ME: Don't be sorry.
SCOOTER: I just...you were honest so...
ME: No, thank you. It's fine. I--Scooter, I just--I don't love you back.
SCOOTER: I know that.

Simple phrase: I know that. And my heart just cracked.

ME: I'm going to go.
SCOOTER: Stay with me tonight.
ME: Don't be crazy. You just told me you love me and I just said I don't love you back and we're in your room in your parent's house in Providence and I just had an awful date and I'm vulnerable and--
SCOOTER: --And you talk too much.

He grabbed me and kissed me. Not on the mouth. Not at first. That might have been easy to resist. He kissed my neck. He kissed my neck and I'm pretty sure I fell right back down on his bed again. By the time he made his way to my mouth I was already tearing off his shirt and pushing myself into...

Yeah, well...We'll leave it at that.

I woke up the next morning with no clothes on and Scooter gone. A note he left by the bed said--"Had to go to work. Didn't want to wake you. Last night rocked. You were hot. Love, Scooter."

Oh Christ, Oh Christ, Oh Christ...

FRIEND: Stop calling him, he ain't going to come.
ME: I can't believe I did that.
FRIEND: You can never believe anything you do. Was it good?
ME: It was amazing.
FRIEND: Now we're talking.
ME: You don't understand. I've done an awful thing. I rejected a father and had sex with someone whose love I don't reciprocate.
FRIEND: Honey, you just described Spring Break '05 to me.
ME: I have no idea what I'm going to do now.
FRIEND: Why don't you try settling down with Shooter?
ME: Scooter.
FRIEND: Right.
ME: Because he is not the boyfriend type!
FRIEND: I hate to have to ask this, honey, but do you think you are?

Oh...

Um...

Wow.

I came home to find an IM on my computer from Scooter. It was left early this morning. It said "Do an away message scan." I laughed. His said "I <3 Kevin Broccoli." Then I noticed Turner's.

"Kevin Broccoli, I love you."

Brian's was "If anyone should ever write my life story. For whatever reason there might be. You'll be there between each line of pain and glory. Cause you're the best thing that ever happened to me - Love you, Kev."

Nick's said "Kevin, you're my favorite white guy."

And finally Dwight--using my favorite Sinatra quote--"I wish someone would hurt you so I could kill them for you--What would I do without you, Kev?"

Just like that--shallow, superficial, silly...happiness.

Date #66: Semi-Sort of-Kind of Long Distance

I'm sitting in my car.

My IPOD is hooked up to the radio and "Wig in a Box" from Hedwig is playing.

I put on some make-up
And turn up the tape deck
And pull the wig down on my head

This date is an experiment in trying not to act like a Rhode Islander.

At the same time, if this works out, I will be entering into that relationship that dare not speak its name--the long distance kind.

BRIAN: He lives in Westerly!

Before the big date, I attended my customary NC lunch with Brian.

ME: Westerly isn't down the block, you know.
BRIAN: It's not out of state either.
ME: And Baja and Los Angelos are both in the same state but--
BRIAN: We live in Rhode Island! We're talking about a half hour drive here.
ME: Forty-five minutes, and that's without traffic.
BRIAN: You are such a Rhode Islander, it's not even funny.
ME: Says the guy who says 'it's not even funny.'

EXPLANATION FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO DON'T COME FROM RHODE ISLAND (I REALIZE I'M BIG IN TORONTO): People in Rhode Island hate driving more than twenty minutes for any reason. They will go to great lengths to avoid long trips. That's why you can find four Dunkin Donuts on the same road and all will do decent enough business, even though the smallest state in the country shouldn't really need four of anything on one road.

The boy I was interested in--Scott--even seemed aware of the problem when we first discussed hanging out in his hometown.

SCOTT: Not everyone's willing to drive to Westerly if they're from the Providence area.
ME: You mean Connecticut for Beginners?
SCOTT: I would just date in the area, but the area is...well...Westerly.
ME: Lucky I met you when I did.

--An impressive find at Brewed Awakenings in Johnston.

Since we met there, it only seemed logical for our next meeting to take place down in Scott's neck of the woods--or rather, his armpit of the woods.

BRIAN: Forty-five minutes--
ME: Traffic.
BRIAN: --To an hour isn't going to kill you.
ME: I know that, but what if I really like this guy? Then I'm going to have to do this drive all the time.
BRIAN: Like when you dated URI guy?

I had imparted to Brian that before we met, I had dated a guy who went to URI. The relationship actually lasted through production week of a show I was doing, and after a week of driving down to south county after a five-hour tech rehearsal, I wasn't totally devastated when he decided to call an end to things.

ME: I do not want to have to go through that again.
BRIAN: You know if you ever live somewhere other than Rhode Island, this is going to be something you have to deal with from time to time.
ME: If I ever live somewhere other than Rhode Island, it'll be in a place that has mass transit.
BRIAN: Touche.

Touche indeed. I was now sitting in traffic, and had been for the past twenty minutes. Even in the worst of Rhode Island driving situations, moving twelve feet in twenty minutes is a little extreme.

I called Brian to gloat about how already fate was showing me signs that this was not meant to be.

BRIAN: Some cop probably pulled someone over and all your fellow Rhode Islanders are stopping to gawk. The only traffic in this state is onlooker traffic.
ME: I don't care what kind of traffic it is. I just want it to go away. I'm already ten minutes late and I'm nowhere near Westerly.

Another half an hour went by before things seemed to clear up. I got to Westerly and Scott took me to a nice restaurant where we had a decent meal.

There was only one problem...

I couldn't enjoy myself.

Knowing I was going to have to do the drive home as soon as this was all over made it impossible for me to really relax. I think Scott picked up on it.

SCOTT: You're thinking about the ride home, aren't you?
ME: Pretty much, yeah.
SCOTT: You know, you're welcome to stay at my place tonight if you want.
ME: To avoid a forty-five minute drive? That would be pretty pathetic.
SCOTT: Yeah...aside from that, the morning commute is--
ME: Let's just finish eating.

We got through the rest of the meal and by the end, I was really enjoying Scott's company. But every time I asked myself if the boy was worth the drive, the answer came back "Eh, not really."

FRIEND: I'm with you, honey. If you want me to drive forty-five minutes for a b***j**, you better be able to unhinge your jaw.
ME: Is it awful that convenience is now playing such a major part in all our dating choices?
FRIEND: It takes a village to raise your d**k, and you shouldn't have to go to another man's village just to get your d**k raised. You follow me?
ME: Not really, I--
FRIEND: Get off the road, you c***! People like you make me want to run over small children! I'm sorry, honey, what was I saying? Something about Mr. Rogers?
ME: How it's nice when your booty buddy is your neighbor?
FRIEND: I was saying that?
ME: No, but scarily enough, I think I can now follow where you're going when you star to talk.
FRIEND: Point is, boy lives too far. Dump him. He's imploding into nothingness as we speak.

Basically...yeah. I told Scott I was sorry, but with gas prices, my seven-day-a-week work schedule, and the fact that my car is nearing the big 1-0, it just didn't seem smart to start something semi-sort of-kind of long distance.

He said he understood, and that he was actually thinking of moving to Providence soon, since Westerly was taking a toll on his dating life.

ME: Let me know if you do. I can take you for a ride around town.
SCOTT: That sounds like a chapter ending or one of those lame lines at the end of sitcoms to tie it all together.

What can I say? I try.

Date #65: Massive Republican Orgy

Yes, I know, catchy title.

So, as you all know, Scooter was interested in bumping up the number of boys I've actually been on dates with so far. He invited me to his parent's house for a meet-and-greet with some of his friends from upstate mass that I may know not have come upon in my travels. The idea was that this could be one date with multiple boys--bending the rules a little yes, but since I made the rules in the first place, why the hell not?

Come upon in my travels--yeah, yeah, get your giggles out, people.

Scooter's parents were going to be gone for the week, and he told me to invite whomever I wanted for framing needs and such. Brian was busy, so I took Turner and Nick with me. In the car we contemplated whether or not this was going to turn into a circle-jerk, a snooze-fest, or an overly rowdy bar mitzvah.

TURNER: Going over a guy's house while his parents are away to meet up with boys. Don't you think this is a little junior high?
ME: You had gay sex in junior high?
NICK: So you are planning on getting laid tonight?
ME: No, but I think that's what Scooter is hoping for.
TURNER: You think he's going to pick up your sloppy seconds?
ME: Oh, if they're friends of Scooter's they're probably already sloppy.
NICK: I still can't believe he's doing this for you. Who would go out of their way to help find a guy for someone whose pants they're trying to get in?

Neither Nick nor Turner knew this was for my little social experiment. Keep that in mind.

TURNER: I didn't think Scooter would share unless the word 'menage' was involved.
NICK: I don't think he knows what 'menage' means.

We showed up at the house around 10-ish. Scooter insisted that no decent party starts more than two hours before midnight. He opened the door looking...quite nice actually.

ME: Scooter, did you get all dressed up for me?

He leaned over and whispered in my ear.

SCOOTER: I got all dressed up for the six guys here you don't end up picking.
ME: I didn't realize this was going to be Boy Meets Boy.
SCOOTER: More like blog meets seriously needed boost of creativity.
ME: Hey!

In the living room were seven guys, all very attractive. They were talking and they seemed to be familiar with each other.

NICK: Where did you find these guys, Scoot?
SCOOTER: I used to be a member of Log Cabin. They're all from there.
TURNER: Log Cabin? Like Log Cabin Republicans?
ME: These guys are all gay Republicans?
SCOOTER: They're only against welfare mothers and crackheads, Kev, not sucking dick. No worries.
NICK: And you're a Republican?
SCOOTER: Hell no, I just joined to meet the guys.

This was too good not to call Dwight.

DWIGHT: I probably know some of them. Beware though. Log Cabin boys tend to be nasty.
ME: You think they'll try raising my taxes?
DWIGHT: Kevin--
ME: I'll be careful. How's Mrs. Brown doing?
DWIGHT: Oh, she's fine. Only a sprain.

Dwight's mother, Mrs. Brown, had fallen while trying to hang a photo of Eisenhower where Dwight's school picture used to hang.

ME: Why Eisenhower?
DWIGHT: She claims we're related to him somehow.
ME: Are you?
DWIGHT: I'd have an easier time believing my mother was related to Kruschev.

I could hear yelling in the background.

ME: Is that her?
DWIGHT: She's demanding I find her a copy of The Third Man on DVD. She has a thing for Orson Welles. I think we've mended some sort of fence here.
ME: Terrific. Does that mean you can't rush over here and save me from these flaming Lincolns and their logs?
DWIGHT: Sorry, Donkey. Looks like you're hanging with the elephants tonight.

I went back into the living room and proceeded to speed mingle.

And now, the Slutty Seven in their rendition of the Fucked Up Fandago!

Cue the Kander and Ebb.

So have you been out for awhile?

GEORGE: No, I only came out about...three months ago. I feel so relieved.
ME: This must be a huge transition for you.
GEORGE: It totally is! When I liked girls I never had sex. Now I'm fucking like three people a week. And I thought I was never going to have sex. Now I just look at someone and they drop down on their knees in front of me. I mean, me. George with the back-ne.
ME: Back-ne?
GEORGE: You know, like pimples on--
ME: I know what back-ne is. I'm just a little surprised you're so forward about your sexual...um...appetites and your...skin conditions.
GEORGE: Hey, I'm just a young guy having fun. Snort a little this, screw a little that--
ME: Doesn't drug use go against any of your political beliefs?
GEORGE: See, it's different for me; I'm not dependent on any drugs. I use them for recreation. Not like some of those junkies on the street.
ME: Moral corruption is everywhere these days.

Are you close to your family?

VINNIE: What do you think? I'm Italian.
ME: That's great. Not every guy--
VINNIE: My mother meets all my boyfriends.
ME: Really? Wow, she must be very accepting.
VINNIE: I don't date anybody my mother doesn't like.
ME: That's--okay. So in other words, family is very important to you.
VINNIE: My last boyfriend and my mother got along so well, she used to tell people he was like the son she never had.
ME: But she had you.
VINNIE: In addition to me.
ME: So he was like your brother?
VINNIE: In a lot of ways, yeah.
ME: That must have been weird.
VINNIE: Why makes you say that?

What kind of guys do you typically go for?

JACK: I like a guy who knows how to take charge.
ME: So the more aggressive type?
JACK: Absolutely. I'm so sick of being fucked by these timid--
ME: Excuse me?
JACK: Let me ask you something. You top, right?
ME: Uh...I, well--
JACK: Do you do that thing where you look the guy in the eyes while you're--
ME: This might be moving a little--
JACK: All romantic and shit. Do you do that?
ME: I think it's important to connect during sex, yes.
JACK: You want to know a little secret?
ME: I don't think I do, Jack.
JACK: Guys hate that. They really do. I do anyway.
ME: Good to know. Note to self and...yeah.
JACK: I just want to be banged like it's my birthday every day.
ME: That is the American dream.

Do you go to school?

ADAM: I used to go to BU, but then I had to leave.
ME: Why?
ADAM: My first week there I got really trashed and threatened my teacher's life.
ME: Wow.
ADAM: I was under a lot of stress.
ME: College can be a lot to handle.
ADAM: Plus I just hated the bitch like you wouldn't believe.
ME: That can definitely lead to--
ADAM: I just wanted to stab her in the eyes with a magic marker.
ME: That would be hard. I mean, not impossible. I guess you could stab--
ADAM: I'm in a much better place in my life now.
ME: You back at school?
ADAM: Nah, I'm on a leave of absence from school.
ME: For how long?
ADAM: Um, until I get my anger issues under control.
ME: So...probably at least another semester?

What do you do for fun?

MARTIN: Just hang out.
ME: Cool.

(Silence.)

MARTIN: So yeah, what about you?
ME: I like theater and books and--
MARTIN: You ever try coke?
ME: I'm assuming you don't mean the soda?
MARTIN: I watched some old Culture Club videos last night after I did some. It was amazing.
ME: Where the hell did you find old Culture Club videos?
MARTIN: It might have been their VH1 Storytellers special.
ME: THAT IS SO FUCKING WEIRD! I own that!
MARTIN: You should come over some time and watch it with me.
ME: On coke?
MARTIN: Yeah.
ME: Yeah, no.
MARTIN: Okay.

(Silence.)

MARTIN: So what do you do for fun?
ME: Crossword puzzles.

If you had to stop dancing today, what would you do?

TONY: Huh?
ME: Sorry. It's just a little musical theater joke.
TONY: Oh, okay...
ME: I just saw this show in New York a couple--
TONY: Hey, do you know Brian?
ME: Brian?
TONY: I think I've seen you in his top 8 on myspace.
ME: Yeah. I'm good friends with him. And that guy over there is his roommate, Turner.
TONY: That's nuts.
ME: You're friends with him, too?
TONY: I fucking hate him.
ME: Uh...
TONY: He's such a fucking prick. What a fuckhead.
ME: Fuckhead?
TONY: He's a fucking assjack.
ME: Okay, I don't--
TONY: Fuck!
ME: Fuck, gotcha!

So how did you wind up here tonight?

JONATHAN: Scooter and I are really close. I'd pretty much do anything for him.
ME: What exactly do you think you're here to do?
JONATHAN: Well, he told us all that you were a really great guy who needed some excitement in his life and would we all mind coming here and just kind of having fun with you?
ME: Define 'having fun.'
JONATHAN: Nothing, like, prostitutional or anything. Just maybe get you to relax, meet some new people. He thinks you need to loosen up and broaden your horizons.
ME: That sounds like Scooter. Everyone's uptight but him.
JONATHAN: Yeah, but he's so hot.
ME: He's Scooter.
JONATHAN: Have you seen him with no shirt on?
ME: Unfortunately yes.
JONATHAN: Do you not like muscular guys or something?
ME: He's Scooter!

Jonathan made me aware of an alarming possibility.

ME: Are any of the other guys here...I mean...Do they all feel the way you feel about Scooter?
JONATHAN: Probably. Most of them have slept with him at least.
ME: Are you kidding me?
JONATHAN: No.
ME: Have you slept with him?
JONATHAN: No.
ME: Oh.
JONATHAN: But I want to.

I went into the kitchen to confront Scooter, but before I got there I heard some disturbing noises--the Scooter mating call--which stopped me dead in my tracks. Then I heard something that interested me enough to keep listening.

MARTIN: He seems like a nice guy, Scooter, but I thought you said he was hot.
SCOOTER: He is hot.
MARTIN: Man, come on--
SCOOTER: Kevin's hot. He's tanned, he's skinny--
MARTIN: He's scrawny, and he's only tanned 'cause he's Italian.
SCOOTER: Tanned is tanned.
MARTIN: Whatever. Nobody's feeling him. I'm sorry, Scooter. We all tried.

So did I, and now I was regretting it. I went to grab Turner and Nick. It was bad enough I'd been force to speed-date with the Slutty Seven, but now I was being made to feel self-conscious by them. I found Nick and Turner talking with Greg (Backne).

ME: Having fun guys?
TURNER: Uh...
ME: Me neither. Let's go.
GREG: We were just talking.
NICK: Greg wanted to know what kind of lube we prefer.
GREG: Like, I know you need to be careful about--
ME: Greg, ask one of the other horndogs in the room. I'm sure they know all about lube, and coke, and sleeping with their own brother!
TURNER: What?
ME: And Culture Club!
GREG: Hey, don't get mad just because nobody here wants you, dude. I just came because--
ME: --Because Scooter asked you, too. I know. And now, I'd like to leave.

I walked right out the front door in such a storm of anger that before I'd gotten to the first step, I hit a small patch of ice on the edge and proceeded to tumble down Scooter's entire front stoop and onto the lovely mud-patch at the bottom.

Turner, Nick, and Scooter came out to see if I was okay. The Slutty Seven made the intelligent move to stay inside and talk amongst themselves.

I went upstairs to shower some of the mud off of me while Scooter got me some of his clothes to wear and threw mine in the wash.

While in the shower, the sound of my looks being criticized by Martin reverberated in my ears and made me want to crawl down into the drain like the animated Punky Brewster in the episode where they minimized her, Cherry, and Margot. I know I shouldn't have cared, but whenever someone brings up my appearance, I tend to get really self-conscious and depressed. There's never really been anything wrong with me physically, and I can look back at pictures of myself from when I was younger and see that I was a fairly handsome little kid. But I was never the kid everybody thought was cute. As I got older, this turned into a really sick theory that to this day I still harbor a little.

Just like most of my weird theories, it was perpetuated by television. I would watch these tv shows about kids having parties, and going to some local hang-out with their friends, and I would think--Hey, how come that's not happening to me? Where's my local hang-out? Why isn't anyone inviting me to parties?

Instead of wondering if perhaps the television was exaggerating a little, I assumed that I was just a loser who didn't have any friends and that's why nobody ever wanted to hang out with me at the Max or invite me to the party at Zach Morris' house...Yeah, I was that lame.

CONFESSION: I used to dance around my room to "You Only Get What You Give" and try to imagine what it would be like for everyone I knew to be running around a mall wrecking havoc alongside a bald guy with a wicked falsetto.

I was so intent on reenacting Glenn Closes' shower scene from The Big Chill that I didn't even hear the door open and Turner walk into the bathroom.

TURNER: How you doing, Trip?
ME: Fine thanks, asshole. How are you?
TURNER: Can I talk to you for a second?
ME: Go ahead, talk away.
TURNER: It's kind of weird talking to a shower curtain.
ME: What do you want me to do? Poke my head out?

A pair of blue boxer briefs then appeared in the shower held by Turner.

TURNER: They're Scooter's. Put them on.
ME: I'm not putting on Scooter's underwear. You could probably grow a bacteria colony on them.
TURNER: I'm sure they're clean. You're going to be wearing them in the shower anyway.
ME: And why am I doing this?
TURNER: So I can give you a hug.
ME: Turner--
TURNER: Just put them on.

So I did, and then Turner walked into the shower wearing his own pair of boxer briefs. He gave me a hug. I wondered how strange this would look to anyone watching us. Two guys in underwear taking a shower in their boxer briefs and hugging. (This must be what the gay Mormons do when they need a release.)

TURNER: Are you really upset because of those guys downstairs?
ME: I just had the worst seven dates of my life in quick succession. That's what's upsetting me.
TURNER: Kevin--
ME: I also got judged by a bunch of slutty, crazy, drugged up Republicans.
TURNER: You were just on Fox News?
ME: I'll probably be the leading story tomorrow morning.
TURNER: Why do you care what a bunch of idiots have to say about you? Idiots, who, may I remind you, want to sleep with Scooter.
ME: I just think it's a little, what's the word I want--disturbing--that at a party designed to find me a guy, the only guy everyone wants to find is the Scootinator.
TURNER: Well isn't that just another gay paradox. You're in a room full of people who are supposed to want you, but they want Scooter, and Scooter wants you.
ME: And who am I supposed to want?
TURNER: Good question.

I resumed my shampooing.

ME: The fact of the matter is, all of them looked at me and found me undesirable. Now yes, there's no great flaw in being found unattractive by a group like that, but still--it means something. It means that on a very base level--which is what all of them operate on--Scooter is more appealing than me. They look at me and see a geek; they look at Scooter and see someone appealing. Let's face it, Turner: Scooter is the guy people write obnoxious away messages about and I'm the guy who reads them.

I rinsed my hair with no intention of repeating. I was just about to turn off the shower when Turner moved to block me.

TURNER: You want to know what those guys see when they see you?
ME: You know?
TURNER: Yes, I know, because I see it, too. They see someone who would be a great friend in addition to being more. They see someone who can make them laugh, who they can share secrets with, who'll be sensitive to their needs and kiss them on their ear when they're having a bad day and make them pancakes for no reason--
ME: --And burn them.
TURNER: Burn them to a crisp! Yes, absolutely. They see someone kind and complicated in a lot of ways and...an investment. They see an investment. And that's what they're not into, Kevin. It's not you; it's what you represent. Scooter is quick fun and no future, and that's what every gay guy is running towards right now. And some of us, are running towards guys like you.

Isn't he absolutely amazing?

ME: Turner, I would kiss you but I'm not sure how much physical contact we can have before this turns into Gay Boys Gone Wild.

It was then that we heard the door open again.

SCOOTER: What are you guys doing?
TURNER: We're taking a shower.
SCOOTER: Oh.

We heard the door close.

TURNER: Wonder what he thought of that.

I laughed. A second later the shower curtain opened and a fully-nude Scooter stepped into the shower with us.

ME: Scooter, what the hell are you doing?
SCOOTER: Why should you two get to have all the fun by yourselves? And why are you both wearing boxer briefs? My boxer briefs...
TURNER: I wanted to talk to Kevin.
SCOOTER: In the shower?
TURNER: Yes.
SCOOTER: Why can't you guys just be normal?
ME: Like those freaky friends of yours downstairs?
SCOOTER: Don't let them bother you, Kev. They're just jealous of you because I think you're hot.
TURNER: You see?
ME: Actually I'm seeing way too much at the moment.

Nick took this opportune time to enter the bathroom and inform us that there was something going on downstairs we ought to see.

NICK: You might want to put your pants on first though, Scooter.
SCOOTER: Why? Afraid you'll trip over it?
ME: Trip over what? Your ego?

We made our way downstairs but stopped at the last landing before the living room. Taking place on Scooter's couch, love seat, and living room floor was a full-on--

TURNER: Massive Republican orgy.

Oh Christ...

SCOOTER: That is fucked up! They have an orgy in my living room and don't even come upstairs to get me?

I won't describe the event in detail, party because I've blacked most of it out and partly because it was hard to figure out who was who what with all the...entanglements and what not.

NICK: I think your party's over, Scooter.
TURNER: The hell it is. I say we have a little fun.
ME: Turner, I think they're having enough fun for all of us.
TURNER: Come on, Kevin. You know I love a good hosedown.
ME: Yeah, but we're lacking supersoakers.
SCOOTER: Maybe, but I have something better.

We followed Scooter up into his old room, which had been converted into a gym/storage space by his parents. He went into the closet and pulled out a bona fide slingshot.

SCOOTER: I have three of these things. One for me, and one for each of my brothers.
ME: Great. What are we supposed to do with them, Dennis the Menace?
NICK: We can't actually injure them.

Scooter went back into the closet and pulled out a plastic bag.

SCOOTER: Whoever got injured by water balloons?
TURNER: Water balloons? Don't be childish.

The voice of reason.

TURNER: We're using mayonnaise.

So much for that.

THE PLAN: Turner crept downstairs and turned off the lights. The boys didn't seem to mind; they probably appreciated the gesture. He then crept around the naked bodies doing whatever it was they were doing throughout the room and gathered up their clothes. This was witnessed by myself, Nick, and Scooter. He took the clothes upstairs to Scooter's bedroom and proceeded to throw them out the window onto the street below. When that was done, we all took turns loading up balloons. Scooter only had about a scoopful left of mayo, so we loaded up a couple of others with ketchup, mustard, salsa, and assorted spices.

While Nick and Turner finished tying up the balloons, Scooter winked at me.

ME: What was that for?
SCOOTER: I told you I'd be spicing up your blog.
ME: You didn't say you'd be doing it with actual spices.

We moved into the living room.

TURNER: Lights on three.
NICK: One.
SCOOTER: Two.
ME: Three.

Nick hit the lights. The boys didn't even register the atmospheric change until the first mayonnaise balloon hit a trio over on the couch.

NICK: This is going to be a huge mess.
TURNER: Not if we aim right.
ME: Either way.
SCOOTER: So make it worth it.

I think that's when the Slutty Seven knew they were in trouble.

What followed were three boys--Scooter, Turner, and myself--firing semi-food filled balloons at a bunch of naked, gay Republicans. I think at one point Turner shouted (Hey boys, need a condiment?) but that could just be wishful thinking on my part. I personally shouted "Forward onto the breach!" That I'm not imagining. The Slutty Seven tried rushing at us, but Nick hit the lights again and then we all moved around the room so that they wouldn't have a definitive idea of where we were shooting from. When things got trickier, we tossed out the slingshots and just ended up throwing the balloons free-handed. It was then that Turner ran to the front door.

TURNER: Your clothes are outside boys. Thanks for coming!

Well, thanks to some of them anyway...

The Slutty Seven clearly weren't in the mood to stay in a living room filled with paprika and Heines, so they rushed out into the cold to grab their clothes instead. Turner shut the door behind the last one, and that pretty much concluded The Dinner Party: Scooter Style.

FRIEND: I'm not speaking to you whore.
ME: Why not?
FRIEND: A gay orgy--and I'm not invited?
ME: You would have gotten pummeled with mayonnaise.
FRIEND: It wouldn't be the first f**king time!
ME: So much for exposing myself to new and improved people.
FRIEND: You need to let me fix you up with some of my friends.
ME: You mean the kind who give you a lollipop if you let them put the tip in?
FRIEND: Those are just the sentimental ones.
ME: I need a little break. Seven guys in one night is too much for me.
FRIEND: Oh honey, you sound like a typical amateur.

After helping Scooter clean up, the three of us decided to head home instead of crashing on Scooter's couch. (I wasn't laying down on that thing until it was bleached and torched a couple times.) In the car, I looked for the song I wanted on my IPOD, and when I hit play, it was like an old friend was singing to me.

Wake up, kids
We got the dreamer's disease

NICK: I love this song.

And there we were. Me and my two friends. Still smelling like oregano. Jumping in on the lines--"You're all fake/We'll kick your asses!" And I thought--maybe this is as interesting as life needs to get.

You only get what you give...
You only get what you give...

Date #64: You, Me, and Your Boyfriend

I don't know how I get myself into these things.

After spending the night with Ivan, I kept feeling like an absolute hussy. (That's right, I said "hussy.")

BRIAN: Why are you beating yourself up over it? Carrie Bradshaw did it and people still love her.

I was picking over my (usually) favorite dish at the NC feeling miserable, slutty, and not all that hungry. Brian noticed my demeanor immediately and made me confess the sordid details.

ME: It was Valentine's Day, and he called, and we were only supposed to watch TV--
BRIAN: Ba-Ruh, Ba-Ruh, Ba-Ruh--
ME: What--
BRIAN: Sorry, that was my bullshit alarm.
ME: I just wanted to cuddle.
BRIAN: And cuddling turned into canoodling?
ME: I'm not even going to justify the word 'canoodling' with a response.

Can't a guy just get a free pass to a really stupid thing on Valentine's Day?

...And his birthday? ...And Christmas time?

...And Arbor Day?

BRIAN: It is not your responsibility to make sure someone doesn't cheat on their boyfriend.
ME: That's what slutty people who sleep with taken men say after they sleep with them.
BRIAN: Hey, I'm not the one who's wrecking homes here.
ME: Thanks, thanks a bunch.
BRIAN: You know what I think your problem is?
ME: That I'm a whore?
BRIAN: Aside from that, I think the problem is that now you can't be Judgy McJudge Pants because you've made a morally reprehensible decision.

It's true. I have to relinquish my Judgy McJudge Pants robe and gavel.

ME: That may be part of it, but I also feel really bad that somewhere out there, some nice gay guy has just been wronged and I had a large part in it.
BRIAN: Solution?
ME: I'm never speaking to Ivan again. I'm not going to be 'that guy.'
BRIAN: Oh come on, you already applied, interviewed, and were hired to be 'that guy.' You might as well take the health benefits.

All I'll say in regards to that is that he did have a really good dental plan.

Later on that day I got a text message from Ivan:

Thank you for making Valentine's Day Extra Special. Come to dinner with me tonight--8pm. Wear something cute :o)

Oh Christ...

TURNER: Tell me you're not going to go.
ME: I'm not going to go.

Turner, Gary, and I were at Turner's apartment practicing dance moves. Actually Turner and I were practicing the final routine of our class for Paye and Gary was making us power food (aka Greek pasta salad) and injecting bits of sarcasm.

It was still a little weird for me to be around Gary and Turner knowing that they were now on the verge of being boyfriends. Happy as I was that Turner had patched up an old friendship and then some, I still kind of wished that Gary had been some random cool guy I went on a date with and had the option to pursue and not some old flame from my friend's past.

TURNER: You're going to go, aren't you?
ME: I already ironed the good shirt.
GARY: How sad is it that you only a shirt dubbed 'the good shirt'?
ME: FYI, I have 'the good shirt,' the 'better shirt,' and the 'venti mocha decaf shirt.'
GARY: Huh?
TURNER: It's the shirt someone spilled a venti mocha decaf on.
ME: He knows me so well.

We kept bumping into the couch, so we moved everything that could be moved into the hallway, forcing Gary to walk over the coffee table when he brought us some plates.

GARY: Way to make this easy for me.
ME: That's why you should stick to talking to us through the partition.
GARY: I am not a fry cook, Aunt Sassy. Now eat your pasta.
TURNER: We have to practice first.
GARY: Why do you guys care so much about this? You were just taking this class for fun.
ME: Yeah, but now we have to beat the snobby gays.

The snobby gays had gone from 'secondary characters we make fun of' to 'archenemies played by Michael Urie and Lance Bass in the miniseries.' They were constantly making remarks and then as soon as Turner and I would turn to look at them, they'd turn away and laugh to each other.

TURNER: It's like we're in high school again with those guys.
ME: With the addition of the flashy choreography.
GARY: Why don't you just tell them off?
TURNER: That's no fun.
ME: We want to theatrically slaughter them and then smirk in their direction.
GARY: Because that's the adult thing to do.

The Greek pasta salad was terrific. In addition to being a genuinely nice guy, Gary was also pretty good at whipping up a meal. Turner and Brian's refrigerator was filled with left-overs from all the dinner's Gary had been making at their place lately. Brian remarked at lunch that if Gary kept this up he could live with them rent-free for one promised pancake breakfast a month.

While we took a break and ate, Turner and I went back and forth on me showing up for the date.

TURNER: So you don't think this guy is bad news?
ME: I do, but I think I should let him know that I'm cutting him off before I actually cut him off.
GARY: That should be a hell of a farewell party.
ME: I plan on conducting myself with poise and class.
TURNER: You're going to wait until after the appetizers to beg him for sex?
ME: I might make it to the entree.

That night at dinner, I was indeed the picture of Jackie O. I was cautious yet cute, friendly yet not flirty. I just kept picturing George Clooney in Out of Sight--you want me, I want you, we want each other, but I'm too suave to let you get me.

IVAN: You look really nice tonight.

Bet your bottom dollar, baby.

ME: Thank you.
IVAN: Really. You look amazing.

Thank you, 'good shirt,' you've come through for me again.

ME: Should we order?
IVAN: Actually, we're going to be joined by someone in a little while.

And I knew. The way you know on television shows. The way you see a character sitting at a dinner table after he's just slept with a taken guy and you just know--

ME: Don't even tell me.
IVAN: Justin really wants to meet you.
ME: Why? Why does he want to meet me?
IVAN: I told him about you.

Na-who-what-what?

ME: Now, when you say you told him about--
IVAN: I came clean. It was really bothering me.
ME: Did you think you might want to share that information with me before you sent me a text with a smiley face in it asking me to come here tonight?
IVAN: It was really important to Justin that you come.
ME: So you tricked me?
IVAN: Kevin--
ME: I'm out of here.

I got up to leave, and that's when Justin walked in--amazing timing, of course. Part of me wonders if he was waiting by the door of the restaurant debating whether or not he had it in him to actually come face-to-face with me.

He walked right up to the table--smiling like someone at an AA meeting.

JUSTIN: Hi, I'm Justin.
ME: Hi, I'm mortified.
JUSTIN: Sorry?
ME: Never mind.

I sat down. He sat down. There was silence.

IVAN: So...
ME: So?
JUSTIN: I...wanted to meet you.
ME: Can I ask why?
JUSTIN: Look, uh--
IVAN: Why don't I use the men's room? That way you two can talk privately.

He left the table with me wondering if he was planning on getting someone's number off a stall while he was in there.

JUSTIN: I know this must be awkward.
ME: This is unbearable, for me personally, and I would assume it's the same for you.
JUSTIN: Actually...Yes. But I had to do it.
ME: Why?
JUSTIN: I wanted to see what you looked like.

Here comes the guilt...

JUSTIN: I thought, Okay, if he's cuter than me I'll be able to handle it, because I'll know it's just about looks. And if he's smarter than me, then I'll know it's just about being able to hold a conversation because sometimes Ivan and I have trouble talking, and if this, and if that, and I just thought if I met you somehow I could make it better. I could be better at this...this relationship.

I wasn't sure what to say. It may have been the most insecure statement I'd ever heard that didn't come from my own head.

ME: Justin, you don't need to make anything better. You just need to get rid of Ivan.
JUSTIN: I don't want to get rid of him. I really like him. He's by far the best guy I've dated.
ME: Wow, you must have worked your way through a real Shithead Brigade then.
JUSTIN: My friends all tell me it's what guys do--they cheat.
ME: And you're willing to live with that idea?
JUSTIN: I'm trying to.
ME: Fuck that noise.
JUSTIN: Excuse me?
ME: Sorry, it's an expression.
JUSTIN: Ivan will probably be coming back--
ME: I don't care if he is coming back. Look, what I did was wrong. I'm the other man. I realize this, but you should be bitching me out right now, and it sounds like you're apologizing.

This was the point when Ivan returned.

IVAN: So, you guys been talking?
ME: Yes, we have. I've been trying to undo the brainwashing.
IVAN: What?
JUSTIN: We're fine.
ME: No, we're not. He should hate me.
JUSTIN: I don't.
IVAN: That's great.
ME: It is not! It is not great! He's being walked all over.
IVAN: Kevin, calm down.

Why was I so riled up? When did I become the avenger of the cuckholded boyfriend? Especially when I had been the one doing the cucking.

I stood up defiantly.

ME: Justin, you seem like a nice guy, which makes me feel incredibly bad, and I want to apologize to you--regardless of how you feel about it. I'm very sorry. And I know it's not my place to say it, but I think it's awful that you think you're always going to get cheated on. Maybe you are always going to get cheated on, but that'll only be because you expect it and accept it.

Expect it and accept it? Now I was making rhyming slogans?

ME: You need to know that you're way too good for people like Ivan here and--and people like me, too. I'm...I'm sorry. Bye.

I walked out of the restaurant feeling really foolish and really...out of body. I felt like I had just talked to myself four years ago and told him not to turn into the guy that was standing in front of him. The savvy, stalwart smart-ass was walking back to his car after grandstanding thinking, Boy, I'm glad I'm not back there, and thinking, Boy, I used to be good like that. Uncorrupted. Made seemingly happy by the littlest things.

FRIEND: That story should have ended with the three of you in bed instead of you philosophizing on Bowen Street like a homeless ex-Brown professor.
ME: Please don't give me any more reasons to have to return to organized religion. I'm already in need of some higher redemption.
FRIEND: What? Sorry, honey, I was looking at my tattoo. It's a lion.
ME: Where is it?
FRIEND: Above the cobra.
ME: Gotcha.
FRIEND: It's yummy, baby.
ME: So what do you think about the date?
FRIEND: Here's how I would have written it.

Justin walked into the restaurant.

JUSTIN: You cold-hearted f**king whore! Stay the f**k away from my man!
ME: I'm trying, but your man's d**k keeps tapping me on the shoulder asking me to turn around and give it some attention since you're obviously not going to!
JUSTIN: You better shut your mouth, you little t***k.
ME: Who you callin' a t***k, p***yman?

Ivan stood up and tried to come between us.

IVAN: Boys, stop fighting over me.
ME: Please, your name is Ivan. Fuck off.
JUSTIN: Yeah, why am I dating you? Why am I not dating a hot, dark-haired, shorter guy with a lion tattoo?
IVAN: So leave then!
JUSTIN: Fine!

Justin throws a drink in Ivan's face and walks out. I followed after him, and Ivan followed after me. We somehow ended up on the Brown quad in a tangled mess of skin and--

I thought you were my fairytale
A dream when I'm not sleeping
A wish upon a star
Thats coming true
But everybody else could tell
That I confused my feelings with the truth
When there was me and you

ME: What happened?
FRIEND: I had them break into "When There Was Me and You."
ME: In the middle of a three-way?
FRIEND: Why not? That s**t is hot.
ME: I'll stick with the way it happened.
FRIEND: Maybe you should have asked that Justin kid out on a date. I don't mean to blow up your spot, but I've noticed you're nowhere near 100 boys.
ME: I said multiple dates were allowed.
FRIEND: Wasn't the whole point of this f**ked up gay monkey hit the button experiment that you meet lots of people? What are you on? Guy 10?
ME: I'm almost on par--minus about twenty or so.
FRIEND: False advertising, whore. That's all I'm saying.

I've actually been considering this myself. First off, I'm not sure I can make it to 100 just using the resources I have now. I seem to run into the same boys all the time. Secondly, I do want to meet more people before this whole shebang is over. So, I called on someone I thought might be able to help.

SCOOTER: Are you asking me to fix you up with people?
ME: Not really fix me up. Just expose me to more people.
SCOOTER: Say no more. I am going to liven up your blog, dude.
ME: Scooter, I don't need you to--
SCOOTER: I'm on it.

Tune in for the next entry, ladies and gentlemen.

I think this is about to get really interesting.

Date #63: Be the Valentine

Wake up.

Open your eyes. C'mon, open 'em.

That's right. You are where you think you are.

Yes, this was a huge mistake.

How did you wind up here?

Let's start with the luncheon.

BRIAN: So why Dwight?
ME: I want a date for Valentine's Day.
BRIAN: Ivan?
ME: Boyfriend.
BRIAN: Scooter?
ME: Scizophrenia.
BRIAN: Me?
ME: Don't be cheeky.

Remember how the two gay guys across from you were both checking out, Brian. Remember not asking yourself why nobody checks you out. Remember not being paranoid, envious and pathetic. Remember how good your chicken salad wrap tasted.

ME: Dwight and I ended sort of...up in the air. And I really liked him.
BRIAN: You really liked Charlie too and I never hear about him anymore.
ME: That's another story.

Think about that story for a second.

Remember how this was brought up over Antonio's pizza and an episode of Grey's Anatomy.

ME: The thing is Charlie, I need to finish this...project...I started.
CHARLIE: And what does that mean?
ME: That means that until I turn 23 I'm not really ready to give up...playing the field, for lack of a better term.
CHARLIE: So you're saying you can't commit.
ME: I'm not saying that at all. I want to commit. But I'm committed to finishing this thing out.
CHARLIE: What thing are you talking about?

Remember how foolish you sounded in your own head rationalizing why you couldn't quit doing the blog because it was one of the few things in your life you've actually stuck with for more than a month or two. Wonder if that might have something to do with why you had relationship trouble in the first place.

CHARLIE: You do what you have to do, Kevin. But you shouldn't assume people are going to hang around and wait for you to be ready.
ME: The alternative is still better than me jumping into something without being ready.

See that you've made a point. See that you've hurt his feelings by not being ready now. Continue watching and eating and not saying anything.

BRIAN: So Dwight is the V-Date?
ME: Dwight is the pre-V-Date. I'm spending the V-Day with Charlie.
BRIAN: So Charlie is the V-Date?
ME: It's not going to be a 'date' date. It's just going to be us hanging out.

Wonder if you still have to include it in the blog.

BRIAN: But for the meantime it's a 'date' date with Dwight?
ME: I have my reasons for wanting to check up on him.

Finish lunch. Go home. Get ready. Meet Dwight at his house.

Try to sniff your cologne before he opens the door. Try not to look too embarrassed when he opens the door while you're still in mid-sniff.

ME: Hey.
DWIGHT: Hey.
ME: I was just...smelling...myself.
DWIGHT: Wow, and for a second there, I was worried this might get too sappy.
ME: You look good.
DWIGHT: Thank you. Won't you please come in?

Go inside. See the place looking clean. Too clean. As if Dwight has just come back from a long trip and finished unpacking five seconds before you arrived. Everything seems to have just been placed where it's placed, and yet nothing looks messy or contrived.

ME: So where are we eating?
DWIGHT: I thought we'd try somewhere half/bar, half/formal.
ME: You're in a half and half mood?
DWIGHT: I'm in a gimme a little bit to eat and a lot to drink mood.
ME: Has she called you recently?
DWIGHT: Of course not. She won't call.
ME: I'm sure she will.
DWIGHT: Trust me. She'll bury yourself and nail her own coffin shut first.
ME: That's a Stubborn Sally for you.
DWIGHT: Ready to go?

Go to dinner. Order something with pasta. Lament that you always order something with pasta. Always play it safe. Check your text messages when Dwight goes to the bathroom.

TEXT ONE from TURNER: No plans tomorrow. Let's rent When Harry Met Sally. You say all the Harry lines, and I'll do all of Sally's.

TEXT TWO from BRIAN: So he hasn't talked to his mother in months because she's getting married again? That's really extreme. Keep me posted on the details.

TEXT THREE from SCOOTER: I'm at home wearing nothing but blue boxer briefs and a smile. Want to see?

Put the phone away before Dwight comes back from the bathroom. Finish the lovely meal. Walk back to the car. While he checks his messages, check yours.

TEXT FOUR from IVAN: Can I swap my valentines?

Try to be annoyed, since that is an incredibly obnoxious statement when you think about it.

TEXT FIVE from CHARLIE: Miss you :o*

Try not to feel guilty. Fail. Fail miserably.

TEXT SIX from FRIEND: To me...you are perfect.

Recall your last V-Day spent with a tiny gay boy in tiny underwear with Love, Actually playing on the television and liquor flowing freely (though not into your mouth). Smile because your friend remembers that, and allow yourself a little party in your head over the thought of him in tiny red underwear (the size of a napkin in a doll's house).

Accompany Dwight back to his house. Notice that his phone keeps ringing.

ME: Are you going to answer that?
DWIGHT: Hadn't planned on it.
ME: Okay.
DWIGHT: It's my mother.
ME: How do--
DWIGHT: It's always my mother.
ME: How often does she call?
DWIGHT: About twice an hour.

Try to determine if he's kidding.

DWIGHT: I'm not kidding.

Hear the voicemail sound go off.

DWIGHT: Do you want to hear the voicemail she left me?

Wonder if you should say that you don't want to, when in fact--

ME: Yes, please.

VOICEMAIL: Dwight, this is Barbara, your mother. I'm aware that you do not approve of my marriage to Travis, but seeing as how you came out of my tiny cervix and not the other way around, I thought I'd remind you that your job on this planet is to find happiness in your own, special way and to always pretend that your happy for your relatives--meaning me. I will love you until I die, and if there is in fact a snowstorm tomorrow, you might someday hear that I was eaten alive by stray cats while sitting by the phone waiting for my hateful son to call me. All my love.

Wonder if you've actually just heard what you think you heard.

ME: Is he really that bad?
DWIGHT: He's a golddigger.
ME: If he makes her happy--
DWIGHT: He hates me.
ME: Dwight--
DWIGHT: He told me I was living an alternate lifestyle.
ME: She's marrying Newt Gingrich?
DWIGHT: Not funny.
ME: She's a huge liberal.
DWIGHT: And she's in love. So she hates his ideals, his political leanings, and his religious overtones, but she loves him and she wants the two of us to try and get along.

Arrive in front of his house. Put your arm around him and bring his face into your shoulder. Feel him try not to lose it, because losing it is not something he does.

DWIGHT: Why would she want to marry someone like that? She's my mother. Why would she love someone who hates me?

Contemplate and console.

FRIEND: Poor little Republican gay.
ME: That's what happens when your Mom is Mrs. Brown.
FRIEND: You should have reminded him to make sure she doesn't change her will before something large and blunt falls on her.
ME: So what are you doing for V-Day?
FRIEND: Bottle of red, bottle of white--whatever kind of boy buys my wine tonight.
ME: Boy, Billy Joel never sounded so slutty.
FRIEND: And what about you, honey? How are you going to celebrate?
ME: I am going to celebrate the fact that I have wonderful friends, and a hard time committing, and I'm going to do that without making any foolish decisions regarding seeing boys I shouldn't see on Valentine's Day.
FRIEND: Oh honey, wake up.

Wake up.

Open your eyes.

Look to your right.

ME: Oh no...

Take a guess at who you've woken up next to.

IVAN: Hey Valentine.

Wonder if you should just go back to sleep.

Date #62: Cash Strapped

Before I begin this entry let me make two things abundantly clear:

1) I am not wealthy beyond my wildest dreams.
2) In the grand scheme of things, money is not all that important to me.

That being said, I now realize that dating someone who has some kind of income is actually, a little bit important.

BRIAN: Don't tell me you dated a hobo.

Luckily, I have enough money to sustain my NC luncheons...if Brian pays occasionally.

ME: Granted, dating like this can get expensive.
BRIAN: You go out more than anyone I know.

I'm aware, and it was beginning to take a toll on my wallet. I started this blog because of Julie Powell who attached some weird donation thing-y onto her blog which allowed people to give her money and continue her quest towards culinary fame and literary gold. But who's going to give some homo money to go out and date other homos?

ME: That's why I was so glad when this guy suggested we do stuff that wouldn't cost a lot of money.
BRIAN: Red flag.
ME: That's not true! We're still technically college-aged. Everyone we meet is going to be a little strapped for cash.
BRIAN: So much for marrying rich.

Dylan was a total sweetie. When I got to his apartment, he had set out a whole dinner for us on his patio. Of course, it was freezing...

BRIAN: Did he think it would force you to cuddle?
ME: I think he's just one of those people who thinks of a great idea then tries not to let anything spoil it.

At the time, it was hard for us to converse since my teeth wouldn't stop chattering.

DYLAN: So what are your overall plans?
ME: I want to t-t-t-t-t-ry to go to g-g-g-g-rad--
DYLAN: Grad school?
ME: Y-y-y-y-
DYLAN: Yes?
ME: C-c-c-c-an we go inside n-n-n-now?

If he was trying to force me to cuddle, it worked. Once we were inside I got right underneath a blanket with him and we started watching a movie on television.

ME: So, what do you do for fun?
DYLAN: Mostly hang out here.
ME: It's a nice apartment.
DYLAN: Yeah, there's not much in it.
ME: I was going to ask if you moved in recently.
DYLAN: No, I've been here for two years, but furniture is expensive.

Brian continued to eat his Greek salad.

BRIAN: I can already see where this is going.

Once the movie was over, I asked if maybe Dylan wanted to go out somewhere and grab some coffee. It was still fairly early and I'm definitely a night owl.

DYLAN: The thing about coffee is--it costs money.

He said this as if I'd recently just discovered a coffee plantation in my backyard and didn't understand the concept of people paying money for their coffee in the Outside World.

ME: Well, yeah, but not a lot. It'll be my treat.
DYLAN: Nah, you don't want to go down that road.
ME: What road?
DYLAN: The road of you paying for stuff. You'll wind up paying for everything.
ME: Uh...don't worry. I've never had that happen...ever.

I don't mind paying for things, but I wouldn't let it get one-sided like he was suggesting.

DYLAN: The thing is--I don't have a job. I don't have any plans to get a job.

Strike one, strike two...

DYLAN: I like the simple things in life. When I need something I ask my parents and they give it to me--only a little bit of money. Every time I've ever seen a movie or eaten out it's because some really nice guy like you wanted to go out with me badly enough to pay for it, and I just don't feel comfortable living that lifestyle anymore.

You mean the lifestyle of Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman? Cause FYI, I'm not Richard Gere. I have a way better nose.

ME: That's...I mean...you made dinner.

This was said as a semi-confidence booster and me trying to use words to come to some sort of understanding of what he was saying.

DYLAN: Yeah, I actually had my mom buy it and bring it over here this afternoon. Then I just kind of threw it together.

I'd say it's the thought that counts, but when the thought is--'Hey, I should have my Mom bring some pasta salad over for me and potential new Sugar Daddy' the thought doesn't really suffice.

DYLAN: If you're going to hang with me, you would just have to get used to a more common way of life.

Oh Christ, I'm on a date with an Amish guy who never came back from the Rumspringa.

I left shortly thereafter but have now gotten myself to thinking, what do I expect from someone financially?

BRIAN: Look, nobody needs to take care of me, I can take care of myself, but I expect them to do the same.
ME: It wasn't so much that he couldn't take care of himself. It was more that his taking care of himself would conflict with me taking myself to a movie, or a concert, or a restaurant that doesn't have plastic tables and a ball pit.
BRIAN: So you need someone who's equal or greater than you financially?
ME: Brian, I'm not an equation.
BRIAN: Of course you are. Kevin + Fashion = Weeping.
ME: Ha ha, Barney Rubble. Eat your chicken.

That night I found myself on the phone with Ivan trying to forge a friendship--and absolutely nothing else.

IVAN: God, you're so cute.
ME: You are too.

Okay, so maybe I was failing at that.

ME: I should put myself in this guy's shoes. I mean, how would I feel if I were him?
IVAN: Unemployed?
ME: I just can't see any kind of life with someone like that. It's not like they're struggling. They're voluntarily struggling!
IVAN: I think you should forget about him and hang out with me tomorrow.
ME: With you? Or with you and your boyfriend making sure we both make good choices?
IVAN: You call this conversation a good choice?
ME: I'm keeping you at bay. I'm doing my part.
IVAN: What if I don't want you to keep me at bay?
ME: Then tell your boyfriend it's over.
IVAN: Kevin--

And I hung up. I'm not usually so dramatic, but I don't play games either. I'm certainly not going to be the reason some nice guy cries in his pillow at night.

FRIEND: I like to be the reason some nice guy bites his pillow at night.
ME: This guy was too poor to even afford a pillow.
FRIEND: Tell the f**ker to start flipping burgers somewhere.
ME: He wants to lead a simple life.
FRIEND: Well Cokie and Sextape already got that s**t covered, crazy.
ME: Does finance make a difference to you when you're dating someone?
FRIEND: Honey, as long as the tab gets straightened out at the end of the night I don't care about anything else. That doesn't mean I think you should be hanging out with someone who serves you patee on his patio. That's tacky.
ME: As opposed to doing other things on the patio?
FRIEND: I resemble that statement.
ME: A little afternoon de--
FRIEND: Fuck off. Call me when you and Alfie Doolittle tie the knot.

In the interest of social experiments, I thought I should try countering my date with Mr. Communal with Mr. Capitalism.

ME: Hi Dwight? Long time, no talk.

Remember the Republican?

Date #61: Off the Table

I was asked out on a date awhile back by this guy Ivan.

VOICEMAIL: Hey, it's Ivan. I know Thanksgiving's coming up and all, but if you wanted to hang out sometime before the holiday or afterwards, let me know.

Yeah, that far back.

Somehow I just never got around to calling him back. I don't know why. He was someone worth getting excited about, but there was just a lot going on at the time...I think...or maybe I was just dragging my feet. Who knows.

And without being a stalker, he let me know that he was keeping me in mind.

VOICEMAIL: Hey, it's Ivan. I know Christmas is coming up and all, but I'm not really close with family so aside from the big day, I'll have some free time if you need to go shopping together or something.

Two voice-mails and that was it. But as I was scrolling through my phone the other day, I realized--"Hey, I never called that guy back. Why didn't I?"

So I did. And he answered. We got to talking. The talking went well. And a date was set.

BRIAN: Sounds like a good deal. Does this guy have V-Day potential?
ME: At this point, a distant cousin would have V-Day potential.

Brian and I were enjoying lunch at the NC. The place was packed with couples--most of whom seemed to be on first dates of some kind. People were clearly trying to squeeze some dates into the early days of February so that the first date wouldn't be the V-Date. As sweet as it might be to have your anniversary be a notable romantic holiday, the pressure is enough to make you want to eat eight cadbury eggs and claim you're too fat for daylight.

BRIAN: I have no idea what I'm doing on that day.
ME: Are you going out with Connor or do you just want to stay in and paint your room?
BRIAN: Ha ha. For your information, I solved the paint problem.
ME: Oh yeah? How?
BRIAN: Posters. Posters everywhere.
ME: You call that a solution?
BRIAN: Not for the bigger "I never want to settle" problem, no. But at least now I can quit sleeping on the sofa in the living room.
ME: You avoided the Connor issue.
BRIAN: I'm always avoiding the Connor issue.
ME: Why do you think that is?
BRIAN: Because he's looking for a boyfriend and I'm not ready to be a boyfriend yet.
ME: And do you ever see yourself being ready?
BRIAN: Yes, when all my friends are ready--and taken.
ME: What?

Since I'm a gay man, I might as well equate what Brian's saying through musical terms. So, in the musical Company this guy--Bobby--has all these married friends who consistently try to get him married, even though they're all miserable. Why would they want him to get married when they're miserable being married, you ask. Well, the point of the show is that the married people realize they're going to stay and die married--and miserable, so they figure the only way they can cope with it is if they make everyone else as miserable as they are. Sounds morbid? Welcome to the glorious world of Sondheim.

BRIAN: I just can't be taken with all these single people around me--you, Turner.
ME: Hey, I will not be single forever.
BRIAN: Anyway, it'll drive me crazy. I'll feel trapped. I'll feel old--like my youth has been ripped from me.
ME: Like a premature baby from the womb?
BRIAN: Huh?
ME: Sorry, I rode by some pro-lifers demonstrating on the way here.
BRIAN: It's one thing to be the single friend when all your friends are taken. You feel lonely at first. Then you have amazing sex with two different guys in one week and you're like, 'God, I'm so glad I'm single.' And you're fine.

Oh, those foolish monogamists.

BRIAN: But if everyone around me was taken--
ME: You know you could always just get all new coupled friends.
BRIAN: Yeah right, like I'd want to hang out with those people. They're freaks.
ME: Cheers to that.

And we toasted our Sprites and ate our chicken.

That night at dinner, Ivan and I were having a great time. I apologized for delaying the date for so long. He seemed apprenhensive about discussing it at first, and then appeared to just dive in with what he was about to say.

IVAN: Look, I probably shouldn't have agreed to this date without talking to you about this first, but--um--I'm seeing someone.
ME: I--oh...

What is this? Time number four this has happened?

IVAN: So dating is kind of off the table, but friendship is definitely on.
ME: On the table?
IVAN: Yeah.
ME: Oh good.

Oh Christ...

PAYE: Feel the Frank Loesser, boys and girls!

Turner and I were attending Paye's dance for musical theater six-week session. We thought it would be fun and filled with hot gay dancin' dans, but it was really just a bunch of girls and two snobby Fosse gays who happened to be dating. Whenever they weren't looking Turner and I would whisper "Snobby gay" to each other and strike a pose. Once, Fosse Gay #1 caught us and gave us a look that could melt Gwen Verdon.

Paye walked over to us to see how our Guys and Dolls combo was coming.

PAYE: How are the mobsters coming along?
ME: We're thinking of turning ourselves in.
TURNER: Paye, I thought this class was going to be fun?
PAYE: You're not having fun?
TURNER: I'm thinking of killing Miss Adelaide.
PAYE: Keep at it, ladyboys.
ME and TURNER: Fuck off.

He went to check on some of the "Bushel and a Peck" girls.

TURNER: So dating's off the table?
ME: Completely off the table.
TURNER: Why did he even agree to the date?
ME: Because I think he's still kind of intrigued by me.
TURNER: Well, who wouldn't be? You're captivating.
ME: Ha ha. I think it just must be really tough to be taken. Knowing that all other possibilities are completely gone.
TURNER: He's taken. He's not dead--or married, which is pretty much the same thing.
ME: If it's so awful to be taken, why am I trying so hard to get that way?
TURNER: You tell me. I'm having lots of fun lately.

I halted in mid-"Luck Be a Lady."

TURNER: I've just been...sort of bad...recently.
ME: How bad?
TURNER: Like...bad.
ME: Like Brian Kinney bad or like Ted having the meth addict over bad?
TURNER: I've been hooking up with Gary.

Na-who-what-what?

(See Date #58: Wonderwall.)

TURNER: It just sort of happened. He came over. We were watching Latter Days.
ME: Airport sex scene?
TURNER: You know it.
ME: Continue.
TURNER: One thing led to another, and it's been leading to another every night this week.

Paye clapped his hands.

PAYE: Moving on to "Sit Down You're Rocking the Boat" combo.

I whispered to Turner.

ME: We're discussing this later.
TURNER: Snobby gay.

We struck a pose.

That night, the phone rang. I was anticipating an unwanted call from Ivan--the call was unwanted, but not from Ivan.

SCOOTER: What are you wearing?
ME: A cardigan and handcuffs.
SCOOTER: I'll be right over.
ME: What do you want Scooter?
SCOOTER: I thought we'd talk about our little kiss.
ME: Which one of those poorly decided upon kisses did you want to talk about?
SCOOTER: Why are you always fighting me on this?
ME: Scooter, I'm getting another call, I have to go.
SCOOTER: I jerked off to you today.
ME: God, I feel honored. Can I thank the Academy?
SCOOTER: You want me.
ME: You're gross.
SCOOTER: Kiss kiss.
ME: Good-bye.

I clicked over to the other line.

ME: Hello?
IVAN: Hi, it's Ivan.
ME: Oh, hey.
IVAN: I had a lot of fun on our date the other night.
ME: Me too.
IVAN: No, you didn't.
ME: You're right. I didn't. I was a little disappointed; I'm not going to lie.
IVAN: Yeah, to be honest, I'm a little disappointed too.

Red flag.

ME: Oh really?
IVAN: Yeah, I mean, I really like the guy I've been seeing, but now I can't help but think that maybe I rushed into it a little.
ME: Oh...
IVAN: Only because we really hit it off, and I just wish that I had gotten the chacne to meet you before--
ME: Well, that was way more my fault than yours.

Oh God, what are you doing? Are you apologizing? How did you wind up apologizing?

IVAN: It's cool; it just sucks.
ME: You're in a happy committed relationship. It doesn't suck.
IVAN: Yeah...I guess.
ME: And friendship's still on the table.
IVAN: I just wish other stuff was too.

Hang up the phone, hang up the phone, hang up the phone--

ME: I have to go. It was nice talking to you, Ivan.
IVAN: You too. Can I cal you again?

Say 'No! We'll have sex like rabbits! Bad, adulterous, rabbit sex!'

ME: Sure. Call whenever you like.
IVAN: Great. Later.

I collapsed and threw the phone on a nearby pillow. It's not so much that I just had a taken guy tell me he's unhappy; it's that lately everyone's been making being taken sound like a prison sentence rather than a blissful state of mutual existence.

FRIEND: You're right. It's like OZ with less a** sex.
ME: You mean with more a** sex?
FRIEND: Honey, Tobias got f**ked way more times than anyone I know in a relationship.
ME: So then why am I doing all this?
FRIEND: Because it's what everyone wants. We just all want it at the same time so we're never tempted to stray.
ME: But that's impossible.
FRIEND: Exactly. That's why I treat boys like music. Why go to the store and shop for it when I can download it illegally, listen to it for a week, and then delete it off my IPOD.
ME: People are not meant to be treated like pop music. You can't just--
FRIEND: Sorry, honey, what was that? I had my "Lollipop" song on and Mika's making Daddy go over the speed limit.
ME: Okay well--
FRIEND: GET OFF THE ROAD, YOU OLD #$%^!
ME: I'll just let you go.
FRIEND: Okay, honey. Love you. Make good choices.

It just makes me wonder. What if I get to Date #100...and it doesn't fee like the end?