#9 It's a Number Game

This past week I slowed myself down in terms of dating. I joined a new gym, had my last hypnotherapy appointment, and decided to focus on myself and the independence gleaned from being single. It was my final hypnotherapy session for two reasons. The first being that as I began my regular consultation beforehand, I realized that I was on my way to achieving the goals we had set out to accomplish when I first began. And I had been the one behind the transformation. She hadn't had anything to do with it for several months. This was empowering for me to realize just as I was about to be put under for another session. As I was feeling this empowerment take over, she made a big mistake that solidified my decision to go it alone. My hypnotist decided to install some triggers in my brain that we didn't discuss beforehand. Messing with my brain is bad enough, but messing with it to fundamentally change who I identified myself as was intolerable. My subconscious battled fiercely and responded in my skull with a resounding, "Oh, HELL no!" as she began to suggest that I start associating the taste of olives (which I detest) with some of my favorite foods such as french fries, chinese, and ice cream. She made me eat an entire imaginary plate of the 4 foods mixed together as one big mushy casserole. My subconscious was strong though and rejected the suggestion as I proved later in the week by eating all 3 foods, though not all at the same time. For a split second, I was nervous that the first bite of any of them would repulse my taste buds and immediately leave me gagging in the corner and thus meaning that she had won. Luckily though, that didn't happen. I left the session politely saying that I'd be back although I knew at that point that I wouldn't. I was on my way to being happy and strong and I had done that without her. It was liberating to figure that out and see what a different place I'm in now compared to months ago when I first started seeing her. I was an independent woman now. I can do it. "I am strong, I'm invincible, I am Woman." Ok, well, I'm not a woman, but there aren't really any songs that talk about male liberation besides old Viking ditties and I don't speak norwegian.
Friday was my day off and I had planned on going on a date with one of two guys. The first guy told me he couldn't make it and the other guy has yet to text me back as to whether he wants to do "friday wine night." Sure, it's been three days, but maybe he's really backed up on text messages. Since neither date night worked out, I decided to have wine night myself and relax at home trying out a new recipe from the pile of cookbooks that I never use. I compiled my list of ingredients and headed to the supermarket near my apartment. The moment I walked in, I noticed an attractive gay guy pushing a cart just ahead of me. My mind began racing. So this is where the cute unattached gay men spend their friday nights. Of course, the supermarket is a great place to meet somebody. You take one look in their cart or basket and can tell so much about them right away. For instance, if he has a lot of vegetables or spends time in the produce section, I assume that he's a good cook. Or if he has ice cream, I figure that we could share a pint together. However, the dark thoughts sometimes take control and before I knew it I was seeing other things like,
"You've been staring at the trail mix for 5 minutes. It's not a difficult decision."
or
"Gluten free aisle? Next!"
or
"That's a lot of Cucumbers....I hope they're only for eating..."

Pushing those images out of my head, I focused on what was in front of me. A handsome guy pushing a cart by himself shopping, like me, on a friday night. This was the place to be single on a friday. So much for clubs and bars. As I followed safely behind the unsuspecting gay, what magnificent sight appears before my eyes? Another attractive gay walking right towards me. How could I have missed this place for so long? The Handsome guy #2 approached with a smile on his face and put the few cans he was carrying into the cart of Handsome guy #1 before placing his hand on the small of #2's back as they meandered their way toward baking supplies. A little disheartened, I continued my trek collecting all of my ingredients for my first attempt at making chinese food. Just minutes into my trek, Handsome #3 rounded a corner directly followed by Handsome #4. Apparently 3 goes with 4 so I set out to find #5 in the poultry section where he had already taken up with #6. Sure that #7 would be in the cooking oils, I discovered him instead in the jams where he was joined by his wife discussing what peanut butter they wanted. Becoming more and more frustrated that everyone had a significant other appear out of nowhere and mildly concerned that the count from Sesame Street was fucking with me, I focused solely on collecting the rest of my groceries. Having crossed off the final item off my list, I walked right into Handsome #8. I feigned interest in strawberry jam for a few minutes waiting for his boyfriend to round the corner. When no boyfriend arrived, I began plotting my careful, "oh, excuse me....I just need to grab that can directly in front of where you're standing...haha, what a coincidence," when Handsome #9 dropped by to tell his "honey" that he found it. Whatever the "it" was he found, "it" was almost me hitting on his boyfriend that he found. Aborting my mission and heading to the checkout, I became really self-conscious. Yes, there were a lot of people at the store on a friday night shopping for dinner. But I seemed to be the only single one. Were they judging my dinner for one? Did they see something in my cart that made them immediately think, "Aha, that's why he's here by himself. Lay off the Cheddar Bunnies, loner!" The problem with spending so much of my time and energy on being alone, living alone, and going out alone is that in the end, I am alone. All of the feminism and independence talk is fantastic but only if you truly believe it. The grocery store incident makes me really wonder if I am truly empowered. If I were, why would I spend so much time waiting for a #?
the end, by sean

#8 Dating in the Bermuda Triangle

I recently celebrated my birthday and have decided to become more proactive in my life and in everything that I endeavor to do. Also, turning 28 has empowered me to become more audacious as did my drunken mantra for my birthday, which was, “I’m 28 now. What am I waiting for? Be bold.”  That was how I convinced myself to go to a gay bar alone the eve of my birthday. And that is how I am now sitting here contemplating 2 weeks worth of soured dates I’ve had with guys. Walking confidently into the bar alone on the eve of my birthday (already a few drinks behind me, I might add), I propped myself against a pillar and watched the drag show that was just wrapping up. A familiar face came up to me and, offering me a flashing yo-yo, asked to sign me up for an HIV vaccine study being done through Colombia University. Once he met my eyes, we both realized that we’d already spoken weeks before and I’d gotten the yo-yo, flirts, and coerced sign up then as well. Granted, the last time I ignored all of the calls from the study program trying to get me to volunteer as I had just drunkenly flirted with the sign-up guy and didn’t really remember the program. Confessing all of this, he said that he remembered me and signed me up all over again. After his “job” was done for the night, he stayed to chat with me. He bought me a drink after I proclaimed that I was independent and out alone as the clock struck midnight to announce my birthday had arrived. We talked for almost an hour and decided to meet up another time for a drink. I told him to call me since he already had my number. He was reluctant to use my number since he thought it would cross some “volunteer sign up” barrier. He made it seem like signature collector held as much clout as the Hippocratic oath. I pulled out my phone and told him to give me his and I’d text him right now. Instead, he pulled out a business card and handed it to me. We kissed briefly before he started to walk away. I looked at the in my hand and called after him, “There’s no number.“

“Email me, “ was his simple reply. If you’re interested in me, I deserve a number. You don’t give me a chapped lip kiss and an email address….Red flag. I looked up his website later and saw that he’s a therapist. The website is a link to the self-help book he wrote. I began to wonder whether he wanted a date or a client. I guess the “I’m alone on my birthday” proclamation was less independent and strong-willed as I intended and sounded more like a cry for help. Needless to say, I never emailed him.

This newfound flirtatiousness and confidence I was exuding was making it easier for me to meet and talk to guys. Just this past week brought about several interesting situations but with the same result I’ve come to expect oddly enough. At work I actually began flirting with a customer and gave him my number at the end of the night which never happens. I never got a text from him and although he came in every night the next week and spent hours chatting with me over the bar, I’ve never gotten a text or a call from him.

 On Monday, I had a date with a really nice guy whose profile suggested he was not interested in feminine guys. As I had just recently changed my hairstyle and hadn’t changed my pictures to reflect it, I think he was surprised to walk into the restaurant and instead of “wholesome boy next door guy” with a buzz cut, he got Adam Lambert stomping across the room with floppy boots and spiked hair. Regardless of my appearance, (and no, I was not wearing eye liner) I had a nice time with him and eventually he loosened up to enjoy our time together. He said that we should see each other again as he dropped me off at my apartment. We didn’t hug or kiss goodbye but instead my knee was the recipient of an awkward grope as I got out of his car (Yes, he had a car!). He seemed very sincere and genuine after our date as well. We texted a few times the next day but never he faded away by the following day.

Mid-week I was working the closing shift at the bar and had my eye on an attractive guy in the corner for most of the night. As circumstances would have it, I didn’t get to talk to him since a show was going on, but luckily he was a friend of my friends at the bar. They did the teenage girl work after he had left of getting us onto each other’s Facebook pages where I emailed him my number. We texted that night while I was on my way home from work. He kept edging the conversation to more sexually suggestive topics that I just wasn’t interested in before we went out for drinks. It became clear the next day that he was mostly looking for a hookup, which I’m not normally opposed to. But not a hookup via my friends, I’m going to avoid. We texted a bit during the next day and got to know a few things about each other.  By the time the next day had arrived and I texted him to see what his schedule was like, he’d already moved on. I’ve still received no response after asking if he’d be free to get something to drink so we could chat in person. I’m not beating myself up too much over him though since I recently have gone for pretty masculine and laid back guys and he didn’t really fit that bill. On our one day of texting, he was making a quiche while listening to opera with his dog named Muffin. Or maybe he was making muffins with his dog, Quiche....Red flag.

At this point, I don’t get upset anymore. I used to cry and whine and eat gallons of Ben & Jerry’s when a guy looked at me the wrong way, but now I simply throw my hands up in the air, sigh, and mutter under my breath, “Really?” I don’t have an explanation as to why I don’t hear from these guys again. I’m 99% positive that most of them didn’t go into witness protection or suffer a rare brain disorder thus striking all memory of me from their minds. So I am left wondering exactly what happened. These instances aren’t a new thing for me either. As of late, most of the guys I connect with meet with the same fate. They fall into the no contact zone. They disappear. They stop. They disconnect. Or maybe I give them a card with my email address on it.  What are my red flags? How many chapped lip kisses and quiches do I have?

the end, by sean

#7 Dating War Stories: Dancing on my own

I went out a couple of nights ago and hit the bars with my friends from work. I was having a great time and love going dancing with those guys. We bar hopped around and ended up finishing the night at a bar in the East Village called Urge. With as many Go-Go boys dancing on the bar, it’s probably one of the most aptly named bars in the city right after the bar next door who’s name is synonymous with a rooster. After many cocktails and two bars behind us already, I was ready to hit the dance floor. While I just started to get my “dance on,” a familiar face strode past me in the flashing light of the strobe. As he walked by just to turn around and walk past me again, I noticed it was the face of “Coffee Shop Joe.”

Coffee Shop Joe was a nickname he earned when I first developed a crush him almost 2 years ago. Charming and handsome, he frequented the coffee shop that I worked the closing shift for a few times a week. He would come in on Thursday nights and stay in the corner doing his work on our free wifi. We’d flirt and joke a lot but I always just assumed that he was straight. Lacking any telltale signs of the gay, I assumed that he was just another harmless crush that I have a habit of developing on straight boys. What got the wheels in my head spinning was when one night as he was walking out the door, he did an abrupt about-face and asked me what nights I worked. Puzzled as to what this could mean, the next day I was walking down the 6^th avenue street fair and suddenly met the gaze of the crush 20 yards ahead of me near the grilled corn stand. He smiled and walked over to me and we had a brief chat. After he walked away, my friend whispered to me, “I hope you slept with that guy,” to which I responded quite loudly and excitedly, “That was Coffee Shop Joe!” since we had just been talking about him moments before our eyes met on that busy street in spring. As a true best friend, he squealed too and declared that he liked me too. It was “obvious.” Two days later, CSJoe was back in the coffee shop for breakfast and wifi. I made him a free ice coffee concoction that I’d been working on and summoned up the courage to drop off my phone number to him as I left work that afternoon when my shift finished. I didn’t make it to the next corner before he texted me and thus began our friendly and witty texting banter. When we finally made plans for our first date, I decided on the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens since neither of us had been there before. I still wasn’t entirely sure if he was gay until halfway through the botanical gardens he started telling me about how “coming out” had been for him. Up until that point, I had this terrible fear that I was out on a date with a straight guy who just thought we were hanging out as buds. After a few drinks and dinner, I gave him a peck on the cheek, congratulating myself on a great first date and looking forward to a second.

The second date came a week later and was definitely more awkward. I could tell that something was wrong but he wasn’t saying anything different. It was just a general sense that the vibes I was sending out were being deflected off of a wall that he had put up. When I was dropping him at the train station, he told me that he was just looking for a “friends” thing and that he hoped I understood.

“Of course I understand. Yea, not a problem….Now, you should hurry and get in there before you miss your train,” I suggested, hoping for him to heed my advice as I felt a steel vice tighten around my sternum.

I’m not sure whether it was my deep v-necks or my impeccably straightened side swept bang that turned him off, or whether he really was just afraid of starting something new with somebody since he’d just gotten out of a relationship.

Two months later and just days before I was to leave for a contract I’d accepted in Hawaii for a few months, I got a text from him asking if I was going to be at the Coffee shop that day. I was there, doing my final inventory before I left in a few days. I didn’t want to see him. I had just begun to move on after nearly a month and a half of moping and ignoring my gym membership. Dashing about the shop, moments from counting my last wine bottle and escaping before I’d have to see him, CSJoe walked in the front door and smiled at me. Giving him a standard “hello” in front of his friends was apparently not enough as he cornered me in the stairwell alone to talk to me about what was going on to find out more about my trip to Hawaii. He wanted to keep in touch and told me to hit him up when I returned in two months. In hindsight I can’t help but wonder if he was just being nice and trying to be my friend or whether he was finally ready to date and was re-exploring me as an option. Of course I would like to believe that I was being re-explored since we’ve never kept in touch as friends since. Also, I think when a person is ready to be in a relationship, they aren’t looking for the right person, they are just looking for a person who’s ready as they are. Just weeks later, according to my Facebook stalker research, he found the guy that he’s currently been seeing for the last year and a half. I have had essentially no contact with him since Hawaii.

So here I am, faced with a guy who in a hazy strobe lit room can still have this overwhelming control over me.  I tapped his shoulder as he fished his way through the crowd and asked how he was doing. Without stopping, he simply craned his head to look at me and with a half smile, nod. My friends left to go to the restroom and get some more drinks. Left on the dance floor, quite inebriated, I did what most gays would do and requested a Robyn song for me to dance to and take my mind off of things. With my friends nowhere in sight after 15 minutes, my song came on. It wasn’t the Robyn song that I was anticipating. Instead I began to dance to her hit song “Dancing on my own.” For anyone not familiar with the song, these are the lyrics to the chorus:

“I’m in the corner

Watching you kiss her,

I’m right over here,

Why can’t you see me?

I’m giving it my all, but I’m not the girl you’re taking home.

I’ll keep dancing on my own.”

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the haze and the flashing lights. Or maybe it was the strategically placed old crush standing 20 feet away from me affectionately holding and kissing his boyfriend that he started seeing right after me, but I began to believe that I was LIVING the song and thus began to dance like I haven’t danced in a long time. As the lights dimmed and the song slowed, I stood dramatically and sang along with the final verse as she sang:

“So far away, but still so near.

The lights go on. The music dies.

But you don’t see me standing here. I just came to say goodbye.”

Then a dramatic drum roll seized my legs and I started doing the flashdance jog in place as the couple walked out of the bar wrapped tightly in each other’s arms. The final chorus of my dance break made me realize that I needed to say goodbye. I wasn’t still hanging on to a desire for him. I was hanging onto the desire to have what he had. But he didn’t make me laugh. He didn’t make me feel important. He didn’t need me. Maybe I should be thankful that I’m dancing on my own and not trying to be something that I’m not with a guy like him. 

#6 Two dates in 2 hours or less

After the emotional whirlwind that was my visit with the Italian, I thought it best to dive right into the dating scene. I decided to be proactive and meet up with a couple of match recommended guys. I was beginning to realize that it was best to meet up quickly and not spend too much time chatting details via email otherwise upon meeting, I’d be forced to stare blankly with nothing else to talk about because we’d already exhausted our charming second grade stories about accidentally sitting on a pencil. Yes, that happened, and yes, I often say things deemed inappropriate by others. For this reason I sometimes try to overcompensate by showing off a stronger personality than I’d like to.  If my biceps were as strong as my personality comes off, they’d ignore the words coming out of my mouth and just rub oil on me.

I’ve learned that although I say things that I shouldn’t and make bad jokes, I also shouldn’t censor or change what I say just to get someone to like me. I want to be with someone who is either amused by me or is ready to bring the sass right back. Perhaps unconsciously I’ve known this and thereby turn up the personality dial a few notches on the theory that if my date can handle me in the extreme, then he can most certainly handle me on a normal day. On my next two dates I exercised this theory.

Broadway Producer walked in apologetically explaining that he’d gained 20lbs since he posted his pictures but that he was on a new diet allowing him all the protein he wanted. I barely stifled a bad gay protein joke as he told me about his job and high salary while snagging every piece of salami on a meat tray too quickly to find any of my quips amusing. I got to eat the cashews on the tray, as they weren’t listed in his all meat diet. I began to feel that he was more interested in the meat tray and his successful life to pay any attention to me at all, which is when I decided I could be completely honest. After his boastful career update was complete was when I thought it would be fun to talk about how I don’t know what I want to do with the rest of my life. I’ve learned that nothing turns off an ambitious, career identified person more than someone who is unemployed and having an existential crisis.

 I knew that I didn’t want to see him again and wanted him to decide the same thing about me so I tried to make that decision as easy as possible for him. Although the thought did occur to me for a second that maybe I should keep him as my boyfriend for the Producer contact…These thoughts occur sometimes but my conscience always gets the better of me as in the case of the other Match.com perspectives like the flight attendant who’s frequent flyer miles had me chat with him for several more emails than I regularly would have or the boring 40 something Doctor who wrote more words in his emails than he had hair on his head. In the back of my skull I have a Jewish mother shouting, “Doctor! He’s a doctor!” which is weird because I’m neither Jewish, nor has my mother every expressed any interest in my dating life.

Broadway producer turned out to be a bust, but I optimistically made an early afternoon coffee date with the first guy who actually looked like his pictures. 

Composer walked in after first casing the joint 10 minutes before our date. He was easy to spot with the scruffy red hair and distinctive glasses. He almost looked like a hipster version of Ron Howard. “Happy Days” Ron Howard, of course, not present day as I don’t have daddy issues. Before starting his interrogation-based questioning of all aspects of my life, he insistently pursued the “meeting” that I had in East Midtown before our date at 11:30am.
Composer: “So what were you doing down here?”

Me: “Oh, just a meeting.”

Composer: “What kind of meeting? What do you do?”

Me: “Oh, I’m a singer.”

Composer: “So were you at an audition? What auditions were over here?”

Me: “No, not an audition. Just a quick meeting. No big deal.”

Composer: “For what? What were you meeting about?”

Me: “THERAPY! I was at therapy, ok?! Me and my Therapist!...ahem…so yea…”

Composer: “oh….how was it?”

I responded with some joke about how it’d done me a world of good since I was ordered there by the judge to deal with my rage issues. This of course was completely false, but probably not the type of joke to start off a date with. Although, who wants to start the date with the admission that they just finished with therapy? Sliding his chair back a few inches, Composer proceeded with the rapid-fire part of my date questioning. We started with where I was born, continued through my formative years and finished the water boarding with where I wanted to be in the next five years. I ignored the existential part of the question and simply said, “New York.” The whole interrogation was over within 30 minutes and we both found ourselves in the awkward position of trying to continue the conversation. What else is there to talk about when I can write a 300-word biography of you already. It’s all surface and I have no amusing anecdotes to tell or ask you about as I feel that an anecdote wouldn’t compute in his world. The most interesting thing about him was that he was rehearsing a musical that he composed starring a Broadway star that I pretended to know as I usually do by saying, “hmm, yes, I know the name. Beautiful voice.”  The musical was a comedy about Cancer, which of course was too tempting for me to not make a terrible joke. Note to self: don’t make jokes about Cancer or molestation…they don’t go over well. I brought up religion and politics in a last ditch effort to get some sort of passion out of this guy, but alas after 43 minutes, he looked at his watch and suddenly realized how late he was going to be to his next appointment. I didn’t ask what the appointment was, but I could only assume it was therapy. 

#5 How do you hold a ghost?

I've been putting my blog on hold for the past few weeks because this next story has been the hardest for me to tell. But tonight at my new job a song kept running through my head and is forcing these thoughts to the surface.
Two years ago, I met a beautiful Italian boy. He was here studying for his Master's Degree before starting his PhD in Paleontology. We didn't meet in the most innocent way. I fully admit that we met online with the full intent of having sex. As he didn't know his way around the city that well, I offered to come get him and help him navigate the subway system to my place in Queens. The moment we set eyes on each other on the steps of the Museum of Natural History, I didn't see anyone else. As we took the long train ride with transfers back to my place, he nervously chatted in his sometimes unsure and slightly broken English. Before either of us knew it, my stop arrived and we were at my street corner by my apartment. Enjoying talking with him, I suggested getting dinner since I wanted to prolong our time before the planned sex date. He agreed that he too was hungry and wanted to talk more, too. I took him to his first Thai restaurant and we talked for over two hours occasionally looking up to catch the other  smiling back to which we would immediately break the stare, looking away embarrassed like school girls with a crush. At the end of dinner, we agreed that we were having a really great time and also discussed the refreshing surprise of that discovery. After all, we were almost four hours into our supposed quick fuck and we'd barely touched. This was how he and I started off together. Both of us unsure if the other reciprocated the same feelings. Over the next few weeks, we spent as much time together as his busy study schedule and overbearing professor would allow. I savored all of our time together as he'd cook for me and excitedly play his favorite Bjork songs on YouTube for me.
We both knew that eventually his time in the states would come to an end but we were bound to enjoy the time that we had together. All I knew was that with him in my arms, I was finally home. Our last night together, we just lay in bed, his head on my chest and my arm wrapped tight around his shoulder, our fingers interlaced, legs intertwined. When the time came, we took the long train ride hand in hand and walked to the front door of his building that he would walk through with his suitcase the next day bound for home an ocean away. Swallowing back what felt like giant lumps of coal in my throat as I fought the tears welling up in my swollen lids, we embraced one final time before I watched him cross the threshold up the stairs to his apartment.
Over the next year, we kept a weekly video chat date and talked about the possibility of his living and studying for his PhD in the states. Those Fridays couldn't come soon enough every week so we could sit and talk face to face for hours. Our skype dates proved to be the brightest point in my otherwise dreary life at the time. However, after almost a year of this, our schedules changed and we drifted. Our hope had always been that we would see each other two years after he left. By that time he would return like some lost messiah to reclaim me for eternity.
Three weeks ago marked his long awaited return. But time changes the plans we make in life. No more was he here for long term studies. He was on a brief trip to Philadelphia and made an even more brief trip to NYC for a day that we could spend together. I was excited to see him though still unsure how it would affect me since he would be leaving again. I figured that as long as I wasn't dating anyone else, it was OK for us to pretend that time stood still and we were still together for that day. That scenario wasn't to be realized, for just days before he was to arrive, he told me the news that he'd been avoiding telling me: that he's had a serious boyfriend for quite some time now. That he will always love me and didn't want to hurt me by telling me that he could no longer bear our distance.
It's not that I'd been holding out for him all this time or that I expected him to pine away for me all alone either. As a matter of fact, I am really happy for him. Part of me was frustrated though. Here was a closeted, career-focused workaholic in homophobic Italy who found a boyfriend and I'm living in the gay mecca of the free world and alas, no luck. In one of the most ironic slaps in the face I've ever experienced, he echoed this same sentiment to me later by saying that if he can find someone, so can I. Wanting to thank him for pouring salt in the wound, I thought better of it as I'd have to explain to him what that expression meant.
We agreed to meet when he was in NYC and he would stay at my apartment before his train back to Philly the next morning. After so much time apart, I felt like there was little besides each other that we held in common. So in this spirit, I thought meeting him would reinforce that feeling. The moment I saw him in Penn station the afternoon he arrived, it all came rushing back to me. I was immediately back in front of the Natural History Museum smiling at this nervous and worried boy before me. I'd spent so much time convincing myself that he wasn't right. That we weren't a good match. We are too different.  All of the lies I told myself to make every day without him a little easier came crashing down before me like a crystal chandelier. So there I stood with shattered prisms at my feet as I again caught his eye from across the station. In this moment, I realized that this was going to be one of the hardest days of my life. This was my day to say goodbye. We had a wonderful day. It was an uneventful but bursting with meaning. While we lay on a rock in Central Park, he stood to take a phone call. Pacing back and forth on the sidewalk excitedly chattering in Italian with a big grin, I realized two things. One, it was his boyfriend on the other end and two....He was in love. I think that's the one thing that turned out making this easier for me. I know that it's done. Enough. It's time to say goodbye. I had someone that I got to feel love with. I had someone to experience all encompassing love with. We never fought. We never floundered. I never wanted anyone else when I had him. Our love never died. Reality is what got us in the end. Hope can only get you so far before you have to accept the inevitable. So as I found a place across the station to watch him board his train after we hugged goodbye, I let go. After all, we found love in a hopeless place.
the end, by sean


We Found Love by Rihanna

#4 Disappearing Act

So far my Match.com experiences can be summed up in one word: flaky. Flaky is one of my favorite qualities when applied to pastry or cereal but applied to dating, it translates to either being unreliable or having a dry scalp. Neither of these is something I'm interested in dealing with on a personal basis. Since I first joined, I've chatted with several guys with great potential. From the Triathlete to Lawyer to Mr. Seattle, they were all fun and interesting guys that seemed to enjoy chatting with me as I with them. We had great conversations and without explanation all of them ceased contact with me. It's like repeatedly dating Amelia Earhart. Too soon?
This past week was the week of reckoning for me. After having a bad first Match.com date (see "bruises" blog), and not hearing from anyone in over 5 days, I emailed them all back politely to tell them that I'd like to get to know them more and wasn't sure what had happened since our last email. I still haven't heard back from anyone. The Triathlete is especially troubling as I made it a step further to the phone conversation with him where we agreed to meet up for a drink the following Tuesday. By the time Tuesday came, I texted him to find out where he wanted to go. He responded that he was crazy busy, which I believe because of his schedule and instead suggested Saturday if I was free. I said that Saturday evening sounded good to me and have never heard back from him. I can see that he read my email the night before our "date" asking if we were still on for the following night but still no response. I don't understand what is so difficult about responding to say that you're not interested or perhaps have met someone else. I am an adult. I get it. Of the half dozen Amelia's I emailed, one is particularly confusing. I decided that his name is Ace since he's demonstrated what a champ he is at pissing me off.

His emails were always vague but in one to him I described in great detail what I do for a living and asked him how he got into his career. I was expecting at least a slight insight into what he does. Perhaps he wanted to follow in the footsteps of his father, or was the first in his family to go to college, or just really loves what he does. I ended my email asking him out for a drink and gave him my number. The informative response to my email  was as follows:
Ace: "I got into this career in college and have been doing it for work ever since. What do you do?"
I am still unsure what made my eye twitch more. Was it the lack of a true answer from him about his career? I assumed he got into his career in college since that was his Major, but was wondering what drove him to it? Perhaps an interesting anecdote about his dying grandmother? Jesus, anything to keep the conversation going. This is would have been enough to spark my eye twitch, but what drove a wooden spoon in my mouth while I seized on the floor was him not noticing the paragraph I wrote about my career or the blatant phone number slip with date invitation. I pulled myself together to compose this simple email:
"Thanks for the response. You seem like a nice guy but I don't think that you're that into this and I'm not looking for a pen-pal. Take care."

An hour after sending this email, he immediately sent me back a message apologizing and saying that he "IS into this and I'm sorry if it seems like I'm not" and then asked if I was free later in the week for a drink. Wha-What?! I just wrote you off....I literally just wrote you off.
This is when I took a brief couple days off of Match and emailed him later to tell him that I was free Friday night if he wanted to grab a drink then. I heard nothing all week until Friday night when at 9pm I checked my email to see that he'd sent me an invitation to join him out for drinks that evening if I was around. Now, at this point, I was pissed off because he had my number and could have texted me as I didn't have his. He left it in the email so I texted him and immediately lied and told him that since I hadn't heard from him all week, I had made other plans to help a friend, which was true, but already done with said help. I suggested Sunday afternoon until 9pm I'd be free and we could meet up then if he wanted. He agreed and in fact apologized again about the delay in his response and that he "will be better now, promise." I took this as a great opportunity to offer a clean slate to him. I do believe in second chances and honestly, I will give several second chances if I think a person is trying. He agreed to text Saturday to figure out plans on Sunday. Fast forward two days and I'm still waiting for our drink itinerary. I refused to text him as I'm tired of the one sided relationship crap. I gave him the whole afternoon for a meeting. Pick a time between noon and 9pm....I am beginning to think that perhaps he works for Time Warner because a Cable Guy is more reliable than he. It doesn't make me as angry any more but instead I find myself shaking my head with a scowl every time I decide to sign onto Match.com. Maybe I will take another few days off. The problem with guys on here is that they all say they are too busy to meet anyone in real life. But the problem is that eventually they'll have to meet me and make me a "real life" meeting. But if they don't have time now, they're not going to have anymore time just because we met online. Maybe I'm wrong. Perhaps, they all joined monasteries and took a vow of silence and that's why I sit here waiting. Regardless, from now on, the only type of flaky guy I'm interested in laughs when I poke him in the stomach.

the end, by sean

#3 Gay bingo?

After my first match date, I decided to give the website a cooling off period of a few days. So, Thursday night I accepted an invitation from a friend of mine (X) to attend a breast cancer fundraiser/cocktail party. I'm still not sure whether we were for or against the cancer as it was unclear through the events, but the open bar provided for quite a nice evening either way. The party snacks of tiny burger sliders gave me great nutrition but also a terrific grease trail down my sweater which I hid by strategically holding my cocktail glass across my stomach as if my arm were in a cast. After we had exhausted the open bar, I mean, once we had contributed all that we could to breast cancer, X and I headed to a gay bar in the village. Upon arrival, we were given numbers on a sticker which we were to put on like cattle. As gay bars tend to feel like a meat market anyway, I felt this was overkill. The numbers were for a game. Apparently, if you liked someone, you wrote their number on a note signed with your number and put it in a mailbox from which the numbers were called over microphone by the host every 15 minutes. This was apparently the best way to include my worst childhood experiences into one festive game. They managed to combine bingo, dodge ball, and 2nd grade valentine swap with the already terrifying world of gay flirting. To add to this anxiety, I was about to learn a very valuable lesson which is as follows: NEVER go to a gay bar with a cute Twink (http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=twink). This rule especially applies when you yourself are continuously referred to as some type of gay river animal, which has something to do with your refusal to wax your chest. Sure, you may be great friends with the twinky boy wonder, but next to him, you will always appear to be a troll. Not the cute trolls with the peculiar jewel in their belly buttons and soft caress-able hair, but instead, the kind of troll that throw goats off of bridges.
As I met a few of X's friends, I kept catching the eye of an attractive guy just a few feet from where we were standing. I made the mistake of motioning to X that I found this guy attractive. X flew into action and the guy froze knowing exactly what was about to happen and I rolled my eyes accepting my fate that I was to be the awkward friend who just got caught talking about the cute boy who is now being introduced to me. We shook hands (carefully, of course, as I was still cradling a drink over my hamburger stained sweater) and just as X opened his mouth to start the topic which was to spark our romance, the cute guy turned his back to me and doused the spark with a very shapely but cold shoulder. A little stunned by that reaction, we retreated to pose by the bar. Also, we were a little low on fluids and figured I could get the attention of the cute bartender to order our drinks. Finally, here was someone who at least was forced to talk to me  and had no way out. I made a joke about his number "69" bingo sticker and was in. Well, that is until X turned around to say "merci" quietly as he took his drink from 69 boy. Before I could say, "zut alors," 69 was plugged into twinky town and began asking questions in french to which the non french speaking X couldn't respond. This didn't seem to halt any continuation and instead I found myself talking to myself translating everything that was being said.
X: "how much?"
69: "quatorze."
X: "huh? hmmm....hmmm."
Me: "14...it's 14...look at me...look at me!"
69: "it's 14." adding a wink and a smile to X for good measure.
The pseudo annoying thing is that X doesn't notice or care for any of this attention as he's dealing with his own confusing relationship trauma right now. I feel like saying, "if you're leg is broken, then why are you on the field?...look at my legs! They're ready! Put me in coach! Put me in!"
So the bartender turns back to his work and we turn our focus back on the host of the evening NOT announcing bingo mail for ME. When X re-joined me after collecting his bingo mail, a very cute guy had just parked next to me at the bar. As luck would have it, he was a friend of one of X's friends and we were about to get an introduction. I waited patiently and positioned myself directly across from him in the introduction cube as he shook hands with X. Being a great friend, X immediately cut his intro short to say, "and this is my friend Sean." Finally, it was my turn. Before I could extend my hand the 2 feet to shake his, he lifted his arm curiously and waved at me. I waved back which felt awkward considering we were so close. The warm handshake, cheek kiss and hug greeting the others around me made me wonder what he was afraid of with me. Was I the sick kid in a leper colony? I raised an eyebrow and scrunched my nose in the thought of my arm falling off as he gripped my hand, but thankfully he had turned his attention to anything else in the bar but me before finishing mumbling "Hi," so he didn't see this unattractive expression of mine. With that, I finished my drink and we called it a night.
I think I have a few things to learn from this. I normally don't go to gay bars looking for dates and instead go to have fun with my friends. Is it possible that I emit a hormone that other gays pick up on when I'm on the prowl and are thus turned off by it or perhaps guys are more attracted to somebody that they can't have in the case of X who is clearly still in love with his last boyfriend and not looking for anything at the bar? Or is it just that I shouldn't spill food on my sweater before I go out? This is a universal mystery. There are two rules to take from this:
1.) Be yourself and stop comparing yourself to others and 2.) Never leave my house without a Shout Wipe.
the end, by sean