A Glittery Guide to Getting Ready

A couple of weeks ago, I had this major epiphany that I wasn't taking an active role in my dating life. (I can literally hear you all going, "Uhh duh. All you write about is getting drunk and sports. Get. With. It." Please don't gay clap at me, I'm fragile.) So I made the executive decision to set up three dates with three different people before the middle of May. The only way I would divert from this plan would be if I fell madly in love with one of the first two gays and couldn't complete the trifecta. (HAHAHA... yeah, right, love.) So, I have done (sort of) just that!

I actually had a date this past Monday, and I have one set up for this upcoming Sunday! Instead of telling you about Monday's date — in complete fear that I will jinx it, because it went well — I am going to give you a A Glittery Guide to Getting Ready. ("Oh Fab! That's the title of the post too!" Yup, thanks genius... you really saw that coming.)

(These men are constantly in my head. Also, I wanted to do Kyan, bottom left. His. Name. Is. A. Seasoning. #intoit)

1. Grooming: This is something you should do all over. Start with the head. It's got to look fresh to death. You wanna make sure your quaff isn't an unruly mane. (Unless that's what you're going for — then make sure it is perfectly out of place. Must. Be. Perfect.) Don't stop there, though — you want to make sure every hair on your body is perfectly groomed and trimmed. (Ewww, why did I go there? BECAUSE THIS IS SERIOUS. THIS IS GAY DATING BOOTCAMP.) If you feel good, it shows through.  

(Groom yo self.)

2. Pump Up Music: I say this one because I have made the mistake before of playing methodical music before a date, and it has ended horribly. Playing Ingrid Michaelson or James Blunt (you know, the guy who sang the sad song about being beautiful) can easily put you in a thinking mood. You shouldn't be thinking before you get there. You end up doing things like deciding how you are going to fail at this potential relationship. You begin to pick apart all the things that this persons profile didn't match. You end up breaking up with him before you get on the date... because that's normal. (I may be speaking from experience, because I am coo coo for cocoa puffs crazy.) Anyways, listen to music that brings out the fun side of you and not the Emily-Dickenson-jump-off-a-bridge side of you. 

(Look how HAPPY she is. Bitty's been listening to happy music. You. Should. Too.)

3. Wear Shitty Underwear: "That seems super counterproductive, Fab. You just told us to look good on the outside, and we will feel good on the in. Now you are telling us to do the opposite — which is it?" Ugh, you are like ON TOP of shit today. I get it, this doesn't make sense... yet.

You see, from my many years of playing the field, I know that the only time someone wants to go out with you again is if there is a little mystery. I also know, from friends of course, that sometimes if you give up your goodies too early that mystery disappears. I also heard that that sometimes leaves you with a carton of ice cream and the Golden Girls wondering how Blanche Devereaux makes it through all of her lovers with her sanity intact.

To help me... I mean my friend... in this department, I say: Wear shitty underwear. If there is anything that gay men take pride in, it is their ridiculously expensive underwear. You do not want to be going to do the hokey pokey and showing off your off-brand ripped Target underwear. It's just not cute. 

(Soo... umm... yeah. It needed to be said. Sorry I'm not sorry.)

4. Dress the Eff Up: This isn't high school. Wearing a sweatshirt on a date is unacceptable, especially a first date. You have your favorite outfit/shirt, wear it. Hell, I don't care if you have a designated first date outfit because you feel good wearing it. (I would reevaluate it if you are still single and you wear it on all your first dates. Just sayin'.) You can dress appropriately for the climate; I am definitely not forcing anyone to always wear ties or pants. Just look good and find a friend to do a once over on you before you walk out the door. Spray on the expensive cologne to top off the outfit. Just make sure you don't bathe in it — there is nothing worse than a man who looks bangin' and smells like they fell in a vat of Ralph Lauren Polo. It ain't cute, yo. 

(If you happen to be Ryan, then you can wear whatever the eff you want. Because you're Ryan. Effing. Gosling. I think his middle name is Effing, I read it somewhere.) 

5. Bring Your Wallet: I have forgotten my wallet once before. This was a messy experience that led me to feel awkward and obligated. You should always bring your wallet because it holds your ID, and when you are over the age of 21, getting a drink on your date helps to lubricate the conversation. If you forget your wallet, you are unable to get that lubrication. This also presents the awkward conversation at the end of the date when the check comes. (Remember: You haven't had the social lubricant to make this convo easier, because you're an idiot) So you have to do the whole:

"Oh MAH GAWD, I'm a fool. I am so sorry. I will get our check the next time!"

And there you have it. You're a complete dumbass at this point. You not only forgot your wallet, so you can't drink, but because you haven't had that drink you don't think before you speak. Just like that, you sign up for another date with someone who you hoped would look better with your beer goggles on, AND YOU have to pay for it. So, please, tap your ass, check your purse, and make sure your wallet is with you. 

(FAHK)

6. Think of a Good Story: This one is all for you. If the date starts to tank and you don't know what to do, think back to your favorite story from another friend. It's usually 1/4 of the way into the date when I know if it is going to go anywhere. If the date is tanking, I start to make shit up about myself. 

• I lie about traveling. My favorite country to "visit" is Zimbabwe for its tropical atmosphere and the friendly people. Really great resorts. 
• I talk about famous people who I pretend to kinda know. I have "played" pool with Mark Wahlberg and "taken shots" with Lindsay Lohan — at the beginning of her downfall. 
• I tell little lies too, like going to sleep away camp most summers and having two dogs growing up. (I went to week-long sleep away camps and I had two turtles... not dogs.)
• I have also made the mistake of lying about moving. This used to be a rookie mistake — you never tell people you are going to do something and not follow through. I used to do this if things were really tanking, and I didn't want them to ask me out again. I was always moving to NY within the next month, except I never did. Then I would run into them at the bar and awkwardly clam up and take a shot by myself. Don't do this one. 

You see, it's not because I was trying to be mean, it's all because I secretly want to be an actor and I pretend to put on a character. (I'm normal. I swearrrrr.)  

(So many jokes, so little time.) 

Those are the six steps I use to get ready for my dates. Take them or leave them, they have done pretty solid over the last couple of years, exploring the tedious world of dating. I have gotten a few good stories and a few bad ones from following these. I also realize I just gave you advice on how to get ready for a date, and I am currently sitting on my couch in similarly colored sweats and gym shorts. Single. Someday, my friends, someday. 

Fab 5: My inspiration in life

Getting Ready: A glittery mess 

Dating: An expensive ugly beast

Fabulously Lost: Possibly looking for a new routine  

The Next American Idol

So yesterday I mentioned, in my Award Winning Blog (I am going to ride that one for awhile, just an FYI), 11 facts about myself that you may or may not have known about me. I also promised that I would write posts about each of these facts because they warrant further examining by you lovely people. Well, I would like to take some time to address fact number 11.

• I have three songs that I am convinced I can sing and would get me a record deal if the right people heard me sing them. I cannot sing any other songs. I would be a three hit wonder. (One of the songs is from Rent...so a 2-hit wonder)

 Basically, I am going to be the next American Idol...or extremely close.

(Just me and Simon, fighting off the haters.)

 So these three songs, when they are on, sing to my soul. It isn't because I can directly relate to them or because I feel like they are musical gems in the grand history of music. It is because every time I hear them, I sing with every fiber in my body and I feel as though I have hit every single note perfectly, sometimes better than the original artist. Is this a little crazy? Yes. Is it plausible that I can hit all of these notes and be the best singer that no one has ever heard? No. But in my head, I have a Grammy and a Tony. Soooo...Jokes on you. 

This is such a big deal for me guys. I have never told anyone my secret fact about the songs I am able to sing. You can't request them. I can only sing them when I feel moved...or when I am alone. Ok, here it goes. Judgement free zone, right? (I can feel you nodding your heads with your fingers crossed behind your backs. Scoundrels.) 

1. Will I? - Rent : Real talk, I am obsessed with this musical like most musical theatre nerds. (Why yes, that is the theatre snob way to spell THEATRE. Suck it). When I first saw this musical I was 13 and I fell in love with every single character. I don't think I fully understood how dark and depressing a majority of the musical is. (For those who don't know...it's about a group of young people in NYC dealing with the HIV/AIDs crisis of the 80s. SUPER uplifting for a confused gay teenager). Anywhoz, it wasn't until my junior year in high school that I had this magical gift to sing this song. It is the simplest song, lyrically, in the musical but had the most profound impact on me. I began putting it on all of my mix CD's (because that was a thing back then. PRE-ipods/playlists all you young whippersnappers) I would belt it as I drove down the road in my 1995 Nissan Altima with a rainbow bumper sticker plastered on the back. (I was big into "Statement" pieces). To this day, when the song comes on, I lose all focus on what else is going on and begin trying to match the pitch of the artists singing the song. 

(Holy ballz guys, when I found this video of Canada's "So You Think You Can Dance" team doing it...I just about lost my shit. I also just lost 20min of my life doing the arm movements at my table. I am a dancer in training) 

2. White Christmas - by Any Male Artist - This one should come as less of a surprise for you guys considering your vast knowledge of my intense love of Christmas. This was another high school discovery of mine (STOP THE PRESSES... Angst ridden teen finds himself in theatre and music.) Growing up my voice has always held itself slightly above what is considered "normal" for boys and men. (I am all for redefining "normal" but when I was 14....my voice was far from the "normal" octave) The only time that I found my voice actually sounded better normal was when I was in musical theatre. My teacher in 9th grade told me to sing in more of a tenor or baritone (i.e. fairly low)

Around Christmas time, again my junior year, I was joking around with my bffl and singing this song in the car. She freaked out (in a good way) because my voice hit an all time low. Well, I joke sang it at lunch the next day (because I wanted the same attention) and this kid, Mike, turned and was like "SHIIIIIT, I want you to sing at my wedding one day." I laughed it off and told him he was ridiculous...then ran home and wrote about it in my journal. (Facts: Mike got married earlier this year. I was not invited to sing at his wedding. Asshole)

  3. Back Here - BBMak - What? How can you not remember this wonderful British boy band? Yes, they may have been one-hit wonders. Yes, this song did come out almost 13yrs ago. Yes, I first heard this song on Now, Volume 5. (Ugh, that Now was so good! N*Sync, Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears, Aaron Carter, Jessica Simpson, Mandy Moore, Destiny's Child, and 98°. I think they peaked on Vol. 5) So, you may ask, why did I choose Back Here as the song I would hit every note and sound like an angel while singing, when I had so many other gems to choose from? Well, the answer is simple, I DIDN'T CHOOSE THE SONG! It chose me. It. Chose. Me. Sorry, I'm not sorry about this. 

I was working on my British accent at the time (because my phone was ringing off the hook with people wanting to hang out with me) and I just felt an extreme connection to the three lads singing this song. For the last 13 years, when I hear this song, I am immediately brought back to my childhood bedroom where I sat on the floor reading the lyrics off the pamphlet insert, memorizing every single word. I sing for that 11yr old boy. I sing to cure broken hearts. I sing to stop world wars. I succeed. 

Chorus: Until you're back here baby, Miss you, Want you, Need you so. 

I mean, I don't really know why they didn't get a Grammy. It's mind-boggling to me. 

So there it is, those are the three songs that define the early part of my life and are what will, one day, gain me fame and glory among the music community. Don't you worry your pretty little head, this guy is on his way. WATCH OUT  BIEBER! 

Fabulously Lost: The next Kelly Clarkson....or Rebecca Black 

Rent: A positive musical about AIDs

White Christmas: Magical in so many ways 

BBMak: Truly fabulously lost in the pile of one-hit wonders  

Random Tidbits

Ok, so these are all things that are going on in my life that I couldn't really flesh out into a full post. I still wanted to share them with you because they are the unfortunate happenings that lead me sit at home most nights, and eat 4 slices of pizza, and secretly wish they would bring back The Hills and Sabrina the Teenage Witch. (I lead an exhilarating life). Let's begin..

I have a boyfriend everyone.

JUST KIDDING!!!!! HAAHAHA!!! Jokes on...me? Ugh, what I mean to say is that I have a fake boyfriend at the gym who may, or may not, know that I exist. (Because I don't have enough trouble as it is finding a real one, I have to find a fake one and make him fake mine). See, I have this thing where I need to find something to motivate me to go to the gym, because obviously self-motivation to be healthy and lose weight is something that doesn't exist for me.

In college I had a couple of best friends who worked out with me and made it into a fun thing, and I like fun. After I graduated and moved home, the fun ceased and I was left with the constant urge to not go to the gym and do absolutely anything other than workout. Recently, though, I have found my own motivation with my secret fake boyfriend, who is at the gym every night by the time I get there and leaves 45min-60min after I get there. (I magically leave around the same time. Coincidence? I think...so.) I have told myself that I am a bad fake boyfriend if I don't go and see him.

(So I am a little crazy...but I've been to the gym every day this week, suck it.)

I may get arrested...

...if my odd day dream at work comes true. Recently I have been sitting in a lot of meetings and doing one-on-one training sessions with random people. During one of my sessions this past week I was sitting there and my nose began to feel weird...like really weird. I felt like there was the tiniest feather tickling the outside of my nose, taunting me to brush it away. I began to panic and think that I had a major snot poking out and that this person I was training would never take me seriously. (Being a young-20something in the work place isn't enough...I now have a snot rocket waiting to make sure I get the respect I obviously deserve.) So, I calmly decided to brush at my face in the most discrete way possible. 

(I'm like a fucking ballerina)

Here's the thing, it didn't go away with that one swat of the nose. It continued to be there, taunting me and telling me to swipe at it again. So, as I am talking, I go in again to take this tiny tickling nose feather out. And again. And again. After the 4th or 5th time of attacking my nose I started to think about what would happen if there really isn't a feather booger poking out of my nose. What would happen if I just look like I am playing with my nose? You know who also plays with their nose a lot, coke addicts. (Yup, I watched True Life: I'm A Drug Addict, I know what coke addicts do.) I put myself into an all out panic at that point. I decided that this girl probably thought I was a coke addict and after this session she was going to tell HR. I was positive there was going to be an intervention and/or the police were going to show up at my work. I imagined what the conversation would be like with my parents trying to explain to them that I really wasn't a drug addict, that I just had a frustratingly ticklish booger. (Of course I would deny it, all drug addicts do! DAMN YOU MTV KNOWLEDGE.)

(Just me an Urkel...hangin' in the slammer)

By the time I had planned my entire arrest and trial, I realized I was still talking and I didn't know what I was talking about anymore. Soooo, I literally just stopped talking and stared at this poor girl. (Obviously awkward pauses and shifty eyes now added to my nose swapping addict tendencies...ughh guys, I don't look good in orangeeee). She looked at me a little oddly and then said she really enjoyed everything I said. I really hope I didn't confess my inner fears out loud...

I got angry at my GPS

This seems like a totally normal thing, right? I was driving along and listening to my jamz (read also: Christmas music), when all of a sudden my GPS decided to interrupt and ask me if I had any commands for it. Holllld uuppppp. Excuse me, whaaaaaat? You see, I had to replace my phone on Sunday because apparently you aren't supposed to drop your iPhone in the toilet because it causes corrosion. (Who knew?) So I had to restart all of the programs and upgrade them and all of that jazz. Well, apparently, my GPS app had this update where it now periodically asks me if I need help and all I have to do is speak into the phone and it will oblige.  

What my iPhone didn't realize is that you really shouldn't interrupt my Christmas Jamz because I get irrationally annoyed. When the Barb (my name for my GPS, because thats normal) decided to block the music to ask me if I needed help. I decided the best way to handle her rudeness was to say something mean. 

Barb: Do you need any Assistance?

Me: Stop talking 

Barb: I'm sorry, can you repeat?

Me: Stop. Giving. Directions. Out. Loud. *(insert gay clap at each period)

Barb: Please repeat. Speak Slowly. 

Me: SHUT THE FUCK UP BARB. I HATE YOU. 

Barb: Commands turning off

(I WON)

I felt obscenely victorious for all of half of a second, and then I felt terrible. I felt like I was unnecessarily mean to  Barb, so I started to examine my response and I felt this terrible pit in the bottom of my stomach. I had just been  a terrible person and yelled at her while listening to the happiest music on the planet. (At no point did I think, "Hey, this is an inanimate object that has no feelings and doesn't care what you call it"...because it can't care...). I felt so bad that I ended up turning the commands back on and apologized to Barb in my mind. (Sometimes I don't realize how crazy I am until I write these posts about myself.)

I caused an accident with my good driving skillz

Literally...I was actually being a good driver, instead of the asshole speed demon I tend to be. This time of year always brings out the good within me (Except when it comes to my GPS, sorry Barb!), and I try really hard to make sure that shines through in all the areas of my life, including with my driving ways. Well, Monday morning, I was driving to work at a decent speed along Route 29, just bopping along to my music and drinking my delicious Pumpkin Spice Latte, when a Douchebag decided to ride up extremely close behind me. He was riding my tail like I was a hot piece of ass in a skimpy dress at the club on a Saturday night. (The answer is no, I don't feel good about what I just wrote...).

 I just kept going along at the designated speed limit (or 10mph over) when I saw the traffic light ahead turn red. As I started to slow down the Douchbag decided to zip around me to speed ahead. As he drove past me he raised his fist triumphantly with his middle finger waving back and forth. I turned and smiled and waved (because I am not above sharing friendly gestures) which angered him further. He turned back to the road to realize the red light was there jusssst a little too late. I stopped appropriately at the light as he slowed down and ended up in a fender bender with a Mercedes Benz SUV. 

(Not the car crash I saw this morning...but exactly what happened)

So my little Douchebag friend's speedy Volkswagen now sat with its hood curled up under the SUV. I turned over as I finally reached the light and looked at my now distraught sparring partner. As we all know, I have stopped wishing accidents on people, so I did feel bad for a moment. (Not as bad as when I yelled at Barb, she really didn't deserve that)

Wrap-Up

Alright, so my next post is a ridiculous story that involves Halloween, the Village People, the gay club, random make out sessions, and, as always, a run in with the law. Look out for it on Monday. 

Also...I am going to DC's annual High Heel Drag Race next Tuesday. I will be intoxicated and surrounded by Halloween Drag Queens...I hope to God I make it to work the next day. 

Fabulously Lost: Lady in the streets...

Barb: I can't apologize enough

Gym Boyf: See you tonight ;) 

True Life: One of the only constant pleasures in my life

Just Your Average Phoebe Buffay...

You know how how it always seems like there is some sort of formula that goes into making a successful T.V. show? Friends was always one of my favorite shows and it is one of the most formulaic shows out there. You have the neurotic one, the sarcastic one, the beautiful one, the dumb one, the nerdy one, and the kooky weird one. The reason it works so well is because everyone connects with one of the characters, and up until recently I thought, for sure, that I was the sarcastic one. I thought I was Chandler. I wanted to be Chandler. Unfortunately, I just figured out I'm more of a Phoebe.

I discovered this a couple weeks ago when I was taking stock of my life as I flitted between DC, VA, and Baltimore. I was planning my weekends and focusing on boozy brunches, bar crawls, and birthday extravaganza's. All of my events revolved around my single friends and our mutual singledom. Then I received a wedding invitation from a good friend of mine from H.S. and was given the opportunity to bring a date. (HAHAHA...a plus one is a lovely thing...or a reason to sign up for more therapy sessions.) It's then that I started to realize that maybe I wasn't Chandler anymore. 

A couple days later the same friend invited me over to dinner at his new townhouse outside of Baltimore. I was a bit hesitant at first, mainly because I found out it was going to be my friend, his fiance, our other best friend from high school, her husband, and me. It was at that point that I realized that I am the Kooky Drunk Single Friend.

(Sorry guyz....this may be me)

Now, you may be asking what it means to be the KDSF (I feel like the abbreviation is what you would find in a "personal ad"...I'll take it?). Basically it means that you have to have crazy drunken tales, go on outrageous dates, have many failed but humorous relationships, and be a generally unreal person. See, I constantly forget that I am the KDSF because I hang out with so many other KDSF (you know who you are...drinks this weekend?). Just when I am forgetting, I am smacked with that reality when Married Friends ask to hang out and go to dinner or do other Married Friend things. (These things aren't different than doing things with single friends, but they are usually done in pairs....and I am not a pair). 

Being a gay KDSF brings a whole different angle to this normal dynamic. Back in the day, Sex in the City did a whole episode on how difficult it was to be the single friend when you were surrounded by tons of other couples. When you are gay though, there is extra scrutiny put on you because you are far more fascinating...you are like a fucking unicorn. Now, don't get me wrong, I love being the unicorn (literally and figuratively). If you haven't noticed, I love being the center of the conversation with undivided attention. It's because people, especially Married Friends, don't normally have gay single (or coupled) friends who come over with stories. It's all the more interesting....I guess. 

Anywhoz, (Almost) Married Friends invited me over for a dinner and I knew I was going to be the only single one. I had to prepare myself and think of good stories to tell and also make sure I didn't come across like my life was too much of a mess...(surprisingly hard to do). 

I made my way to their house (fashionably late... and actually early in gay time) with a bottle of wine in hand and my thoughts on trying to be a classy gentleman. As soon as I  arrived, the idea of being classy went out the door. You see, the last time I had hung out with all of them I had decided not to drink and just relax. I was chastised and they were genuinely disappointed in my lack of alcohol consumption. I thought I could get by on my winning good looks (HA!) and personality, but it turns out I am wildly more entertaining after a few glasses of wine. 

So I sat down and was immediately handed a glass of wine and they began asking me questions about life. 

Married Friends: So, tell us about everything? What's going on? Who are you bringing to the wedding? Are you dating anyone?

Me: WHOA! Third degree! I am bringing British Cowgirl. I am single and mingling right now. No special lad for this guy. 

Married Friends: Ugh, tell us stories. Are you not drunk enough?

Me: I can be fun without alcohol! 

Married Friends: Yeah, but more fun with it! 

(btw British Cowgirl went to h.s. in England and thinks she is a country girl because she is attracted to cowboy type men...there is no joke, just facts. It's becoming contagious...)

They didn't say that exactly, but it was implied....it.was.IM.PLIED. They guilted me into having another glass of wine before the male half of the engaged couple, and the one who was my h.s. friend, decided to challenge me. 

Engaged Friend: I drank more than you last time, I can drink more than you this time. 

Me: You don't want to do this, you really don't. 

Engaged Friend: No, seriously! What has happened to you? I can definitely drink more than you, I went to college. 

Me: When was the last time you got drunk?

Engaged Friend: I don't know...I don't keep track of that. 

Me: Oh, well, I got drunk 2 days ago. I think I can hold my own. 

Engaged Friend: Then lets go for it.

And that was the beginning of the end. We went drink for drink. We went from wine to rum. Before we knew it the night was over. We had laughed our way through most of dinner as I recounted my unreal, but very true life stories and my life as a part-time serial dater. The actual Married Friends had to leave around 1030/11 and the drinks kept flowing, then out of nowhere Engaged Friend hit a wall. He began getting violently ill and continued to do so for about an hour and a half. Somewhere in all of that I passed out on the floor and was generously woken up and shown the way to the guest bedroom. 

As I slipped out the next morning and drove home, I began thinking about how easily I had fallen into the KDSF ways. I wasn't disappointed in any of it, I had an amazing time and wouldn't mind doing it again. Although, I think I am still trying to figure out how to transition into becoming one of the coupled friends and move out of this Kooky Drunk Single Friend role that I have perfected. Until that happens, I think I will continue out drinking Married Friends and living this ridiculous thing called life...because everything is more fun when you are living life looking for your next adventure.

Fabulously Lost: You can call me Princess Counsuela Banana-hammock 

Married Friends: A riot in their own way...and terrible at drinking contests 

Friends: Best show from the 90s 

Denial: Not Just An African River

I have mentioned before that I came out when I was 16yrs old to a group of people who were as surprised by my coming out as they were by Lance Bass coming out. (I'm still holding hope for J.T. to get rid of Jessica Biel and come out....a boy can dream). Right after I came out, I became one of those gay's who denounced the community and decided I was above stereotypes and a general need for the LGBT community as a whole. Over the next five years I continued to be a vigilante for the straight community, you know since they were experiencing so many hardships and needed my support, all while claiming to be the "New Typical Gay." Although, in the last 2 years I have embraced this community and called it my own and stopped being such a whiny biznatch about it. Recently, I have had time to reflect on just why I had such a snarky attitude for so long. It's all because of....Straight Men.

This seems like a no-brainer, but like most things in my life...it is not for the reasons you would suspect. I mean, of course, there are the societal pressures to "act straight" and be "masculine" because that's what we have been taught to do since we were really young. There are the general fears of being bullied and having hateful things spewed at you like venom. But, I have a tough skin and I could also give two shits about people who hate me for being gay. My concern is with those open-minded Straight Men who consider themselves to be friendly with the gays, but not completely aware of what being gay is or how it might affect them. 

I decided early on it was my mission to educate Straight Men and be their friend while also putting down ze gayz. I have had a bajillion conversations with Straight Men about how I came out and what the process was and without fail the conversation always has some variation of this: 

Straight Men: So, like, how did you know you were gay?

Me: I mean, just like you knew you were straight. I found men attractive and not the vag. 

Straight Men: Did you ever try being with a girl...sexually?

Me: Variations of "sexually" yes, and it was terrible. Have you tried being with a guy...you know to see if you were gay?

Straight Men: Whoa dude, no. I'm not gay.

Me: Yup, my same sentiments towards trying stuff with women.

Straight Men: So, like what kind of guys are you attracted to?

Me: If you are asking if I am attracted to you, the answer is no. (this is generally true...) I am not magically attracted to all men. 

Straight Men: Wait, so like you're not attracted to me at all? Why?

Me: Are you attracted to all women?

Straight Men: No. 

Me: I am not attracted to all men...soo...you fall under the group I am not attracted to. 

Straight Men: But like, what about me?

Seriously, most of these conversations end with these people being some level of confused at why I am not attracted to them. That's not to say that I have never had strong feelings towards a straight man....but usually when I do, I am able to be with them in some capacity, i.e. they are not 100% straight (Hehehe ...yeahh...get it girl).


With those select few Straight Men that I have found myself attracted to or decided to pursue I always enjoyed the chase. You know that scene in He's Just Not That Into You, where the interview different people on how they know when someone is interested? They flash to two gay guys and they say they know within like 3seconds, with just a glance, whether they want to sleep with someone or not and whether that person wants to sleep with them. That is the most accurate thing I have ever heard about the gay community in a movie about straight people.

(Loveee that the subtitles are in Spanish)

I really honed that skill in college with several people. The first person I really felt the need to pursue that was "straight" was someone I actually met when I was a senior in H.S. and he was a freshman at UMD and lived on my brother floor. I didn't really think much about him at first because the only thing I knew about him was that he was a Drug Dealer. Ok, ok....I know what you are thinking, but I was never really into that in college. I drank like a fish but I never felt the urge to do drugs, probably because they are all illegal. (The hypocrisy of drugs being illegal and bothering me yet the underage drinking didn't is not lost on me, I assure you). But for some reason, almost two years later Drug Dealer looked a lot more appealing to me and was suddenly this attractive man who had "lived a life" in college. 

We were randomly at the same parties at my brothers place and a few other friends along the way and we would always catch each others eyes. It always lasted longer than three seconds and I would get these intense butterflies as if something needed to happen. Then one night at the end of September we were at a party at my brothers place and there was a group us playing "Never Have I Ever" (because when you are 19 and drinking Natty Light you need to play "revealing" games....) Someone would say, every single time, "Never have I ever....been with a guy....sexually". Literally, without fail this question would be the first one asked because I was always the only gay male in the group and I would have to put my finger down, but it was a little different this time. 

Drug Dealer  was sitting next to me and hit me a couple times in the leg to show me that he put down half a finger. He then pulled me aside after the game to have a chat. 

Drug Dealer: Did you see my finger?

Me: Why yes yes I did? Whatever did you mean with half a finger?

Drug Dealer: Well, it means that I'm not sure and I'd like to explore I think?

Me: Aww well lots of people do that in college, thanks for telling me. Lemme know if you want to talk about it more?

Something was fishy but we went back to the party like it was nothing and just drank more delicious Natty Light. The next week we were at a different party (So...I partied a lot. get over it.) and at this one Drug Dealer pulled me into a bedroom to talk again. 

Drug Dealer: I've been thinking about this a lot and you a lot

Me: Well, what exactly have you been thinking about 

Drug Dealer: I think...well... *grabs me and kisses me*

Drug Dealer: Whoa, I just kissed you. We kissed. 

Me: Ummm yes, you did just kiss me.

Drug Dealer: I can't believe I just did that. I can't believe I just kissed...you. *said with a little bit more snark, seediness then I would like*

Me: Welp, I think I am good on insults tonight...thanks. 

I stormed out in drunk dramatic fashion (Surprissseeee) and headed towards drunk food with some friends. Drug Dealer began furiously texting me saying he wanted to talk about things and fix what he said. I was not having any of it, yet I enjoyed the banter and the pining that was filling my phone. Finally I agreed to walk with him to his place and get on the bus back to my residence hall once we had finished talking. 

Drug Dealer: First off, sorry I didn't mean to sound so disgusted. 

Me: You're a real charmer. I appreciate the apology, I often like to have this happen after a kiss. 

Drug Dealer: It's just that by kissing you, I was recognizing that I am not just straight.

Me: Shocker. 

Drug Dealer: Look, I liked kissing you. I want to do it again. Thats what freaked me out. 

Me: Well, I haven't had any complaints thus far. I accept your apology.

The conversation dragged on and we discussed his feelings and what to do with all of them. We also agreed that we didn't have any feelings for each other, but there was an odd mutual attraction. Once we got back to his place...I didn't end up getting on the bus and we ended up...finding other things to do. This back and forth continued over the next year or so. The last time we "spent time" together he left his wallet in my room when he left when I went to go to the bathroom. The funny thing is, I went to the bathroom to try and figure out how to get him to leave to not spend the night. I ended up throwing the wallet out my window to him and saying we should probably not do this again. I said that all out the window. From my 4th floor apartment. Because I'm classy. 

At some point along the way he stopped selling drugs and got clean and is now married to a girl. This seems to be a theme with the Straight Men I end up "dating" or "spending time", a lot of them are married to women. (No wonder I am single...I keep turning men straight...oof). This is just one of many tales of the Straight Men of my past and why I blame many of them for my denial of the gay community for so long. Every once in awhile I get a pang for that chase...but then I remember...I'm now to lazy for that ish. 

Straight Men: not attracted to all of them, chaser of some Questionable ones

Drug Dealer: A dealer of lovin' not druggin' for me

Fabulously Lost: Putting the puzzle together as to why I am single 

I'm In Love With A Stripper

Can I tell you about the weird couple weeks I've had? Ha ha ha...who am I kidding..of course I can tell you, you've already opened this post. In the last two weeks I have blacked out 2x, traveled to the deep south, had my wallet stolen, had my car sideswiped, had a panel fall off my car (surprisingly in no relation to the sideswipe action), fell in love, and became the stripper whisperer. Now this whirl wind of events created a chaotic few moments for me but I remained relatively positive throughout the entire thing, which is not usually how I handle things. In most cases, when something crumbles in my life...I shout it from the roof tops so people will think I have some street cred against my white middle class upbringing. Instead I took most of these things in stride and just tried to fix them...I mean I guess this is kind my "shouting it from the roof top" moment...whatever, suck it.

Alright...so lets get to the nitty gritty of it all. It's true, I fell in love last week with...with...a Stripper.

How does one fall in love with a stripper, one might ask. Well it all started with my Bocce team, (I'm aware of how ridiculous the sport is and even more ridiculous that I am on the team...) which consists of a bunch of gay men and straight women. We all went to a dinner party a couple weeks ago and decided we were going to go to Secrets, an gay all nude male strip club over by Nat's stadium, after our game one week. The last time I went to a strip club I was 18 and it was a seedy female strip club outside of DC. I, obviously, didn't have the best impression of strip clubs from this event and wasn't overly excited about this decision to go. However, I am nothing if not a team player (and you just don't say no to a bunch of queens).


Well, I forgot about all of this and last Wednesday I showed up to our bocce game in critter print shorts, flip flops, and a button down. (I never really understood how to dress for sports...). After the game was over we were all standing around discussing whether we were going to go to Secrets and finally someone made the executive decision we were going to go....and we all followed. The thing that made me feel kinda weird was one of my friends had his straight friend from CT visiting. (we shall call him Straight CT...clever, I know).  I just felt kinda bad for the dude that we were heading to this type of strip club...but I didn't voice any objections.

I kid you not, Secrets is in the middle of nowhere. It is about a 15minute walk from the stadium and it is next to a power plant...there is NOTHING else around it. When we were driving down the street towards it, I was convinced that this was some weird hazing event and some of the new gays were going to be left in the middle of nowhere to find our way back. They'd call the game "Follow the Rainbow" and whoever got home first was guaranteed a spot on our Fall bocce team. (Sooo...I have an active "expect the worst" imagination). We knew we were in the right place because the large black box of a building had the most massive rainbow flag plastered on the front that I had ever seen. (As if being a gay nude strip club wasn't flashy enough...we put our bat signal on the front of the building...like really?)

(We've ARRRRRRIVVVEED)

We arrived at 8:50pm and tried to get in...but the place didn't open until 9pm. WE WERE THE FIRST PEOPLE AT THE STRIP CLUB AND WE HAD TO WAIT OUTSIDE. I was almost completely sober and dressed like I belonged in a J Crew catalog (I am obviously being very generous to myself and my style here...its been a rough couple weeks, just let me have it)...not outside of a nudey bar in the middle of bumfuck DC. When the place finally opened I felt like the guy collecting our cover was looking at us like we were a bunch of his kids who just graduated high school. I bet he was thinking "Awww they just grow up so fast. I hope the real world treats them well." Except in this instance, the real world was dark and upstairs and full of naked men and alcohol. (soooo maybe he was right...)


Literally, as soon as we walked in the door of the bar there were 5 naked men dancing in various places of the bar. Now, I knew I was going to a strip club where the men were completely naked, but I thought there would be some show or they would take some clothing off. Nope, not here. You walk in and all they are wearing are a pair of shoes and socks for you to put money in. I was shocked and kept laughing out of awkwardness. I was laughing and covering my eyes and unsure how to handle this sober. Sooooo, I went to the bar immediately to order my signature gin and tonic (every proper lady has a signature drink...). When I turned around from ordering my drink I was accosted with one of the strippers junk inches from my face....and I gasped and clutched mah pearls.

(I meannnn....yeah basically what I did)

The stripper laughed hysterically at me and pulled away. He then decided to chat with me from his post at the bar. 

Stripper: So, I'm guessing this is your first time here?

Me: The last time I was at a strip club I was 18 and it was female strippers. It was just further confirmation that I am gay. 

Stripper: Yeah, you and some of your friends look lost. Plus...you arrived as soon as we opened. 

Me: I meannnn....not by choice! I was dragged. I don't know how this works. 

Stripper: It's fine...I like people who show up early. 

Me: Well...thats me? I like your boat shoes (I would notice the only piece of clothing he is wearing)

Stripper: Ahh I'm not supposed to be wearing these! I forgot my sneakers, don't judge me!

Me: Uhhh I was serious...I mean I'm wearing critter print, boat shoes are like shoe porn for me. 

Stripper: Haha...oh, well thanks. I'm jumping off but I'll be back...

I proceeded to drink copious amounts of gin and tonics while trying to awkwardly converse with my friends and not look at all of the flailing penises. It was a futile attempt because if you weren't looking at real life penises their were penises on all of the T.V.'s. Before I knew it, I turned around and there was my Stripper. (hehe, notice how he is "my" stripper now?) He was sort of dancing and looking over at me and laughing, because by this point I was attempting to dance with a couple of my friends. Which was sad since we were the only 10 people in the place. I decided to walk over to him and give him a dollar. 

Me: Hey, just wanted to give you this for being nice and loosening me up when I first walked in. 

Stripper: Do you wanna touch me?

Me: HA..what??...I...wait...no. What? Who...thats...I mean you're attractive..but..what?

Stripper: Don't you know the rules? Ohhh I guess you don't since you've never been here (no one ever said he was smart) When you give money you can touch one of us above the waist or below the knees. So do you wanna touch my chest?

Me: Oh, um I mean I don't want to objectify you. I mean, I know you are automatically being objectified because you are a stripper but I feel like that's not me. Other people can, I don't judge but I guess I feel like I want to know someone before I touch them. You seem very nice. There is nothing wrong with you, you are very attractive. I just respect your right not to be touched. So I think I will refrain. 

Stripper: Hahahha, thank you? That's really nice of you. 

Then he..he...leaned over and introduced himself to me. We stood there for the next 20min and he told me his life story. He told me about where he grew up, what he wanted to do with his life, why he was stripping, how many siblings he had, and finally what it was like being nude all the time. When I apologized for monopolizing his time he thanked me for listening to him and said he was happy to dance and talk to me. Every time he came out to do a set he would talk to me for a majority of it. 

On his third set of the evening he grabbed my hand and put it on his chest. 

Stripper: You know me now so you can touch me and be okay with it. I feel respected 

Me: *Blushing* Oh goodness, that, well., you have a nice...its...your body.

Stripper: Hahaha yes, that's my body...I can't give out my number but I can take numbers..

Me: Sure...I mean I don't expect you to call or text but I am flattered you want it. I mean, even if you just want to be friends...you aren't really my type because, well because you are white. But everyone needs a stripper friend, right?

Umm...WHAT??? Did I just say "Everyone needs a stripper friend" to a stripper who I just went all Oprah on? Does everyone really need a stripper friend? I tried to act cool as I analyzed the fuck out of that statement and began getting more and more embarrassed by telling him everyone needs a stripper friend. Finally I handed him my number and he held onto my hand for a moment. We had another moment before I have my friends come over and he dances for them. My Stripper wins over my friends, which I decided was a good sign if we were going to work out. (Because I am crazy and planned out how plausible it would be for me to date a stripper)

My signature drink had kicked in full force at this point and I begin talking to Straight CT.

Me: So how does it feel to be in a gay strip club looking at penises when you like vag?

(I am nothing if not forward when drunk...)

Straight CT: I mean...I didn't think my first strip club ever would be gay and full of men, but you guys are having a  good time. I can appreciate that these are good looking guys. 

Me: That is fairly cool of you. I saw you hitting on one of my girl friends earlier...tryna get at that?

Straight CT: I'm hoping to move to DC soon, so that would be sweet if I could set that up. 

Me: Adorbs. 

Straight CT then began dancing around like crazy and I realized he was the same level drunk as me. He started dancing provocatively with his gay friend who he came with. I thought nothing of it, I have a couple straight guy friends I dance dirty with just for fun...but I did take note of this. Then Straight CT began dancing with me and unbuttoning his shirt. Unlike the stripper, I guess I decided I didn't respect him because I just began touching his lovely body and dancing very closely. 

Then out of nowhere he takes his shirt off completely and wraps it around my neck and pulls me in close to dance. In an unusual burst of confidence I decide I am going to just go for it....I'm just gonna do it...I'm just going to...BAM, I kissed him. We began making out and dancing like maniacs before he pulled away. 

Straight CT: Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. You're a dude

Me: Yes, yes I am

Straight CT: You're a dude and we just kissed. I just kissed a dude

Me: Yes, yes you did, we did. 

Straight CT: I'm in my first strip club, its a gay one and I kissed a dude. Don't get me wrong you are a good kisser. But you're a dude. 

Me: Yup, I'm still a dude and we kissed. Did you want to go for it again?

Straight CT: Let's just dance and let me process?

Me: No skin off my back...

Well, his processing took 5 seconds before we were kissing and dancing again. After a bit we all decided to leave and I said goodbye to Stripper and Straight CT. 

The next day I was feeling rough and talking to my twin (She is literally the short, black, female version of me...SEPARATED AT BIRTH...sister from a different mister...and mother?) and I told her I didn't know if Stripper  would text me or call me and I was sad. She responded pretty flately

Twin: Well, he might not call or text because he saw you getting it with another guy. Might be a deterrent. 

And there you have it ladies and gents. I fell in love with a stripper and I macked it with a straight guy. As if my life couldn't get any weirder I take it one step further....on a Wednesday. 

Secrets: My new favorite place

Strippers: Everyone needs one...?

CT: A now significantly more interesting state

Fabulously Lost: Hot Mess

True Life: RIP Insta-Hookin'

So I have been getting into the swing of things with match.com and I have decided to completely get rid of some of the sites where people are more inclined to just be interested in hooking up. This includes getting rid of Grindr  which has had its longest run on my phone of recent, a whole 4months without being deleted. (I have gotten ride of this site 8x over the last year as a "cleanser"...it will probs be back, don't lose hope in more awkward tales). But I wanted to take an "RIP" moment with all of you to discuss some of my more colorful conversations that happened on these sites, all of these never fully forming into tragic dates due to the tragic nature of the conversations.

At different times over the last few months I have talked to everyone under the sun on these mobile trollop conventions. I have tried to talk to people who are older (by more than I am willing to admit), younger, white, black, Asian, Hispanic, you name it I have accepted their conversations...even though I shouldn't have in most cases. Over the last few months there was one that went on for awhile longer than it should have and also scarred me for life. Back in November I decided that I enjoyed the idea of being a "sugar baby". I had just watched True Life: I'm a Sugar Baby and had made the decision that this could be the life for me.

 (put "True Life" in front of anything and I am guaranteed to think I can be that or I am that....its like being a hypochondriac but for reality television. I convinced myself I had tourette's once just to fit in with the show. Annnnd I wonder why I'm single. ) 

Anywhoz, I was on the prowl for an older guy who hinted at money and a promise of taking me out on a special and fabulous date. By prowl, I mean I just needed to turn on Grindr and wait about 20min for an older man to message me with something wildly inappropriate or a compliment. A majority of these compliments would end up feeling creepy because  the complements were always like "Well don't you look handsome there fellow"  or "What brings a strapping young fellow like yourself on this site." These seem like harmless things but they also remind me that I am talking to someone who could possibly be old enough to be my father.

 Well this fateful day Penthouse decided he was going to message me and see how I was doing. We chatted for a bit, fairly casually before he began to get a bit more aggressive. He started asking me about my favorite hot spots in Baltimore and then we began talking about New York (which quite literally may be the key to my heart. That and cheese. A convo about NY and Cheese or NY Cheese [idk what that is but it sounds good] and you may as well just get a hotel room cause I am ready to make babies) 

Penthouse: I see that you were born in NY...do you like it up there?

Me: OMGZZZZZZ I lurv it up there. I want to move there soon and live and play and dance and work and just beeeee. Its my passion. The state of NY is my passion. 

Penthouse: Aww that's cute. I have an apartment up there because 2 of my kids live in the city. 

Me: Wow...where is your apt?

Penthouse: It's on the Upper East Side....its actually a penthouse, I bought it a few years ago and it was one of my best investments. 

Me: Ha..ha..uhh...whoa. Uhh yeah I usually sleep on people's couches so I don't have to spring for a hotel

Penthouse: Well, if our date goes well...you can always use my penthouse. 

(SIDE NOTE: Gotta Go My Own Way from High School Musical 2 just came on my iPod. I got rullll excited about it and I also know all the words. Its these moments I know there is no question about my sexuality or the fact I am single for a reason)

Ok...so yeah...he offered his PENTHOUSE to me within our first 2 hours of talking. He didn't even ask for durrty pictures or ask about sleeping together. This is EXACTLY how I pictured my Sugar Baby lifestyle. True Life has yet to fail in teaching me about how to become or avoid becoming many different things (I will never be a heroin addict nor will I ever have a porn addiction, BUT I do know how to come out to my parents if they happen to be from the Pacific Islands.) I was obviously intrigued by his offer and also surprised because we hadn't actually made plans for a date yet...but he was quite presumptuous. 

Me: Wow...nice. Errrr what date are we going on?

Penthouse: Oh, well I guess I never officially asked you out, but I would love to take you on a special date around the city. 

Me: The whole city? That seems like a very exhausting evening

Penthouse: Well I would have a car pick you up of course, I am a gentleman. 

Me: Oh of course, that makes sense. That would be swell. Where do you live. 

Penthouse: I own an apartment on the top floor of Eden, in Harbor East. 

Me: Isn't that a roundabout way of saying you have a penthouse apartment in Harbor East

Penthouse: Yes. 

All I kept seeing $$$$. HOW DID I LAND THE JACKPOT IN SUGAR DADDIES!

Me: Cool cool. You mentioned kids...were you married before?

Penthouse: Ahh this convo already. Yes I was...for 25 years.

Uhhhhhhhhhh Whaaaaaaaat?????? Now I am not a math expert or anything...BUT....being 23 and him being married for 25 years means that he had an entire marriage longer than I have been alive. At this point I started trying to psych myself back into the conversation. There was a bit of a pause...a few moments where I didn't know how to respond calmly. 

Me: Ah yes, well most marriages don't last that long. Congrats...on long marriages?

Penthouse: Well it ended for obvious reasons...lol. Does me being older bother you?

Me: Pffft whaaaat? Haha noooo...does me being young bother you?

Penthouse: No...it's one of my favorite things about you other than your smile

Me: Compliments get you everywhere. 

Penthouse: Everywhere? Good to know. 

Me: Hehe...sooo how many kids do you have?

Penthouse: Three. 26, 24, 21. 

Me: whoa...uhhh err....how old exactly are you?
Penthouse: Do you really want to know?
Me: Nah I just ask for shits and giggles. OF course I want to know.
Penthouse: I'm 57. 


HOLY CRAPBAG BATMAN! I don't know what I was thinking but for some reason I had placed this man in his mid to late 40s. It wasn't until he said his children's ages that made me think twice about his age. I told him that it was a bit of a reach for me and I said "Good day Sir". I really wanted to be a Sugar Baby...but the idea of going on dates with someone who was actually older than my parents...made me second guess this choice. I really like nice things...but apparently love does know an age limit in my mind.


Over the last year their have been some interesting pick up lines as well as some interesting reactions to things I have said. Below is a compilation of both!


JohnsHop: Hey there cutie, how are you?
Me: Great...hows it going?
JohnsHop: Better now that I'm talking to you ;)
Me: Haha..nice...so do you go to John's Hopkins?
JohnsHop: Cute and quick on the uptake. Yes. 
Me: Cool...what are you studying
JohnsHop: I'm studying penis' and I think you need yourself a penis doctor...
Me: Welp....I think I'm good. Mine is doing just fine. guess you'll have to find someone else.


I have to give it to him...he made me chuckle. Though I will walk out the door of whatever clinic he is a doctor at.


Lonely?: Hey are you busy?
Me: Hey...do I know you?
Lonely?: No...why would you ask that?
Me: Well asking me if I am busy seems to imply that we have talked before and you know that I am generally a busy guy.
Lonely?: Errr no...I just wanted to know if you wanted to come over and enjoy a nice bottle of Andre. 
Me: As....nice?...as that offer sounds I think I am going to have to pass. I am in fact busy
Lonely?: Oh...well if you ever wanna 69 let me know.


Ummmmm what? If I ever want to 69? HOW is that a follow up to "lets enjoy a nice bottle of Andre" (a classy drank I might add.)


D4Y: Hey there fellow
Me: Hey...what does D4Y mean?
D4Y: Daddy looking for younger. You need a Daddy tonight?
Me: No...I'm good. I'm morally opposed to calling men who are not my father "daddy". Its actually kinda weird if I call him "daddy".
D4Y: Well I can be whatever you want....
Me: I think I want you to be blocked. Good Day Sir.


This is a convo I have quite often with people on the site. I usually like to point out to these people that I could be their son. I also point out that I don't feel that anyone should be called "Daddy" outside of your own father. I actually really disapprove of Usher's song "Hey Daddy" because of this (Which is a huge surprise since I would literally do anything to...er..for Usher?)

Dance4lyfe: Hey there
Me: Heyyy...I'm sorry I'm not really into younger men. You look very nice though
Dance4lyfe: That's okay. I just wanted to see if you wanted to recreate the Risky Business dance with me tonight
Me: Oh...er welp...have a good night
Dance4lyfe: Sooooo thats a definite no? Orrr should I prepare my tighty whities?
Me: I'm good. have fun.


I wasn't even offended by that one....I was intrigued. I also didn't think it would work out so well....since he resembled Tom Cruise in a very odd way, and I am not into short white men. Sorry I'm not Sorry


With that, I bid adieu to the insta-hookin' sites for a while. Worry not, I will give them a proper viking funeral...they were always flaming anyways.


Internet Dating: Transitioning
Fabulously Lost: Mourning the loss of a sometimes good friend
Grindr: RIP...2011-2012
High School Musical: ALWAYS an upper