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eryc perez de tagle

Him: I’ve been following your blog for awhile now, not only because I enjoy reading it, but because I think I’ve projected a fantasy onto you and admire you for everything I am not – handsome, talented, comfortable with their own body, freely pursuing their passion. I admire someone who is not afraid to put themselves out there – mentally and physically (in your case, literally, via photos). Do you have any advice for someone that has pretty low self esteem on how to get a shred of that? Also, any workout tips would be appreciated.

- clue do

Me: Hey Clue.

I need you to listen to me for a second, okay? Are you listening?

You’re beautiful.

I know you are. I’ve never seen you or met you but I know you’re beautiful. You might not be everyone’s type, but trust me- there are people in your life who already stand in awe of you.  I know that. You’re unique and perfect and beautiful.

And I know how you can become more beautiful:

Identify your passion, and pursue it.

Stop listening to the reasons why you can’t succeed. That critical inner voice that says you can’t do it? That voice is the devil. It’s the closest thing to pure evil on this planet.

Don’t compare yourself to other people.

Most people who feel inadequate have a little mental list of people who have done more, achieved more, are better looking, more talented, or deserve more than they do. Keep things in perspective. Even huge movie stars have a list of artists they think they’ll never measure up to.

(In Anna Paquin’s case, that list must be very, very long.)

(we can still see your vagina, anna)

Realize that everyone’s just faking it.

All these photos you see of me running around my kitchen with cute boys in the gorgeous late afternoon light? Carefully staged. I’m a guy who constantly doubts himself, too. I’m faking it as much as Meryl Streep, Barack Obama, or your mailman. We’re all faking it. But if you start behaving like someone who believes in themselves, eventually you trick yourself into having moments where you actually do believe in yourself. Then after a few years, you forget why you were terrible in the first place.

Work.

There’s not much we can do to alter our circumstances, besides working. Some people were born rich, good looking, unnaturally talented. Good for them. The rest of us have to work at it. Identify the thing you love, or are passionate about, and go for it. Don’t expect to master it overnight. Just take the slow steps you need to take for your passion to flower. Work toward goals. Set attainable ones. When you attain them, set loftier ones.

You might not wind up getting what you want, but I guarantee – the very act of pursuing a goal will take you places that astound you. You’ll never believe how much good fortune you have if you work every day toward a simple goal.

I never met anyone who was ‘lucky’ that didn’t work their ass off.

Oh, also – if you want to be more ‘cut’ then lift weights. Free weights. Not machines. Aim for five days a week, and be happy when you go four days. Get mad if you’re only doing three. If you want to slim down, then do cardio. Run outside, or swim. Again, try five days a week.

Aw. Clue. You’re adorable. I want to find a way to end this post where I call you a Jerk, but I just like you too much to do that.

Jerk.

See? I did it anyway. Sorry.

You’re Welcome

lex millena

Him: Wow. You’re a busy guy.

Me: You’re busy too! It took us months to find some common time. You look good, by the way.

Him: You’re welcome.

Me: Haha. Thanks for looking so good.

Him: I told you – you’re welcome.

Me: So you did. You said you had a doctor’s appointment?

Him: Sort of. Chiropractor.

Me: I agree.

Him: With what?

Me: A Chiropractor is a ‘sort of’ doctor.

Him: Stop! I really like my Chiropractor.

Me: Hm. Got a little crush on him?

Him: Shut up. He’s such a bro, though.

Me: Bro?

Him: Yeah. He’s a ‘hey bro’ type of guy.

Me: I gather you love that.

Him: Yeah, that’s why I play in the gay sports leagues. I like bromance.

Me: You’re hilarious.

Him: I’m worried though.

Me: Why?

Him: He said that he was going to cancel our appointment next week. He doesn’t think I need to see him every single week.

Me: Isn’t that good news?

Him: What? No! It means he’s breaking up with me.

Me: That’s hilarious. Do you really  think that?

Him: What else could it mean?

Me: That you’re getting better?

Him: Yeah, maybe… See – I’m neurotic.

Me: Only a little. Still – that does seem like a Seinfeld plot.

Him: What does?

Me: My Chiropractor Is Breaking Up With Me. Sounds like a Seinfeld episode.

Him: Who watches Seinfeld?

Me: Comedy nerds?

Him: Do you know comedy nerds?

Me: I kind of am one.

Him: Comedy nerds don’t look like you.

Me: You’re welcome?

Him: What?

Me: I was repeating your joke from earlier. Never mind.

(pause)

Me: You’re thinking about your chiropractor, aren’t you?

Him: It’s just, why wouldn’t he want to see me every week? My insurance pays for it.

Me: Listen, if I was being paid an exorbitant amount of money every week to give you a back rub, I’d totally schedule more appointments – not less. Who is this guy?

Him: You’re sweet. Maybe you should be my chiro.

Me: I’m available. I’m only a few hundred dollars an hour.

Him: It’s really bothering me, though.

Me: Would you say you care about other people’s opinions too much?

Him: Yes! I’m totally neurotic about what people think of me.

Me: Oh no. That must suck.

Him: It does. I’m worried about what you’re thinking about me right now.

Me: I’m thinking you’re adorable.

Him: You’re welcome.

Me: Thank you.

(pause)

Me: I think I have the opposite problem…

Him: How so?

Me: I think I don’t care enough what people think of me.

Him: Really?

Me: Yeah. I’m super self absorbed. I had an improv teacher once say “The only absolute in life is your own opinion.” That stuck with me over the years, maybe too much.

Him: That’s a good quote though. I wish I could think that way.

Me: I do think that way, but I wonder if I might be a little bit more successful if I desperately needed to please other people.

Him: Maybe it’s more about you.

Me: Hm?

Him: Do you please yourself, ever?

Me: I’m happy with certain things. Milestones, or accomplishments. But even when I do a really good job in a show or at an audition, I still feel mildly dissatisfied.

Him: Maybe that’s the trick – pleasing yourself.

Me: That’s a very astute observation.

Him: We should order. I want oysters.

Me: This restaurant is great, by the way. You made a good selection.

Him: You’re welcome.

You’re the Jerk, Jerk

photos by tommy kha

Him: Do you intentionally go on dates with people that you think you’re more intelligent than to make yourself look better when you write about it online? I’m serious. You come off as so holier-than-thou you’re either embellishing – or at least altering to your advantage – much of these conversations, or you go out of your way to find idiots to make fun of to your readers on the internet. It was funny the first few reads, but it’s just the same old bad date where “Him” doesn’t have any social tact or depth, and “Me” is completely grounded, sane, and level-headed. Is this a self-esteem thing? It really is starting come off as “look at how great I am! Can you believe I keep going on these dates with such duds?!” Do you go on any good dates? Are these just the bad ones? Look, I don’t mean to be an asshole. You seem like a cool guy. You seem interesting, you’re hot, you’re funny, and I bet you make delicious food, but to be frank, you’re really starting to come off as a big jerk, Jerk.

Me: Andrew, you really have to work on your flirting skills… Still, it’s flattering…

Him: I figured that’s the type of response I’d get, seeing as how what I wrote wasn’t some two-dimensional middle-school comment criticizing something on your bookshelf. But I’ll take it as a sort of affirmation: you’re a jerk.

Me: Andrew, what you wrote was an out and out attack that I didn’t feel deserved a serious response. I don’t understand what type of reaction you were trying to trigger by calling me a bunch of names? I blog about awkward dates and cringe-worthy situations – it’s right at the top of my web page. If you don’t like it, best just to close the site rather than attack me for it.

Where do you blog online? I’d like to read what you write, make personal assumptions about you, and criticize your choices.

Oh wait, no I wouldn’t. But if you’d like to go on a date…

Him: I didn’t call you names, nor did I attack you. I stated how you are coming off to me in these re-caps of your dates, and asked you questions about them. Don’t put something on the internet – let alone allow people to comment about it – if you can’t handle criticism or give a dignified response.

I’m not even criticizing you for writing about your awkward dates. I think that’s a funny premise. My only criticism comes from how extremely one-sided the awkwardness seems in every single post. It’s like the entire time you’re rolling your eyes, or winking to the audience, throughout the re-cap. I’m sure I’m not the first to wonder why you’re consistently going on so many awful dates that you seem over or better than before they even begin.

I don’t have a blog myself, but if I did and I wrote about something as personal as you do in the way in which you write, I would expect personal assumptions, criticism (both constructive and not) and yes, the occasional attack (which I still believe is not what I did).

Me: I’m not surprised that you don’t have a blog yourself. Some people find it easier to criticize the work of others than to actually put themselves out there in a real way. You called me holier-than-thou, and implied that I suffer from self esteem issues, no? That’s what I meant when I said you were name calling and attacking.

I’m a little confused. You say you like the premise, but then complain when I execute the premise. That seems like an odd complaint. So, you think my postings are a little one sided? Okay, fine, but I’m not naming these people or showing photographs of them. I’m not harming anyone by writing this. Me blogging about the dates in a ‘one-sided’ way is the equivalent of me telling my pals over brunch about an awful date I had last night. Who’s side am I supposed to tell but my own?

Am I intentionally going out with people who seem awkward, defensive, or lacking in social skills? Absolutely. That’s what I write about, after all. That’s my currency. Do I think I’m better than them, or smarter than them? Nope. I just write about the awkward, cringe-worthy things they wind up saying to me.

I’m not going to apologize for expressing myself on my own website. I get that you don’t like it, but I’m flattered that you’re reading.

Andrew, this really is the most convoluted way anyone’s ever asked me on a date. Sheesh.

Wanna know more about the redhead with the side boob?

She’s doing a hilarious show at Upright Citizen’s Brigade called Naked People.

FriDATE: Tainted

photos by tri vo

Him: Ugh. I’m so full. That was good food, actually.

Me: Actually?

Him: Yeah, I was expecting it to be bad. Most people are bad cooks.

Me: Oh. Thanks?

Him: Don’t worry. It’s a compliment.

Me: I wasn’t worried. But thank you.

Him: Still. I thought there would be pie.

Me: I didn’t make any today.

Him: I wonder if your pie is any good?

Me: It’s a mystery.

Him: Should I help you do the dishes?

Me: Nah. It’s always awkward doing the dishes in another person’s house. I know where everything goes.

Him: But I feel bad!

Me: Well don’t. I invited you over for dinner.

Him: We should drink this wine I brought. I don’t like the beer.

Me: The beer’s almost gone anyway – but I better lay off the wine.

Him: Why? It’s Saturday night.

Me: I’m feeling oddly full. Like indigestion somehow. Plus I’m teaching all day tomorrow so I better just behave.

Him: Boring! I’m gonna drink this wine.

Me: Have at it.

Him: You’re acting weird. Can I look at your books and judge you on your bookshelf?

Me: Sure, but most of the stuff I really like has been lent out to people that haven’t returned it. So…

Him: That’s what I’d say too, if I were being judged.

Me: …

Him: Ohmygod. You have the Popol Vuh! Can I have this book?

Me: What?

Him: Can I have this book? Did you read it already?

(pause)

Me: Uh, sure… You can have the book.

Him: No. I don’t really want it.

Me: It sounded like you did. I just had to think about whether I’m ever going to read it, and I don’t think I am. So go ahead and take it.

Him: Nah. It’s in English, and my professor translated it in Spanish. I think I’ll read it in Spanish. I don’t want to be tainted by the English version.

Me: Yes. By all means – don’t taint yourself.

Him: Ew. Why do you have Joy Luck Club?

Me: Somebody gave it to me. I thought it was a good read.

Him: It’s super racist.

Me: Really? How so? It didn’t strike me as terribly racist.

Him: Oh I don’t know. I haven’t read it. My professor says it’s racist and I believe him. I’m getting more wine.

Me: I’ve had a few Chinese American friends read it and say it was relatively close to their own experiences as first generation Americans. I don’t think Amy Tan is a member of the Klan or anything.

Him: Hm. Wow. I’m really plowing through this wine. You should have some with me.

Me: I don’t know if that’s a great idea. I’m feeling a little off. I ate this ham earlier today. It was really cheap and I think it was leftover from Easter. I’m feeling strange.

Him: Something’s wrong with the lighting in here. You need something less bright than this lamp, but brighter than this other one.

Me: I have this – flip that switch over there.

Him: Ohmygod! What is this??

Me: It’s an antique x-ray light from the 1950′s. There’s an actual x-ray in there, too.

Him: Ew. Gross. I don’t like it. I do not like it.

Me: Okay then. Turn it off.

Him: I’m pouring myself some more wine.

Me: Go for it.

Him: I’m not leaving until I finish this wine.

Me: Well you don’t have far to go.

Him: Let’s lay on your bed for a minute.

Me: Hey. You’re really cute, but I’m starting…  Feel my forehead. Do I have a fever?

Him: Um. NO. You don’t.

Me: You didn’t feel my forehead.

Him: Come on. Just lay down with me.

Me: I’m really feeling out of sorts. Like, I think I may have eaten tainted food.

Him: Ugh. Look. I’m going to be straightforward. I want to have sex. Do you want to have sex?

Me: I think you’re attractive – but I’m really not feeling well. I think I gave myself food poisoning, somehow.

Him: You’re acting irrational and weird. Make out with me.

Me: You need to work on your game.

Him: What?

Me: You don’t call people weird and irrational and then ask them to make out. Listen to me, okay? I think I have a fever.

Him: So, sex, or no sex?

Me: No sex. Probable diarrhea.

Him: Me and my friends are going dancing tonight. You should come.

Me: I. Am. Ill.

Him: Okay, cool. Am I ever going to see you again, mister?

Me: Maybe. Maybe we can hang out again…

Him: Look. Just tell me right now yes or no.

Me: This is a first date. Cool it on the ultimatums.

Him: I’m not leaving until I finish my wine.

Me: I gathered.

Him: I really like your apartment, actually.  I expected not to like it.

Me: Thank you. You’re too kind.  Jerk.

What If There’s Nothing Wrong?

photos by eryc perez de tagle

Me: So? What’s the spice?

Him: Paprika.

Me:  You’re right.

Him: Smoked paprika from Spain.

Me: Yes. Wow!

Him: Yes. Of course. You were expecting me not to get it?

Me: I guess? I… No. I dunno.

Him: I lived in Spain for two years. I can tell paprika.

Me: I like that.

Him: I feel like I should be doing something.

Me: Don’t worry about it. Sit. Relax. There’s beer. Want another beer?

Him: No. I cant. I can’t take your beer. I shouldn’t – I’m exhausted.

Me: Oh no. Really?

Him: Not totally exhausted. Just. I want to nap. Can I take a nap?

Me: What?

Him: That’s weird right? If I take a nap while you cook?

Me: Maybe…

Him: Oh, no. Forget I brought it up.

Me: What?

Him: Now it’s gone wrong. I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.

Me: You can totally take a nap if you want to…

Him: NO. You probably want me to leave, right? You can just tell me. I like it when people are straightforward.

Me: What? No. Hey. Have another beer. Do you… Can I hug you?

Him: Okay.

(we hug)

Me: I’m glad you’re here. Are you hungry?

Him: Yes! I’m getting there. I could be hungry. I’m hungry. Yes.

Me: Great. Pick at this while you wait for dinner.

Him: This is good. I like ham.

Me: You can totally take a short nap if you want.

Him: No. I’m sorry I brought it up. I’m ADD, I think. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

Me: It’s okay. We’ll eat soon. You don’t have to stay all night.

Him: Why. You don’t want me to stay?

Me: No. I mean yes. I mean… You said you were exhausted.

Him: Hey. I need to use the bathroom again. Can I?

Me: You don’t have to ask. Go ahead.

Him: Sorry, I just broke the seal.

Me: What? Oh. The urination seal!

Him: Yeah. You never heard that?

Me: No, I did. It just took me a second. I didn’t know ‘the seal’ meant urination. For a second.

Him: I never heard of the ‘Urination Seal.’

Me: I was just clarifying.

Him: Well that’s not a thing.

Me: I… You’re right. But I get it.

(pause. he goes to the bathroom)

Me: Even so.

Him: What?

Me: Even so. What are you doing? When you break the seal?

Him: Pissing.

Me: So it kind of is the Urination Seal. Right? If we’re to be clear?

Him: That’s not a thing. Breaking the Urination Seal isn’t a thing.

Me: Okay.

(pause. he comes back from the restroom.)

Him: You should water that plant.

Me: Should I?

Him: Yeah, it looks sick.

Me: I watered it yesterday.

Him: Really? It looks sick.

Me: It’s doing fine.

(pause)

Me: Wanna try the pulled pork?

Him: Yeah.

Me: Do you like it?

Him: Yeah. It’s good.

Me: Thanks.

Him: You’re acting weird.

Me: I am?

Him: I dunno. I’m here. I don’t know you. You could be a serial killer. You’re cooking food.

Me: I’m going to serve us dinner.

Him: I know but… You’re making me feel bad.

Me: What?

Him: I’m not doing anything. I feel like I should be helping. Or taking a nap.

Me: That’s the second time you mentioned… Do you wanna go to sleep for a sec?

Him: No. I just say what’s on my mind. I think I’m ADD.  I’m trying to fix what’s wrong with me.

Me: What’s wrong with you?

Him: That’s what we’re trying to fix. Me and my psychologist. Once I fix myself they’ll be no stopping me. I don’t like the lighting in here, by the way…

Me: Really?

Him: Yeah. I don’t like it. Too controlled.

Me: So much of life is about carefully controlled lighting.

Him: That’s ridiculous.

Me: Is it?

Him: NO.  I don’t know why I’m saying that. It’s not. You’re not weird or ridiculous. I don’t know why I’m imploding right now. Something’s off. I think I’m really ADD. I’m going to find out what’s wrong with me.

Me: What if it’s nothing?

Him: What?

Me: What if there’s nothing wrong with you?

Him: What do you mean?

Me: What if you’re just great how you are?

Him: Huh?

Me: What if there’s nothing wrong with you? Sorry. Maybe you’re ADD, that’s true. But what if you’re okay, even though you’re ADD? What if your attention span is exactly as long as your evolution in the world has taught it to be? What if your own experience isn’t flawed? What if you’re unique and deserve respect? What if the rest of the world is totally fucked and you’re okay? What then?

Him: I’m tired. Can I nap? Can I sleep while you cook dinner?

Me: Jesus. Please do.

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