Tag: awkward dates

Thanks, Old Faggot – Part One

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Him: Hello there. Are you Michael?

Me: That’s right… Are you –

Him: Ed. Edward.

Me: Which is it?

Him: Ha. I dunno. Whatever you like. It’s Ed at work, but I’m Edward to most of my friends.

(pause)

Him: So…

Me: Yes?

Him: Don’t get mad, but you’re better looking in person than on Grindr.

Me: Thanks. I’m not mad, by the way. I don’t think it’s rude. I’m intentionally less attractive on Grindr and OkCupid.

Him: Why?

Me: I want to be a pleasant surprise, rather than an immediate disappointment.

Him: Oh no!

Me: No. NO. Stop, Edward. I was speaking only for myself.

Him: But I don’t look like my Grindr profile, do I?

(pause)

Me: No, Edward. You don’t. But that’s totally okay. Okay?

Him: Yikes. Why don’t you be brutally honest?

Me: Edward. Your Grindr profile says you’re 35.

Him: How old do I look?

Me: How old is that photo?

Him: Guess how old I am.

Me: 45?

Him: Ha. I’m 51.

Me: Jesus.

Him: Is that old?

Me: No. But it’s older than 35.

Him: I know. Sorry.

Me: Don’t be sorry. It’s fine. Sit down and talk to me.

Him: Okay…

(pause)

Him: You, uh…  You don’t seem that disappointed or surprised by this turn of events… People are usually relatively put out.

Me: Why’s that?

Him: Because they think they’re going out with a significantly younger man.

Me: Then why do it? Why post old photos of yourself and meet up with younger people?

(pause)

Him: That’s complicated. A lot of reasons.

Me: Well… What are a few of those reasons?

Him: I didn’t have a lot of gay friends when I was younger. They were all straight. Now they’ve all got children, and lives, and some even have grand-kids at this point. I’m lonely. I miss being young. I like spending time with young people.

Me: And sleeping with them.

Him: Well, most of them don’t want to sleep with me, and I don’t blame them – but lots of them will spend some time with me, and I like that. And yes, some of them don’t care and will take pity on an Old Faggot.

Me: Ha. I like that…

Him: What?

Me: The way you say it – Old Faggot. Like a title.

Him: Well.  I started sleeping with guys when I was 16. I’ve been a faggot for 35 years.

Me: That’s an Old Faggot.

Him: Thank you. So, Michael?

Me: Edward.

Him: Why did you seem so unfazed by my appearance-slash-age?

Me: Uh…  I kind of guessed it – that you were Secretly Old.

Him: Secretly Old?

Me: Yes. Hiding your age online.

Him: I don’t get it? Do you like old guys?

Me: I wouldn’t say so specifically. I mean, most of the guys I sleep with are under 40. There have been exceptions, but mostly I keep it my age and younger.

Him: So why meet up with me, if you knew I wasn’t being forthcoming about my age?

Me: I do that, sometimes. I meet up with people online that seem off-beat, or troubled, or lonely.

Him: Why?

Me: I write a blog about it. About awkward dates.

Him: I see. So do you want to go back to my place and have sex, Young Man?

Me: I do not. But maybe we can sit on this bench and watch people go by and chat with one another?

Him: That sounds lovely.

(pause)

Him: Can I say? You seem very kind and intelligent.

Me: Thanks, Old Faggot. So do you.

Him: You’re welcome Young Man.

FriDATE: Tainted

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

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?

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

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.

Letters

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Imagephoto: roger wingfield

Hi.  I searched.  I read.

It was funny, offbeat, intriguing.  A lot of it.  But I’m wondering if it’s okay to say there was something troubling in there as well? 

I was reading the letter to you from Kevin bemoaning the racist attitudes he encounters among gay men.  You were – justifiably – sensitive to his concerns and gave a mostly reasoned response.  That disturbed me in his letter were the ageist comments, especially given that he was complaining about people stereotyping Asians.  I felt sad that he needed to stereotype older men.  What was more troubling was your compounding of those stereotypes in your response to him (“weirdos who are decades older”). 

Image

It’s a destructive image that plays itself out in sites like Grindr, where some men make assumptions merely based on age, with no other facts to back up those assumptions.

You seem like a thoughtful person.  I doubt you really believe that all older men are ‘weirdos’ or ‘creepy’ or that all weirdos are actually older men.  So, I’d just ask you to be as thoughtful in how you address ageism as your are in addressing racism.

Thanks for listening.

A.Y.

Image

Hey A.Y.,

Thanks for reading, and thanks for writing in.

You’ve brought up a very valid point, and given me quite a bit to think about.

I’d like to clarify that I never said that all older men are creepy or weird.  I said that I had been hit on by creepy weirdos who were decades older than me.  I’ve also been hit on my creepy weirdos my own age, and jerks who are much younger than me.  Also, I’m sure that at some point, to someone, I’ve been the creepy weirdo.

Image

I’m not going to be dismissive of your point – that Kevin’s letter had some ageist sentiments, or that by sympathizing with him on certain points I appear to condone ageism.  That certainly wasn’t my intent, even if it came off that way.  I don’t condone ageism.

I think that we, as a gay community, could certainly stand to exhibit more tolerance, sensitivity, and kindness toward each other.   I’m sorry if Kevin’s letter (or my response) offended or hurt your feelings in any way.  That wasn’t my goal.  I can’t speak for Kevin, but I’ve corresponded with him a bit, and he’s a bright, kind fellow – I don’t think he was trying to hurt people when he penned his letter.

ImageThis does, however, lead me to my secondary point.  Intent.

Kevin expressed to me, in an email, that he’s tired of ‘creepy guys… that are older’ hitting on him all the time.  I agree with you, that it might come off as an insensitive, ageist statement – but I don’t think his intent was to be hurtful. He was just expressing frustration in an email to me.  If anything, I’m to blame, for making it public on my site, and seeming to sympathize in my response.

I think there’s a difference between that, and making ‘ching chong’ jokes in public, to someone’s face, because you’re mortified that an Asian tried to talk to you.  The difference being intent.  When you do that, you’re purposefully trying to be hurtful – and I think that’s kind of evil.

Image

This dialogue is very helpful, A.Y..  You’ve certainly given me pause. We could stand to examine ageism in the gay community, and I do think we could better police the offhanded remarks we make, especially in public and on the internet. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.

If I were to substitute race for age, I’d be uncomfortable making a similar statement. “I get hit on my a bunch of creepy weird Asians,” probably wouldn’t fly.

Even so – this last bit of observation begs an entirely more frivolous question:

Where are the creepy weird Asians when you need them?

(Seriously – get at me.  Jerks.)

Image

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TuesDATE: Pumpkin

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Him:  Wheeeee…   Helloooooo.  I just chugged two glasses of wine.

Me:  Why would you….

Him:  It’s okay.  I only txted three people my butt pics!!  You can have them too!  I’ll txt them to you.

(pause)

Me: Yes, please.  Here’s my number.

Him:  Hm.  Okay.  I’d jump your bones, so yeah, I’ll send you my butt pic.

Me:  Why not?  You’re super cute and I’d love to see, even though I’m much too old for you.

(pause.  he txts me photos of his ass.)

Me:  Wow.  You have a beautiful body.

Him:  Um.  I’m not perfect.  I mean, I’m not proportional.   The right side of my face is larger than the left, for instance…

And I have an overbite.  So…

Me:  Unpardonable.   Even so, you’re a real looker.

Him:  Eh, my ass is no good either.  Not square enough.  They should be square or round but mine’s triangular.  That’s not-

Me:  And don’t say that about your face.  Your face is the best part.  Adorable.  You’re a pumpkin.

Him:  What’s pumpkin?  Is that good?

Me:  Pumpkin is great.  It’s the best.  You can’t be better than a pumpkin.

Him:  Okay I guess.  What’s a pumpkin?

Me:  Just someone really cute.

Him:  I read your blog and I think you’re weird, and cute, and I like you a little.

Me:  Shit.  Thank you.

Him: What constitutes a ‘pumpkin,’ though?

Me:  It’s just someone that is cute, and maybe awkward in public, that looks like they would smell good.  Like gingersnaps, maybe.  Like someone who smells like gingersnaps all the time.  See?  You’re right, I am weird.  I just told you you look like you smell like gingersnaps.

Him:  I happen to smell myself all the time.  When I’m super dirty I smell like chocolate…

Me:  You whatlikewhat?

Him:  Chocolate.   I like pulling my shirt up to my nose and holding it there.

Me:  I’ve done that.  I had smelly hands this morning.

Him:  What happened?

Me:  I was at my local coffee house with someone I’ve been… seeing, and I realized my hands smelled.

Him:  Like what?

Me:  Like yesterday.

Him: Oh.

Me: Or last night.

Him:  Got it.  Sometimes the smell lingers on me afterward.  No matter how much I wash… hahahahahahah……

Me:  All right.  Moving on…

Him: Hahaha…

(one of my readers was inspired to make some cookies)

Me:  So are you really flirting with me?  I think you’re very cute.

Him:  Yeah, but I’m a virgin.  I’ve never been poked before.

Me:  Oh my.

Him:  Okay here’s why:  I’ve made out with a bunch of people but none of them got to stick it in, because I wasn’t dating them.  It wouldn’t have meant much.  I feel like if you actually get to fuck me then you get all of me, and since there was no romance involved I didn’t want to give it that much.

Me:  I see what you’re saying.  There have been times in my life where I assigned more and less significance to what sex means.  I respect that.  Sounds like I should stop hitting on you though, since you might be in a more ‘boyfriend-y’ head space than I’m looking for.

Him:  Well it’s too bad that none of you guys who hit on me want to date.  I’d be a terrific bottom.  I am a martial artist and I can do perfect splits.  And my hips are very flexible.

Me:  Look, you’re making it really difficult not to hit on you.  I’ll make you a deal, I’ll knock off the flirting if you don’t mention the splits again, and stop being SUCH A PUMPKIN.

Him:  I don’t know…  Maybe I should just do it with you, to get it over with?  And then if my heart gets wound up in it and I become a crazy stalker, deal with it then?

Me:  No!  That sounds disastrous!  Let’s be friends for a long time and respect one another.  We’ll help each other through the bad times and celebrate each other when we succeed.  Deal?  Also, I can chew on your butt cheeks for half an hour, no biggie…

Him:  Hahaha!

Me:  That was not my fault.  You were still being a pumpkin!

(another reader sent a failed attempt at a gingerbread house)

Him:  Also, your talking voice annoys me.  So, I feel pretty confident that I wouldn’t fall for you for real.

(pause)

Me:  Good job.  Now you’re not being a pumpkin at all.

Him:  Meow.

Me:  Know what?   I gotta run and do a comedy show, kiddo.  Believe it or not there’s an arena where my annoying voice is an asset.

Him:  Also, you call me kiddo, which helps in the ‘not falling for you’ department.

Me:  Thanks so much for chatting.  Jerk.

Him:  Aw.  I was gonna say that.