MonDATE: Bisexuals, and the Right to Privacy – Part One

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Him: Hello, are you Michael?

Me: Yes. You’re Sam?

Him: Yes. Hi. Nice to meet you.

Me: You too, Sam, I like your shirt.

Him: It’s Hollister.

Me: I like it anyway. Wanna take a walk?

Him: A walk? That sounds so weird and creepy, in the middle of the night.

Me: Is it? I just don’t really want to go drink right now. I’m trying to shed the winter layer.

Him: But isn’t a bar… Safer, somehow?

Me: We can stick to Colorado – it’s well lit. I’ll try to resist the urge to take you to a park and chop you into small pieces.

Him: That’s what I meant when I said weird and creepy!

Me: Let’s operate off the assumption neither of us is a murderous sociopath?

Him: You don’t seem like a sociopath to me.

Me: Thanks, man! I like your attitude!

(We walk for a while, chatting. I find out things about him. He’s in medical school. He’s into extreme sports, hiking, and surfing. He seems nice enough, and he’s no dummy. He’s read most of Kurt Vonnegut, so he gets points.)

Him: So, I guess you’re wondering why I’ve contacted you?

Me: I guess I am, now that you mention.

Him: I wanted to ask you a question. Do you mind if I ask a personal question?

Me: No, I guess not, as long as you don’t mind not getting a full answer, depending on the question.

Him: Haha, fair. Fair enough.

Me: What’s the question?

Him: Well, I have a few questions. Firstly, are you bi-sexual? I read your site for a long time and I always assumed you were gay, but now you’re married to a woman, and what’s the deal? Is she a lesbian? Does she need a green card, or whatever?

Me: Oh wow. I thought personal question meant something like ‘boxers or briefs?’

Him: No. You clearly wear briefs. I’ve seen your Instagram.

Me: Fair enough.

Him: Are you bisexual?

Me: Let me ask you a question. I’ll answer yours, but let me do the rudest thing and follow up a question with another question. Does it matter?

Him: What?

Me: Does it matter? The difference between me being Gay or Bi? Or even straight?

Him: What do you mean? Of course it matters. Of course .

Me: How so?

(There is a pause. He looks confused.)

Him: Do you realize, I’ve read you for years?

Me: No, I usually go into these meetings pretty blind. When I meet with people it’s much more likely they’ve lurked or stalked me, whereas I might only have a brief email and a fuzzy photo to go on.

Him: But how can you do this? You talked about Gay dating, alienation and minority rights for years. How do you just get to marry a woman and continue on like nothing happened?

Me: Because nothing happened. I got married. It was pretty important to me, in the scope of my life, but in the grand scheme of human events, it’s not even a blip on the radar. It’s just a marriage. Most people do it at least once.

Him: But why a woman? Are you Bisexual?

Me: Again, I don’t see how that matters. It’s clear that I’m definitely a member of the LGBTQ community. Right? And, consider this: you haven’t told me your sexuality, yet you seem to think it’s fine to pry about mine and my wife’s?

Him: I’m Bi.

Me: Okay, good. I’m Queer.

Him: What does that mean? In what sense?

Me: It means I am as Gay as Kurt Cobain.

Him: What about your wife?

Me: She’s whatever she is.

Him: Stop. This is frustrating.

Me: This is nobody’s business. One of the perks of marriage is people stop prying about who does what, when, with whom, and how.

Him: But I’m curious!

Me: Well, that’s flattering. Are you openly Bi?

Him: What?

Me: Do people know you’re Bisexual?

Him: Some people do.

Me: Your family?

Him: No. My brother knows, I think, but by and large, no.

Me: Your work friends?

Him: No. I don’t want them thinking I’m weird, or off.

Me: Your friends from school?

Him: No.

Me: So, pretty much, just the people you have sex with.

Him: You make it sound sad.

Me: No, you make it sound sad. You’re the one who made those choices.

Him: It’s just what happened. I’m a victim of circumstance.

Me: You’re what? 28? 27?

Him: I’m 30 this year.

Me: Okay, well, welcome to the club. I’m going to say something, and I hope you don’t get offended.

Him: Are you going to call me a Jerk?

Me: I don’t do that anymore, Jerk. Just kidding. No, just this: There’s no such thing as a victim of circumstance. Not really. I believe life is a series of choices. It’s in the art of choosing we discover what kind of man or woman we become. If you don’t like your circumstances you have a right to make a different choice. It might be more difficult to make a courageous choice. It might, in fact, be stupid to make a courageous choice. It might make your life more of a struggle to make an honest choice, or to have enough integrity to look your family in the eye and say, here’s what I am – here’s how I was born and here’s the way things are for me. I’m sorry you feel differently about how I should live my life, but then again, my life is the only thing that is arguably entirely mine – and I’m the one who has to live it.

Him: What’s that have to do with the way the world is?

Me: To say you’re a victim of circumstance is a bit misleading when you’re the one creating your own reality.

Him: That’s arrogant. That’s incredibly arrogant, and I knew you’d say something like that. I knew you’d come up with a way to make me being down low about my sexuality my fault. My sexuality doesn’t define who I am anymore than my liking baseball defines who I am. Why do I have to make a huge issue of who I’m sleeping with? Doesn’t my mother deserve a good birthday, Christmas, Thanksgiving without me ruining everything by talking about sex with dudes? Why are people so obsessed with where I’m putting my penis? It’s nobody’s business.

Me: And yet, you’re so very obsessed with where I’m putting mine.

(There is a long pause. He starts to speak, then stops, then looks confused.)

TO BE CONTINUED…

 

 

I’m With Magneto

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Me: What is this theater? A speak easy?

Him: It’s the closest one to my house.

Me: There’s no sign. I had to circle the block three times to figure out where it was.

Him: They’re doing construction. I bought a bunch of snacks.  You’re stressed out. Let’s have fun.

(We watch the movie. We do have fun. Then…)

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Me: Aw, Jeez… You’re being nice and I’m being horrible.  Thanks for the movie and the snacks, sweet boy.

Him: It’s okay. You have an emotional investment in the franchise; me too. I’ve been reading X-Men since i was a kid.

Me: Me too, since I was 8 years old.

Him: What did you think?

Me: I can’t but love it. I have to. It’s about us. It’s about LGBTQ.

Him: Singer really pushed the homosexual imagery hard – all  that man on man fondling! Long, deep eye contact…

Me: He did. I got really emotional. Certain lines they delivered seemed to be speaking directly to Us. Almost like Singer wanted Us to hear his advice.

Him: ‘No, no. We don’t hurt our own kind.’

Me: YES! ‘Mutant and Proud.’

Him: That was clearly the underlying moral of the movie.

Me: I know. ‘You didn’t ask, so I didn’t tell.’

Him: Also, the hero, Charles Xavier, has big flaws. He invades people’s minds even after he has promised not to. He pressures Mystique to ‘cover’ her true form in public.

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Me: Covering is a real problem right now in the Gay community.  The pressure for us to mute ourselves can be felt any time we hang out with straight people. It’s not fair, and they don’t even realize they’re coyly asking us to do that, when we’re with them.

Him: They always do that. They all always do that.

Me: They frequently do that. But not all of them, and not always.

Him: How many of your comedy teams have pressured you to smooth out the gay around the edges?

Me: All of them, at one point or another. But, that’s comedy.

Him: I’m with Magneto. I’m a separatist.

Me: No, you’re not. You’re not willing to kill or maim or terrorize people in order to gain your equality.

(long silence)

Me: Stop. Don’t look at me like that. You’re not willing to do that.

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Him: I agree with the philosophy. By any means necessary. It boils down to Xavier/Magneto being Dr. King/Malcolm X.

Me: I know. But what makes one argument compelling is that the other exists. One side of the argument is not compelling without the opposite point of view. It’s useless to say that you agree with Dr. King or Malcolm X., becaue you know in your heart that they are both right.

Him: I don’t care anymore. I’ve found a way to be completely homo-social. I only associate with Gay people except for my mother.

Me: That’s very narrow.

Him: I’m Chinese-American and Gay. What can I do? There’s a whole world out there that hates me for one reason or another.  I’m not going to devote my  life to fighting for the respect of people that aren’t as smart as I am.

Me: That’s your right, but you live in the world. You have straight people around you, and you must interact with them. And by the way, you’re right: you are absolutely smarter than 99% of people.

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Him: My mother is my only female friend. I don’t understand women and they get offended almost every single time I have to interact with them. Their feelings are so sensitive and I don’t have time for that.

Me:  Stop that. It’s not just women. You hurt my feelings all the time, too. I have women in my life I love and respect.  But, I think I get what you’re driving at.  They seem to be wired differently than us. However, if we’re to demand respect from Straights who are wired differently, then we must manifest the generosity of spirit to return that respect. Or screw up the courage to offer the respect first. Certainly, we have to rise above misogyny if we want our own equality.

Him: I am an oppressed minority two times over. I’m not going to start respecting first. I’m not going to start living by their rules. I just want to be left alone. Give us our own country, and one for the Lesbians. Indiana. Nobody wants to live there. Let us have it.

Me: Lesbromolia.

(Pause. No laughter.)

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Hey, if you don’t start first then nobody will start respecting anyone. That’s how respect works. It’s a two way street. We don’t have to live how they tell us, but we must start respecting first, because they have the power. Here’s a better question. How do we take the power?

Him: We start riots in the street. Burn down their houses.  Make it so they’re so afraid they have to turn on fire hoses and shoot us with rubber bullets. And we make sure there are plenty of cameras around when they turn on the fire hoses.

Me: Maybe… That might need to happen. This is America. It seems like major social change has only ever come at the cost of much anguish and bloodshed. Are we ready for that? I’ve always hoped that some sort of amazing Gay Gandhi would come along and show us how to peacefully get what’s ours. We’re not organized enough for that, yet. But there’s change brewing.  You can feel it?

Him:  Yes. But I don’t care. I’m with Magneto. I’m an evil mutant.

Me: That’s okay. I love you anyhow.

(Long pause)

Just remember: We don’t harm our own kind. And use a condom.  And clean out, if you’re going to bottom. Jerk.

(pause)

And be nice to girls.

Him: No.

Me: Yes.

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Stop. Be still.

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Him: Are you okay?

Me: No. Obviously.

Him: Stop. You look tired. Stop. Don’t. Don’t hug me. You always try to hug me.

Me: I need affection. Please hug me.

Him: Stop. Fine. Yes. Here. Hug me.

Me: Thanks. Let’s lie down?

Him: No, I’m not here for that. I’m here for you.

Me: I’m fine.

Him: You’re not.

Me: I am. I’m fine.

Him: No, Michael. You’re not. You’re not fine at all. Some very traumatic things happened. You’re trying to act like you’re fine, but you’re bouncing off the walls. Be still.

Me: I can’t. I don’t. I don’t have time for being still, not for one second. I have so much to do.

Him: Why am I here? Why did I come over here? Do you know?

Me: Kiss me.

Him: Stop. No. Stop.

Me: I need affection. Hug me again.

Him: Okay fine. What happened?

Me: Lots of stuff.

Him: How was LA?

Me: It wasn’t as nice as I’d hoped it would be.

Him: Are people mean?

Me: Uh. Some of them are, yes. Extremely.

Him: You mean at the Network?

Me: No. I mean other comedy types that I thought were my friends.

Him: How was the Network?

Me: They were nice enough.  I had no idea what I was auditioning for. I had to stay in my hotel room for three days straight while they grilled me about who I was. I was isolated. I quit my job, lost Alex over it, and I got so exhausted that I might have showed too much ‘realness’ in the final interview.

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Him: Wait, you lost Alex over it?

Me: He was terrified of being alone for six weeks. Maybe he just didn’t really love me to begin with, though? Soon as he said yes to moving in with me, the smiles stopped.

Him: He stopped smiling at you?

Me: Yes. He would look for reasons to provoke me. He wouldn’t smile. He wouldn’t eat food I made, even when I knew he’d skipped dinner. I got a few promotions, and career advancements. He wouldn’t show up to celebrate them.

Him: Wow.

Me: He left me right when I needed him most. He left during the hardest callback process of my life. Whywouldyoudothattosomeone?

Him: Michael. Slow down. Things are fine now, right?

Me: Sure?

(long pause)

Me: I hate this so much.

Him: Stop.

Me: Lie down next to me.

Him: Stop.

Me: That’s why you’re here.

Him: Stop. Stop pacing around. You’re crawling out of your skin.

Me: Why did he do this?  I hate this the most. I told him I didn’t want a relationship but he kept at it. He kept coming over.

Him: You need to be still. People play games. They don’t even know they’re doing it.

Me: Somewhere along the line he stopped smiling at me. Started making me beg for affection. Cruel. I had to work so hard for every morsel.

Him: That’s how us Asian boys act when we don’t get monogamy.

Me: I offered him monogamy.

(pause)

Him: You offered him monogamy?

(pause)

Him: What did he say?

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Me: He told me it was too late – that I should have wanted monogamy the whole time. That I should have known when I met him. I told him the next time he tries to change the mind of a grown man, expect it to take much longer than 8 months.

Him: Hm…  That doesn’t sound right. That sounds like an excuse. Maybe he’s just a kid? Maybe he doesn’t know what he wants?

Me: People are cat-fishing me now, online. They’re making up fake profiles in order to say cruel things. Why is everyone so awful?

Him: Stop. Be still. Okay. Lie down. I’ll lie down with you.

Me: Kiss me?

Him: No. Just lie here with me. I want you to be still. It’s okay to cry, but don’t move. Just be still. I’m going to touch your face a little.

(he touches my face. tears slip out of me. we are quiet for a long time.)

Me: (whispered) He tricked me. I don’t trust anybody now. He took that away.

Him: Stop. You trust too much anyhow.

Me: No. Not anymore.

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(long silence. i am still. my diaphragm shakes.)

Him: Stop.

(long silence. tremors build inside me.)

Him: Still. Be still.

(long silence. i control the tremors)

Him: Good. Still.

(i turn away. i am still. i breathe, but not too deep. he starts to snooze. he has no idea i’m still crying)

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-3

DOUBLE FEATURE!! Blueberry Double Crust Pie and Feta Quiche!!

I think we’re getting Blueberries from Southern California.

There are all these fruit carts in the city – just out on the sidewalks.  You can almost always find seasonal vegetables and fruits there.  My favorite time of the year is in the summer, where you can get loads of fresh berries – strawberries, blueberries and blackberries for super cheap.  They’re so ripe and fresh and they’re so abundant that they practically give them away.

But something strange happened recently.  The price of fresh berries went down.  At the end of winter.  I was skeptical, but I bought a pint.  They were fresh and delicious.

Most of the time I’m pretty conscientious about eating local grown whole foods.  But it’s the end of winter, and I’m fatigued and under sunned.  FRESH BLUEBERRIES, y’all!!!

I coudn’t help myself.  I made a Double Crust Blueberry Pie, plus a Feta, Red Pepper, Mushroom, and French Tarragon Quiche.

I put an egg wash on the pie.  Just whipped up some egg whites and rubbed it on the top crust.  Sprinkle it with cinnamon sugar, and It will make a very glossy, professional looking crust.  Wash your hands first, dummy.

The quiche came out great too.

Here’s a recipe for the Blueberry Pie Filling:

Take 3 pints of blueberries and put them in a large mixing bowl.

Add 3 tablespoons of granulated sugar.

Add 3 tablespoons of cornstarch

Zest one lemon over the bowl

Mix.

Put the berries inside the pie shell and cover with the top crust.  (egg wash optoional – WASH YOUR HANDS, DUMMY)

Bake at 425 for 15 min.  Turn the heat down to 350 and bake for another 35-45 min.  Use your head.  You’ll be able to see and smell when it’s done.

Let it cool for two hours and then refrigerate over night.  The cornstarch will firm up the runny berry juice.

What’s that?  How do you make the crust?  Funny you should ask.  I’ll be offering classes in that very thing, shortly.

You’ll be able to come bake with me at different locations around New York City.  Sorry to be mysterious, but if you’re really dying for a lesson, I offer private baking sessions too.  Email me at piefolk@gmail.com

Enjoy the Pies, Jerks.

I can EXPLAIN!!!

Damn that Japanese Little Brother Kazu!

He comes over every so often and gets me into the trickiest situations!  I think he’s possessed by an Ancient Demon Apple Pie Monster.  He always smells fragrant, like apples and cinnamon.  Maybe it’s his lip balm.

I promised him baked goods, but all I had in the house was stale blueberry quick bread.

I had to think fast.

You don’t want the Ancient Demon of an Apple Pie Monster to get angry.

Oh.  Sidebar:

Look.  Usually i don’t wear underwear like this, okay?  I usually have something a little less ‘Grandpa-ish’ on when I’m entertaining house guests, especially if they’re young and gay and etc.

But hey.  It was laundry day and they were running a sale at one of those dollar stores in Greenpoint, which created a perfect storm for me wearing these horrible undies.

Bread pudding is pretty simple.  You just take any stale baked good (bread, muffins, cake, whatever) and you break it up into crumbs.  Then you add a certain amount of milk, brown sugar and eggs.

I’m not going to tell you the exact proportions.  It’s really simple – just search ‘bread pudding‘ online.   Did you click the link?  Aren’t I an asshole?

So I used the blueberry quick bread and some fresh blueberries I found at the market.  I also put some dark chocolate chips inside the bread.

I had to.  I was afraid of the Ancient Demon Apple Pie Monster.

And if I ever want to be Hokage I will have to learn how to keep the Apple Pie Monster from taking over when I’m fighting for Leaf Village.

Little Brother brings out the best in me.  Or the worst?

It’s really easy for him to get me to pose for ridiculous photos.

God.  I can’t get over how saggy these underwear are.

Lordy.

What was I thinking?

Jeez.

Look at the window behind me.  You can see a reflection of my butt.  Look at how the underwear sag like an old lady’s triceps.

Oh well.  I’ll have to live with it.  Laundry doesn’t come back until tomorrow.

The bread pudding was totally great.  I ate too much of it and now I have to start going back to the gym.  Spring is here, after all, and there’s nothing like being a full grown man obsessed with his body.

I think I banished the Ancient Demon Apple Pie Monster for the time being.

In other news:  I made a new video to ask President Barack Obama to come to my house for pie.  Please Watch it!

Enjoy the Little Brother, Jerks!

TuesDATE


Sometimes people ask me on dates.  They see me on the internet.  Maybe they think I’m the answer to their life problems, or loneliness.  Invariably I prove them wrong.

Him:  Sorry.  You made me wait for longer than I thought I would have to, in that bank.

Me:  Sorry I asked you to meet me there.  I had to open up a business account.

Him: Why?

Me:  My accountant told me to.  I don’t know.  You look so cute.

Him:  Ugh.  I feel gross.  I haven’t showered and I drank last night.

Me: Did you drink a lot?

Him: Yes.  My friend talked me into staying out later than I wanted to.  I was out until 3.  I feel queasy.

Me: Didn’t you have to be at work at 8:30?  You’re hungover.

Him: No, I just didn’t sleep a lot.

Me: And you feel queasy.

Him:  Yeah.

Me: And you drank a lot.

Him: Yeah.

Me: That’s a hangover.

Him: NO.  I told you I’m NOT hungover.  I just didn’t sleep and had to go to work only a few hours after drinking a lot.

Me:  Yeah.  That’s called a hangover.

Him: You’re so judgmental.

Me:  Oh.  No.  Sorry…  I don’t mean to seem like I’m judging.  I’m not saying, “Oh, you’re hung over, you should be ashamed – how dare you show up for a date with me with a hangover.”  It’s not judging.  It’s perceiving.  I’m just labeling the condition.  More like, “Oh, that’s just a hangover.”

Him: Wow.  You’re so much fun.

Me:  Oh yes.  Nothing but.  I’m. So. Much. Fun.

(long pause)

Me: Hey. I’m cooking a whole lot of food.  Do you still want me to make you lunch?  Late lunch?

Him:  I think I already told you I feel queasy, but sure.  I’ll see what happens.

Me: I’m a good cook.  You’ll feel hungry after a minute.

Him:  Can we listen to Gaga?

Me: What?

Him: When we get to your house.  Can we listen to Gaga?

(loooooooong pause)

Me: Sure.

I love Gaga.

(surprise ending: I don’t love Gaga.)