Tag: dating

I’m Dating Everyone

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Little known fact: I’m dating everyone.

It’s true.  It’s evolved into my motto for 2011.

I’m dating everyone.

I was in long term relationships for pretty much all of the aughts, and I’m taking a breather this year.  I’m feeling emotionally worn out, to be honest, and I’d like to focus on my work.

Is that okay with you?  More in a second.  I’m going to talk about chocolate for a second, and then juxtapose it with a poop joke.

Chocolate covered pretzels are super easy.

Just temper a buncha chocolate.  That means add heat to it, in a double boiler.   Use a double boiler so you don’t scorch the chocolate.

If you don’t have a double boiler you can make one with a metal bowl and a pot of water.

Figure it out.  I’ll wait here while you do fifteen seconds of internet research to find out about Double Boilers.

So, yeah, I’m Dating Everyone.  Did I tell you?  I told you?  Good.  I am.

It’s become the thing I say when people condescendingly ask me why I don’t have a boyfriend.

‘I’m Dating Everyone,’ I say.  And yes.  I’m smug and arrogant when I answer the question.

“At your age, with your personality etc. I can’t imagine you having to be single?  Don’t you have a boyfriend?“

No.  I don’t.  Nor do I want one.

I don’t like your implication, that people have to either be coupled up or cower in fear of being forced to live out their golden years with nothing to support them but their own thoughts and musings.  Perish the thought I actually get some peace and quiet in my retirement.   Just kidding.  I’m never retiring.

My grandmother’s single.  She seems to be having a good time of it.  She’s been single for 20 years since my Grandpa died.  She likes to do puzzles.

Do you honestly think everyone is wandering around, desperately trying to find the ‘missing half’ of themselves that will make them whole?  I hope not.  Sounds like a good way to waste time you should have spent pooping and writing shows, and baking for lovely people.

And pooping, darling.  And all that pooping.  Everyone knows, people in relationships don’t poop.

It implies that you’re not good enough on your own, and most of you are!

The rest of you, I dunno…  Get a boyfriend, I guess.  Quickly.

But for me, that person will either turn up or he won’t.  I’m not looking.

I don’t like the implication that at my age I should really settle down.  And if you ask me, I’m Dating Everyone will be what you hear, with varying degrees of smugness attached to it, depending on how I’m feeling at the moment.

Isn’t that precious?

No. It’s not.

It’s arrogant.  I think arrogant behavior can be funny, though.  I’m really arrogant and humble and arrogant.  And grateful.  I feel grateful pretty often.

I feel really arrogant sometimes too, when I’m onstage or when I’m writing my blog and things are going well.  I feel arrogant sometimes when I’m directing or coaching comedy and I’m getting through to the actors.  I also feel humble in those moments.  If I nail an improvised song, or a written sketch at Maude Night, or an audition, I feel arrogant.  Bulletproof.

But there’s always a humble part of me that knows that the important ingredient, the x factor that makes any actor special, just comes and goes whenever it wants.  If I practice more and work more, it comes more often, but it still can leave whenever it feels like it.  That makes me feel humble.  And arrogant.  And humble.

And sometimes shy.  Don’t ask.  That’s a whole other can of worms.

I’m not sorry for being humble or arrogant.  It’s part of the process I go through to do comedy and music.  It sucks a little, but I don’t think I would trade it for anything at all.  It doesn’t suck a lot more often.  I have talented friends who care about me, and I get to share the stage with the best comedy minds of my generation.  I get that.  That’s what luck and hard work and life has given me.  It’s a gift and it’s mine, and it’s not for anyone else but me.   And that makes me feel humble.  And arrogant.

I’m pretty sure I’m not harming anyone by trying to make people laugh, except the feelings of my closest friends, once in a while, when I think I’m being funny (and I am) but I’m also inadvertently acting like a Jerk.

And my friends know that about me, and don’t make me apologize for it.  I don’t have a whole lot of close friends, but the ones I do have are excellent human beings.  I could have done much worse.

Darling, see what happens?  I start talking about my favorite subject (poop) and I get off topic.

Chocolate Covered Pretzels.  Temper the chocolate.  Drizzle the pretzels. Toss.  Refrigerate.  You’re done.   Take them out after 10 min, or they run the risk of getting ashy looking, like the Elderly.

You’re a superstar!  You made candy!  Share it with your friends!

But don’t ask me who I’m dating.  It’s arrogant, but I’m still going to say it:  I’m Dating Everyone.

Ever so humbly, that is.

Jerks.

Tuesdate:

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Him:  So here he is. 

Me:  So here HE is.  Look at you, small drink of water.

Him:  STOP IT.

Me:  I mean it.  You’re gorgeous. Better than your pics online.

Him:  Isn’t Grindr weird?

Me:  I kind of think it’s amazing.  It’s like Chat Roulette, but in person.  You never know what you’re going to get.

Him:  Believe me.  I know.

Me:  That sounded ominous.

Him:  I’ve met some real creeps.

Me:  I’ve met jerks and nice people.  No real creeps.

Him: Maybe that’s because you’re the creep?

Me:  Nice.  I tell you you’re pretty, twice, and you imply that I’m a creep.  You should write a book on dating.

Him:  Uh oh.  Am I one of your online Jerks?

Me:  Are you?

(pause)

Him:  No.

Me:  Well there it is.

(pause)

Him:  Anyway, who keeps score?

Me: Of what?

Him:  Of that sort of stupid stuff?  Compliments and whatnot. 

Me:  Obviously I do.  I just demonstrated that I do.

(pause)

Me:  Relax.  I might be joking, you know…  I might just still think you’re an attractive little wonder, at 5’6”.

Him:  Stop saying little.  I don’t like to feel little.

(i’m feeling brave, and so i take a step toward him.  i put my face next to his.  i can feel the breath come out of my nose against his cheek.  he smells spicy.  like cinnamon or ginger, but not quite those things. )

Me:  What about now?  Do you feel little now?

Him:  Yes.

(i put my hands on his ribcage and squeeze gently.  the hair stands up on my arms.  i have goosebumps)

Me: But don’t you kind of feel really powerful?

Him:  Yes.

Me:  You’re pretty.

Him:  Ugh.

(he moves away)

Me:  Haha…  okay.  So, no saying you’re little, and I’m guessing – no ‘pretty’ either?

Him:  Why not handsome?  Why can’t I be handsome?

Me:  You can.  You are.  You’re very handsome.  You’re also pretty.

Him:  Ugh.

Me:  Well the good news is: I like pretty.  So dry your eyes on that.

Him:  You’re cute. 

Me: Compliment number one.

Him:  What?

Me:  That’s the first compliment you ever gave me, in person.

Him:  Oh great.  How far behind am I?

Me:  Only a few, but I’d rather stay ahead in the compliment game, if you don’t mind?

Him:  Why? 

Me:  I’d rather you owed me.

Him:  What??

Me:  It’s a thing that my grandfather says.  I used to borrow money from him, sometimes, at the store to get comic books.  I would ask to borrow five dollars.  He would give it to me.  When I got my allowance I’d try to pay it back, and he would say ‘No, I’d rather you owed me.’  Then he would smirk, as if he’d just told the funniest joke in the world.

Him:  That’s cute.

Me:  It’s infuriating.  He’d smirk at me, here and there, for the next few weeks, and I knew he was thinking ‘You owe me five bucks and it really bothers you, and I love that.’  He was right, too.  It was exactly what I was thinking.

Him: That’s cute.  He sounds pretty awesome. 

Me:  He’s a good man.  For sure.

Him:  Can I ask you a question?

Me:  No.

Him:  What?

Me:  Sorry.  That was supposed to be funny.  I said no, when the only appropriate answer was yes.  I thought it would be funny.

Him:  Was it?

Me:  Yes, but you’ll just have to trust me.  You didn’t see your face when I said it.  It was funny.

Him:  I guess I’ll have to believe you.

Me:  Good.  Because I’m lying.

Him:  What??

Me:  Sorry.  That was another joke.  That one wasn’t funny.  I get nervous and act like an idiot.

Him:  You make it charming, somehow. 

Me:  You didn’t know me in college.

Him:  Were you different?

Me:  I was nearly insufferable.

Him:  You’re pretty too.

Me:  Shucks.  Okay.  That’s two for you.  Fuck.

(long pause)

Him:  You’re not some sort of creepy Rice Queen, are you?

Me:  Uh…  I mean..  I thought that was obvious?  You’ve been to my website, right?

Him:  Yeah.  There’s lots of Asians. 

Me:  But not ALL Asians, right?  I like a lot of things.  A lot of people.  I like kind people.  Asians are kind, frequently, if you’re kind to them.

Him:  I guess that’s not so creepy.  I guess that’s okay for Asians.

Me:  Yeah.  Well I forgot to say:  I feed on their tears.  Keeps me young.  I’m like a succubus, or a psychic vampire of some sort.  I’m 183 years old.  I make them cry and then drink their salty tears.  But it only works with Asians.

Him:  Really? 

Me:  Yes.  And did you also know that Black people can levitate?  They’re hiding it from you.

(long pause.  he starts laughing a lot)

Him:  You’re joking! 

Me:  Yes.  And you’re laughing.  That means…..

Him:  What does that mean? 

Me:  It means, you get a kiss, if you want one, later.

Him:  I’ll decide later if I do.

Me: Oh.  I. Like. That.

Him:  Really?

Me:  No.  It’s infuriating.   I’d rather you owed me one.

(we kept talking and walking.  later, he gave me a quick kiss.  it was a good kiss.)

He’s not a jerk…

But you are.  Come on.  You know you are.

Advice

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

People have been writing me lately, asking for advice.  I’m not exactly sure why. It’s not like I’m some shining beacon of wisdom.  I don’t exactly have human relationships nailed down, either.  But people are asking, and I thought I’d answer some of the questions people ask me from time to time.

Disclaimer:  Don’t take my advice.  I’m not a doctor, or anything.

Henry, from New York City writes:

Ok so heres my deal. Theres this guy I knew from a friend in college. They went to high school together in New Hampshire. We met like ONCE, and barley spoke, became facebook friends and of course never spoke again after that. I wasn’t interested or anything at the time. But then about a month ago, he “liked” one of my comments. I was surprised because I basically forgot all about this person who I hadn’t heard of or spoken to in 5 years. I messaged him asking how were we facebook friends? He said I was super sexy for liking a certain british SciFi show, this obviously started a stream of convos. I got to the point where I felt “why not meet the fucker?” He’s good looking, nice, funny, and tall as hell. But heres the thing. Hes alil aloof most of the time and weve only talked online so far. He told me about how hes dying of an illness of a name I cant recall and may not live to 40. Now, Im one to give the benefit of the doubt and I guess I did in this situation but something tells me it could be a lie. We didn’t talk for awhile after that and then we did today, most of the day when I was at work doing nothing. He enticed me like no other, saying he wants to fuck me with elaborate detail. I was more then intrigued to say the least. But again he flaked after he said he wants to meet tomorrow. Excited as I was I realized I don’t have his number nor he has mine. When I brought that up and how id like his number, no answer. So now I have no clue what to think and I expressed these very fears to him on meeting up and he said I had nothing to worry about. Well, I can be an anxious person, so I am worried now. I feel this is not a good idea to pursue, almost to good to be true. Am I right? Does this sound totally bonkers? I don’t know what to do really. Im sure nothing but I cant stop thinking about him and it.

Thanks for your letter, Henry.

It seems like you’re dealing with a nut bag.  Let’s break down the components of his story, shall we?

1) He says that he’s going to die by the time he’s 40.  Okay, let’s assume this is true, even though it sounds like something a weirdo online would make up.  If he’s going to use this illness as an excuse to be flaky, not give you his phone number, not follow through on plans – then you don’t need to be starting a relationship with him.  Even if it’s just a sexual relationship you two are starting, it needs to be based on mutual respect for each others time an feelings.  Sounds like he has neither for you.

2) HE SAYS THAT HE’S GOING TO DIE BY THE TIME HE’S 40.  C’mon.  Ostensibly he contacted you online for the purpose of flirting?  That’s not a flirty way  of going about things.  Something about it smells fishy to me.  You don’t start off a conversation with a stranger like this:

‘Hey sexy, how’s it going?’

‘Good.  Feeling horny – I guess it’s springtime.  Or, it could be a side effect OF MY LUPUS.’

Again.  Not how it’s done.

I think you’re probably dealing with a closet case, or an attention seeking weirdo.  The great thing is – he’s let you off the hook.  If he doesn’t trust you enough to give you his phone number, then you have zero obligation to him to see him through this ‘illness’ that’s going to claim his life prematurely.  That’s my rule of thumb.    You don’t trust me with your cell number, I don’t have to care about your rare, imaginary illness.

Block his IMs.  It’s New York.  There’s plenty of prospective partners out there, no matter what kind of relationship you’re looking for.

Thanks for the question Henry.  I hope you enjoyed my advice.  And like I said – don’t take it.  I’m not a doctor.

And hey.  Enjoy living past 40, Jerk.


The Last Of It.

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

That’s the last of it, probably, right?

Winter’s loosening it’s grip.

It’s not over, but you can feel it in the air.  It’s almost over.

There’s still a chill, here, in my kitchen.  Winter’s hooks are still right outside the window.   I haven’t yet taken my shoes off from outside, for fear my feet would suffer.  They take much longer to warm up, now that I’m older.

I’ve been thinking about the internet a lot lately.  I’ve had some real, vitriolic haters emerge, lately.  Don’t get me wrong — there’s been much much more support and kindness, but a few nasty jerks have reared their heads, too.  I’ve gained a lot a friends and lost a few.

That’s to be expected, I guess.  But I’ve been thinking about the internet.  Guys.  What if we’re on the verge of something great here?  What if we’re on the precipice of a huge leap forward for humankind?  Hear me out on this:

What if humanity is about to move to a more golden age?  Look! Dictatorships are toppling across the Middle East.   Listen – the democratic murmurs arise from a new, powerful middle class in China.  Feel – the stirrings of a new type of human experience – wait, that was just too much kimchee at dinner. But you understand what I’m driving at.

The internet is in its infancy, still.  It’s helping to trigger revolutions, not just political ones, but economic and social ones.  Look.  I’m a grown man simultaneously broadcasting my thoughts on humanity, and pictures of pie, my Japanese little brother, and my butt crack.  What I’m clearly trying to say is: Humanity We’ve Arrived.

We’re at that golden age we always dreamed of.  All we need is a few more dictators to fall, a few more people to open their hearts, and a few more women elected in the senate.  Seriously.  They’re under represented.  Gays too.  Get on board gays, ladies, and gay ladies.

Yes, I’m telling Ellen to run for office.

Pretty soon it won’t be fashionable to hate things online.  Pretty soon the world will move beyond that. Toward kindness.

I wonder where that will leave us?  What happens when we, as humans, leap forward? I wonder what the haters will do, when it’s not fun and funny to snark it up and look for ways to tear down people they’re jealous of online?

No, fag, I’m not talking about the singularity.  Unless, maybe I am?  I’m not.

No, wait.  I am:

I always thought of the internet as a human scream – the loudest ever heard.

What if that scream is just a symptom of its infancy?

What if it mellows out into a deep hum?  What if we take that hum and build off it, until it rises.

Mighty and mature.

A heavenly chorus of voices.  All singing at once.  What if we become heaven?  What if we all become the Horizon?

What if someday we’re so advanced, there’s no need for someone to come and tell us:  Enjoy the pie, Jerks?

SaturDATE

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

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:

Me:  So cute!  Thanks for the drawing.

Him:  You’re welcome.

Me:  They look so happy.

Him: They are.

Me: Did you notice how you put color in everything, except the people?

Him:  Yes.

Me:  You did that intentionally?

Him: Yes.

Me: Why?

Him: Because people are all empty inside.  Is that your backyard down there?  Do you have access?

Me:  It’s the down-stairs neighbor’s  It’s their backyard.  Can we go back to the drawing?  People are all empty?

Him:  Yeah,  people are all empty.  Corrupted.  Void.  Nature is the only thing that is perfect and the people in the painting are empty.  They need to keep the yard better.  Don’t you think?

Me:  Don’t get me started.  If that was my back yard there’s be a sundeck and a garden, and then some.  Hey.  So..  the people have no color because they’re empty?

Him:  Yes.  They are void and imperfect and they are empty.  That’s how they are able to be so happy.

(long pause)

Me: Well, thanks for the drawing.

Him:  You’re welcome.

(long pause)

Me:  Maybe I’d put in a fish pond, too, if it was my backyard.

Surprise ending –  I walked him to the train instead of inviting him to stay over.  There’s a combination grave marker store/bakery (I shit you not) on my street.  He stopped to photograph it and muttered to himself what a great find it was.

Enjoy the SaturDATE, jerks.

I can EXPLAIN!!!

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

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

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized


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.)

TuesDATE

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

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

Him: Wanna get some food?

Me:  Sure.  There’s lots of restaurants around here.  What are you in the mood for?

Him:  I don’t care.  You pick.

Me:  Hm…  there’s high end Mexican up the street at Mesa Coyoacan .

Him:  You should know better than to ask someone for Mexican food on a gay date.

Me:  Why?  Oh.  EW.

Him:  But yeah, I don’t care…

Me:  There’s a seafood restaurant called Sel De Mer….

Him: Ew.  NO.  I never trust them to have fresh ingredients.  Gross.

Me:  That’s kind of their thing.  The menu is mostly specials that they bought at the fish market that day.

Him:  I’m not sure if I trust that.  Try again.

Me:  There’s a French place called Fanny.  It’s cash only.

Him:  I never carry cash. (gives me a knowing glance, as if I’m supposed to know what that means)

Me:  Well, I would buy dinner, but I am poor.

Him:  All that pie.

Me: Huh?

Him:  You’re spending too much money on pie.  Not enough on your living expenses.

Me:  Hold up… Financial advice??  That’s SECOND date material, Mister.

Him: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.  I don’t get it.

Me:  There’s an Asian fusion place up the street called Sakura.

Him:  Yeah.  I’ve read  your blog.  We get it.  You like ‘Asian food‘.  (long pause where I don’t laugh)

Me:  I’m not that hungry, actually.

Him:  Wanna make out?

Me:  No.

Enjoy the TuesDATE, Jerks!

photo by Erwin Caluya

SaturDATE!!!

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Sometimes I meet people online.

Sometimes they like me enough to ask me out on dates.  They think I’m the answer to their problems and lonliness, a lot of the time.  I have a tendency, inadvertently, to prove them wrong:

Him:  You are dressed really sharply!  I can tell you’re successful just from how your dressed.

Me:  Ha.  Actually, I’m very poor.  I just take good care of my clothes and have a credit card.

Him: Oh, man. It must really suck to be poor, emotionally.

Me:  You don’t have time to worry about that, when you’re poor.

Him:  What do you mean?

Me: You’re too busy doing laundry and dishes all the time to pity yourself.  Plus you lose weight from being hungry.  It’s great for your self esteem, actually.

Him:  It’s getting late…

Enjoy the SATUR-DATE, Jerks!