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


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.)




Tuesdays With Woody, Episode 2


Hey folks. Here’s another episode of Tuesdays With Woody. In this episode, Shaun ‘raw dogs’ a stripper from Detroit. Woody and Michael tease mercilessly. Have a look!

2013-04-30 15.59.58


L.A. Story #2: Take Your Time


Hand Made Whipped Marshmallow Ganache with Graham Cracker Crust – by Jocelyn Guest


Me: Tao Yan! Thanks for answering! You sound so pretty.

Him: Oh, brother.

Me: You do!

Him: People don’t sound pretty.

Me: You do. I love your voice. I can picture you in my head, now. I was forgetting what your face looked like – scary. Now it’s so clear in my mind. You’re the prettiest guy I ever…

Him: Michael. Please don’t –

Me:  See, now, see – thing is, I’ve had a lot of time to think, and I think we should just think about that fight as an accident, right? Like an emotional accident. Forgive and forget, right?

(long pause)

Him: I can’t do that.

Me: Stop. I forgave you the next day. It’s not the first time a boyfriend has Sherlock Holmes’ed my phone.

Him: Sherlock Holmes’ed?

Me: When you look through someone’s phone. Because Sherlock Holmes is always looking for clues and schmausing around where he wasn’t invited.

(long pause.)


Me: I already forgave you for that. We’ve all read Anne Frank’s diary, after all. It’s the modern equivalent.

(long pause)

Him: …….. yay….   you made a joke…..

(long pause)

Me: Come home?

Him: You’re not even home. You ran away to L.A.

Me: It was a job interview! They had me sequestered in a hotel for three days and wouldn’t let me talk to other people. It was bizarre and kind of scary. I missed you the whole time.

Him: You fucked that guy, and you told me you didn’t.

Me: No. I didn’t.

Him: Yes you did.

Me: I didn’t.

Him: Yesyoufuckingdid!

Me: NO. I forgot to mention the awkward-grope-of-a-non-fuck we had. It was late, and we’d both been socializing a lot that night. Boners were hard to come by. It was more like rolling around.

Him: The rule was you have to tell me everything.


Me: Untrue. Stop grandstanding. I love you. Please, just let it go and love me back?

Him: You were supposed to tell me everything!

Me: According to what conversation? We talked about this a million times and set forth a million ways for it to work! You said you’d want to know every single detail, and I thought a kiss-and-tell model would be un-weildy.

Him: And look what happened. You’re gone, and I’m dealing with your mess.

Me: Stop it. We had an STD scare. Stop making it a huge thing. Seriously. I’ve been a fag for 20 years. This is level 3 panic mode. You’re giving me a 9.

Him: You hurt me!

Me: You don’t know this, because I was busy calling you a thief, and a liar, and just generally awful the night I found out you betrayed my trust – but me and Kyle didn’t even have sex.


Me: Sorry. The word ‘betray’ sounds biblical. You just had a lapse of judgement, probs.

(long pause)

Me: You read what you read, Sherlock. You think you know what went down? Judge, jury, executioner?


Me: I didn’t fuck him.

(long pause)


Me: We were tipsy. We could barely even get our clothes off. It was a mistake.

Him: I told you about Skinny Guy, and you told me about Montreal Jimmy.

Me: And we had a threesome with Art World Guy, don’t forget.

Him: Exactly. Things were getting out of control.

Me: Stop. That’s your fear talking. That’s not so much indiscretion. I fucked up cause I didn’t tell you about one thing that was ultimately a debacle. You’re using this as an excuse to try to leave me because you feel abandoned. I’m coming back in a week, whether I book this gig or not.

Him: This won’t work for me. You don’t believe in monogamy.

Me: Maybe I don’t, but I believe in you and me.

Him: What’s that supposed to mean?

Me: It means I’d be monogamous for you, if you wanted to settle down. Pay a mortgage. Grab a foster kid and see if we’re good dads? Start a business?


(long pause)

Me: We have a few weeks until March 1st. Will you think about it?

(long pause)

Me: You’re the first person I’ve been able to give my heart to in a long time. This is awful, being away from you, having you break my heart when I’m trying to book the best gig of my life. Just come home.

(long pause)

Me: Will you think about it at least? I need you on my side. I love you so hard. All this bickering lately will settle down once we live together. I’ve been through this phase of a relationship before.

(long pause)

Me: Think about it?

(long pause)

Him: Okay.

Me: Take your time. I’ll be home soon.




Starbucks, Part 2


Him: Ew. I can’t believe you took me to Starbucks.

Me: You’re welcome.

Him: Did it sound like I was thanking you?

Me: Oh, no – not by any means. But I did pay for your Chai tea.

Him: Wow. I guess you want a hand job now or something?

Me: Uh. No. That’s fine.

Him: I give good hand jobs.

Me: That’s great.

Him: Oh, sorry – maybe you want to go have procreative sex with a woman instead.

Me: I can assure you that I don’t want to do that. Well… Maybe…


Me: I mean, I don’t necessarily want to have sex with a woman. I’ve just been feeling a tug toward raising a kid lately. It’s not even a real thing. I don’t have the money I would need to raise a kiddo.

Him: Let me guess, you work with straight people too.

Me: I work with a mix of people, but yes, they’re mostly straight.


Him: Ew.

Me: Ew?

Him: Ew, I find that distasteful. Everyone I work with is gay, on purpose.

Me: What?

Him: We only hire gay people. Plus, one black lady we thought was a lesbian but just had a short haircut.

Me: You only hire gay people to work in your graphic design department?

Him: That’s right.

Me: That’s illegal.

(long pause)

Him: I suppose you work alongside straight people.

Me: I do.

Him: Shudder. Did you like that? I’m announcing my shudder.

Me: I…

Him: How can you do that? How can you work with them?

Me: I have to? I do comedy. I don’t know of many comedy venues that are solely LGBT.

Him: You could be a drag queen.

Me: With these shoulders? Hardly.

Him: Hahahahaha! You said something funny! I’m surprised.

(long pause)

Me: Thanks.


Him: I can’t do it. I can’t work alongside them. No. No, thanks. They’re so privileged  and they don’t even know it. They’re awful.

Me: They’re wonderful.

Him: Don’t they say condescending things?

Me: No. They’re usually supportive.

Him: What about when you mention gay rights?

Me: I don’t think very many of them are connected to the issue.

Him: Right. And I suppose you don’t remind them of the reality? That most teen suicides are gay teen suicides? That, in most states, the family will take an inherited estate away from a long term gay partner? That there’s still no such thing as federal immigration equality when dealing with international gay marriage? That they still beat, intimidate, and lynch us all across the country?

Me: That’s not water cooler talk.


Me: It’s worse in some countries.

Him: Yeah, it is. In Jamaica they’ll straight up kill you, and not go to jail, but is that something I should be thankful for? Should I thank the straight police officer for not lynching me on my way to work? And what about adoption rights? Statistically, it’s more difficult for gay men to adopt children than any other minority group – and that’s a world wide statistic. Never mind the countries where if you’re admittedly gay, adoption is simply out of the question.

Me: Isn’t it a little easier if you’re interested in adopting a non-white baby? Can’t you foster to adopt?

Him: Yes. You can take an AIDS baby from Africa, or a kleptomaniac ten year old from Appalachia if you want. You can have anything the straight people don’t want. You can cut their hair. You can cut their lawn. You can decorate their house. But then you have to get out.


Me: I…

Him: You have to get the fuck out! They don’t want you. They think you’re disgusting. Because your love isn’t good enough. Your love isn’t worth as much – or anything! You don’t get to have the same basic rights and protections they do because they think they’re better than you. No. No thanks. I won’t do it. I won’t work alongside them. Bad enough I have to look at them on the subway.

Me: Hey. I get it. I have anger too.

Him: Anger? Anger. Fuck your anger. That doesn’t even begin to cover my outrage. I’m livid. I’m crawling out of my skin I’m so disgusted with them.

Me: They don’t all believe those things you said.

Him: Most of them do.

Me: How do you know?


Me: Only professionally.


Him: Well, I don’t know what I can do to help you.  If you can’t see what’s right in front of your face then ‘professional idiot’ might be the best move for you.

Me: Hey –

Him: No. Go hang out with your masters. Go lick the boot pressed firmly against your neck.

Me: That sounds pretty dramatic.

Him: What do you want from me?

Me: I just want to talk.

Him: Well are you happy? We talked. Thanks for the shitty Chai. I’m leaving now.


Him: Jerk.




SunDATE: Can’t You Do Better?

Imagephotos by tri vo

Me:  Hi.

Him:  Hi.


Him:  Is that all?  Just hi?

Me:  I’m sorry.  My focus wandered.

Him:  Surely you have more to say than just hi?Image

Me:  Well, to be fair, the only thing you said was hi.

Him:  Yes, but I didn’t start the conversation, you did.

Me:  Hm.  Yes.  That’s a logical argument.


Him:  So?

Me:  Oh.  Right.  Um.  I was going to ask how your evening was going, but I got distracted.

Him:  By what?

Me:  You smiled over my shoulder, at your friend, and you looked really cute when you did that.  It took me back for a second.

Him:  Oh brother.

Me:  I know, right?  Compliments.  What an asshole.


Him:  You were going to ask how my evening was going? 

Me:  I was.

Him:  That sounds like such a canned question.  Contrived.  Can’t you do better?

Me:  Apparently on this particular evening it’s all I can muster.  What should I have said?

Him:  I don’t know – I’m not the one going up to a stranger in a bar and saying hi.

Me:  You act like I cut a huge fart while meeting the Queen of England or something.

Him:  Ha.  I like that image.  Do you watch Downton Abbey?

Me:  Yes.  Isn’t it required for urban gays?

Him:  Yes.  Finally, something I like about you.


Me:  Do you get laid often?

Him:  Finally, an interesting question.  No.  To be honest, I don’t go on a lot of dates.

Me:  Shocker.

Him:  Is it?  Shocking?

Me:  Given your behavior tonight?  Totally.

Him:  Aw.  I’m not easy.  I’m known as being pretty difficult amongst my friends.

Me:  Well…  Nothing worth while is easy.

Him:  Profound.  What do you do for a living?

Me:  I do freelance writing and I teach improv at night.

Him:  Oh, brother.

Me:  Tell me about it.


Him:  Improv, like with funny costumes and crazy wigs??

Me:  No

Him: ‘Cause I saw an improv show in Boston and that’s what it was.

Me:  They don’t let me teach the class on crazy wigs.

Him:  Good thing.


Him:  Hey, I’m going home.  Do you want to walk me to the corner and kiss me good night?

Me:  Hm…

Him:  Hm?


Me:  Well, I want to, but given your behavior I really shouldn’t.


Me:  Okay fine.

Him:  Fine?

Me:  Yeah, I’ll walk you to the subway.


Me:  Jerk.