Cute Little Thing


I spend Saturday evening writing, then take a walk around West Hollywood. I like to walk the streets sometimes, rather than watching Netflix  or scrolling through Facebook before bed. I’m starting to realize there are nights I need to be around, but not necessarily socialize with people. West Hollywood at 1am is perfect for watching young gays flirt, older gays having slow, languid dinners, homeless gays running whatever angle they’re running that night.  I haunt these streets, walking toward or away from nothing,  past the thoroughfare, past the streams of five and dime weekend gays who take the freeways in from Van Nuys, Antelope Valley, Orange County. These boys only get to be gay twice a month, and they arrive pre-gamed and ready to hit the town hard. 

Usually I’ll park on Crescent Heights and walk down to Robertson, past that nightmare-of-the-future dry cleaners, decked out like an Apple store, stark, shiny white plastic faux mid-century Scan design. Signage serving Deep Space Nine realness – trying to, anyway. It reads as an attempt to make a connection between some sleek idea of a technological age, and the boring dry cleaning business it actually is. The sign says something like “Valet, Direct to Your Door,” or some such nonsense. It occurs to me, if this is your business model, why spend the money on an antiquated-yet-sleek attempt at a brick and mortar store? This whole effect could be achieved digitally. You could spend a tenth of the rent money on digital ads, and have the dry cleaning done in a much cheaper space, down by the airport. “I have to run your business for you?” I ask myself as I slouch by.

This is what’s wrong with the world. I have to run everyone’s businesses for them. Unbelievable. 

I think of other, semi-infuriating businesses in the neighborhood. Just Food For Dogs, a store (a chain, no less) encouraging yuppie dog owners to come in and design ultra-nutra-herbi-ganic dog food tailored to what they think their dogs might need to best extend and optimize their health. Beef and russet potato, chicken breast treats, do it yourself fish nutrient blend – all things sounding like they might be human food, and indeed, priced similar to appetizers at a mid-grade restaurant. Just Food For Dogs made me livid, when I first moved here. You don’t want to be driving around Weho, feeling  poor, lonely, invalidated, just to realize your average homosexual living in this neighborhood is so far removed from poverty as to be able to feed his dog restaurant food at least once a day. I quickly multiply eleven dollars a day, with 365 days in a year, with 12 or so years. Almost 50 grand. Could buy an embarrassingly nice luxury car with that, pay for a year at UCLA, get really exquisitely done plastic surgery.  

I can’t catch a break in this town, I used to think, but somebody’s French bull dog is walking around here thinking she’s Madonna. 

I make a note to myself. Dog Yoga, I scribble into an idea pad I sometimes keep on my person. Dog Yoga is definitely going to be the key to establishing my polyamorous gay compound up in the Hollywood Hills. 

I’ve actually been thinking of polyamory a lot, lately. I mean, I’ve always been poly-minded, but lately, when someone asks me if I’m dating anyone, I immediately answer “I’m dating everyone.” Nobody ever thinks it’s funny, but I do. People get tense about poly, I think. Disney gays, especially, somehow. So vulnerable to narrative, I guess… Plus, they act like the simple fact that you said you were poly means they have to justify monogamy, which they absolutely do not. This happens at Mickeys. I duck inside the two story dance club and make a pass through. Near the downstairs bar a very handsome, very nicely built young man catches my eye. He gestures me to come talk to him. He’s been drinking and his first question is “Are you looking for a boyfriend?” 

I’m looking for 3 boyfriends, I answer, and he turns away immediately. Now he refuses to talk to me. I think this is funny and play dumb for a few minutes, grabbing his elbow and explaining how there will be a ginger college twink, some indie musicians and a corporate lawyer who pays for all of us. He looks confused and I ask if he’s a corporate lawyer. He is now annoyed and starts stank-facing me. I blow him a kiss as I’m leaving.

I can’t stand when people approach you, then ignore you when they decide you’re not going to suit their immediate needs. Like, it’s my fault he was attracted to me and wanted to say hi? So I’m not boyfriend material, so what? Does that mean you should treat me like I don’t exist, after you started a conversation? Take some responsibility for yourself. It’s not like I’d divulged I was running a white slavery ring.

Youth, I think as I’m leaving the bar – at least it’s a curable disease.


At Mother Lode there is another sweet faced boy with a great smile. He’s wearing a silver bolero-style necklace. The clasp, a hollow equilateral triangle, hangs near his sternum. His eyes are bright but somehow vacant. He’s been drinking quite a bit. I leave without talking to him. There are nights when I’m out I feel like I’m hunting. There are nights, too, when I feel like I’m fishing. But tonight I just needed to take a walk, clear my head, hear a little music and catch lively energy from people walking by. I head out onto Santa Monica, and cross back onto the main drag, near Rage, and Trunks, and Boots and Saddle. 

I lean against a tree in the thick of things, watching the stream of wasted, buzzed, tipsy people walking by. Maybe half the people seem genuinely happy to be out and about. Some have closed body language, folded arms, shaking heads. They’re giving their boyfriends or friends the business. Some seem legitimately sad, on the verge of tears. One boy is actually crying, having broken off from a larger group of pals. Another guy is ineptly trying to console him. His other friends mill around and toe the sidewalk, discussing whether to call it a night or push through the emotional outburst and head to the next club. 

“It isn’t fair!” The boy is nearly grief stricken. “We’re supposed to be out celebrating! Why can’t we just go out and celebrate each other? Why do we have to be cunty and mean?”

“Because it’s fun,” a rather tall, attractive, guy from the larger group shouts over to the boy crying on the sidewalk. I hear another of their friends chuckle softly. “Get over it, girl – nobody has time for your crying on a Saturday night!”

I want to reach out to the crying boy, to say – hey, the problem isn’t you, it’s people. What’s more, it’s the idea that you need lots of friends. You don’t need these ten people who care more about getting two more drinks in them before they drunk drive back to Orange County. You only need to focus on the one person in this group of ten who actually cares that you’re crying. That’s your friend. Rather than trying to have ten good friends, try to have one, then one more, them maybe one more. 

I also want to reach out to the mean, good looking guy trying to preserve the sanctity of his own Saturday night party. I feel like, if I buy him a drink and show him some charm maybe I can show him what empathy is and fix him with my penis. Obviously that’s not true, he’s an awful person who should work at a junkyard forever, but I could still try to fix him with my penis. Maybe I could have furtive, emotional, passionate sex with him for a couple months before looking into his beautiful, selfish eyes and finally walking away, realizing he’s not good enough for me to waste the good sex on. 

Worth a shot, I say audibly to myself as I walk away, not at all giving it a shot. Also, I remind myself, he’s 22 and you’re two decades older than him – the only person thinking of you as a variable in this sexual equation, is you. I laugh at myself. 

I walk farther away from all the sturm and rabble and crapola. Past Gym Bar and even further east. This entire stretch of West Hollywood is shuttered for the evening. ABCs of Dance, Total Tan, weed dispensaries all wait for the sun to come up and respectable business hours to resume. Monaco Liquor is the only wee-hours holdout. Yellow illuminated sign with red writing, straight from the mid 80s and full of dingy linoleum tile flooring, Monaco Liquor is exactly what you want from ghost town WeHo. An indolent clerk has a one sided blue tooth conversation in a language I don’t comprehend. He’s not concerned with me in the slightest, and won’t make eye contact when I ask about the restroom. I debate between getting a small package of Oreo’s or some pork rinds (higher fat/salt, but much lower carb/sugar). In a supernatural display of self control I simply purchase a Perrier and continue down the street.  Man, I think to myself, selecting the zero-calorie option is almost as satisfying as fixing that rotten twink with my penis. Think of the time and money I’m saving! I laugh at myself again. 

I walk up the stairway to the dark, powered down Trader Joe’s complex. There’s a spot in the abandoned parking lot where I urinate. I notice pamphlets for HIV testing and used condoms on the ground. Good, I think, someone made a responsible choice. 


I walk back down to Santa Monica, choosing a bench outside some strip mall. A cute guy is making his way up the lonely cityscape toward me. Oh shit. It’s the boy from Mother Lode – the one with the triangle necklace. He comes closer. He is smiling. He has black, straight hair, fair skin, and a killer smile. Love that smile of his. Hello, he says, and plops down next to me. What a cutie, I think to myself, and he’s just starting to become aware of his own cuteness. He’s just starting to realize a good outfit, some posture, and a pinch of self esteem can turn a scrawny twerp into a cute little thing.

That’s the real trick to life, I think. 

Cute Little Thing starts in immediately, a monologue about how he knows it’s the strangest thing in the world to just sit down next to a stranger and start up a conversation with them, but you know what, that’s just how he is, because he’s just like his favorite writer, have I heard of David Sedaris? Well, he’s a writer and used to work odd jobs that were strange, or cultivate amphetamine addictions – just to have something to write about and even now that he lives in Europe, he still does things to have something to write about like picking up trash on the side of the road, or French classes or whatever – and maybe I should think about doing things like that if I really want to be a writer, but whatever he’s just glad to live in WeHo finally, even if it is as far east as Fairfax; it’s still much better than living with family in Orange County, and by the way why don’t I do interesting things like David Sedaris?

I respond that I sometimes do interesting things, and he immediately hits me with a skeptical, like what? I rack my brain and come up with a vignette about a time when I was in college and some attractive older guy was hitting on me in a noisy New Orleans gay club, and how he said, let’s get out of here and go back to my place. That’s not interesting, that’s pedestrian, Cute Little Thing says, and I explain that, yes, he’s right, but the interesting thing is that while we were walking out of the club the older man pulls out a collapsable cane, and is visibly limping down the road next to me. I explain that in my drunkenness, and the loud darkness of the club, I didn’t realize he’d recently had a stroke and was mostly paralyzed on one side.


Ew, says Cute Little Thing, but he wants to know what happened. I explained that I went ahead and went home with the guy, who wound up being extremely into S&M, and wanted me to abuse his left side, the semi-paralyzed side, so the echoes of feeling would remind him that, possibly, mobility was coming back. 

Cute Little Thing is not happy with this. This is not a Sedaris-worthy activity. “That’s your own shit to deal with,” he says, and now it’s all stank face and frustration, and Snapchat. I’m extremely amused. He’s acting jealous, maybe? He’s drunk enough not to remember the sequence of events and now he doesn’t like how I brought something sexual and vulgar into a conversation, even if he himself was asking for examples of interesting situations I’ve put myself into. Now he’s totally into his phone. I sit, silent, next to him, looking across the street. I want to say something. I know I can change the subject and start trying to be charming. I know he mentioned he lives on Fairfax because we’re close to Fairfax and he’s fishing for a late night tussle. It’s not difficult to get this back on track.

But, I don’t. I want to see what will happen if I don’t offer him a way out of his own judgmental mood-swing. Lately I’m getting tired of other people holding me accountable for their mood swings, if I’m being completely honest. Cute Little Thing is collateral damage tonight, for the behavior of other people who are closer to me. He sighs, and wonders aloud if he should head back west, and keep dancing. I remind him that the bars close at 2, but I think one of them stays open late if he wants to just dance. 

“The problem is,” he says, “I can’t get any of my friends to text me back. That’s the real reason I sat down and started talking to you.” I give a plaintive, patient smile, put my arm on his shoulder, make deep eye contact and say, hey, that’s okay – David Sedaris would have done the same. There is a brief breath, a pause. Then Cute Little Thing is annoyed. Whatever, goodbye, he says. I let him get about a quarter of a block away before yelling out after him. He whips around and says, what?!

Thanks for saying hi, I say. It was flattering. You’re a Cute Little Thing.

That’s all it takes. He’s suddenly rushing back toward me. He jumps up and throws his arms around me. There is an awkward moment. I squeeze him. I’m so much bigger than him. He feels fragile, almost. I bet he felt like a scrawny twerp most of his life. 

“You’re adorable,” I say. “Go see your friends.”

“Thanks for chatting with me,” he says. “I really did like you, a little.”

He hurries off down the street. I tilt my head up and watch him go. I think of this evening, of the boy who dismissed me because I wasn’t boyfriend material, about the transactional nature of all my exchanges tonight. With bouncers, with boys, with cashiers. I see Cute Little Thing slow his gait and approach a small group of other boys. He adjusts his posture, hiding hints of scrawn and twerpitude. He’s a completely different person now. I tilt my head back down, perpendicular to the street. 

Suddenly, I am no longer looking down my nose. 


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MonDATE: Bisexuals and the Right to Privacy, Part Two

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Him: You’re being extremely unfair!

Me: I’m sorry about that. Did you see August Osage County? What did you think?

Him: Seriously, are you Bisexual?

Me: I keep thinking if I hadn’t seen the Broadway play, I might have really liked the movie. I liked it quite a bit, actually, but I might have been blown away if I hadn’t watched the Broadway show twice.

Him: Don’t change the subject! Stop it.

Me: Julia Roberts really blew the doors off the hinges. It’s worth seeing just for that.

Him: I didn’t see it yet, okay?

Me: Okay. No spoilers, then.

Him: I’m asking you a question, and you’re avoiding it.

Me: I don’t see why I owe you the information. It’s just information, after all.

Him: I read your site for years. I’m extremely curious. What happened? It seems like you’ve made a 180, and I don’t know what to make of all of it. It seems…

Me: Don’t trail off. How does it seem?

Him: Hypocritical. It seems hypocritical. Sorry.

(There is a long pause. I sit on a bench at the bus stop.)

Him: You waiting for a bus now?

Me: Only if it’s an express bus to Canada.

Him: What does that mean?

Me: I dunno. It’s about half a joke. I’ll let you know when/if there’s a punch line.

Him: Hey. I’m sorry I called you a hypocrite – just how I see it.

Me: Ha. Then you’re not really sorry! You’re frustrated about quite a few things, and I’d suspect the root of it has very, very little to do with me.

Him: You can’t just… You can’t write about the gay community for years, and talk openly about being a poly-amorous homosexual – you can’t run some sort of online ‘brotherhood of man’ pie cult for the gays, and then just get married to a woman. Just, poof, you’re married and normal again. Just like that.

Me: Can’t I? Why can’t I? Why can’t I marry whomever I want? Isn’t that the underlined point behind the Marriage Equality movement?

Him: Don’t you feel you owe people like me an explanation?

Me: Why?

Him: Because I am one of your readers. Because I’m your audience.

(There is a long pause.)

Me: Well… thank you. I’m flattered you’re reading, that you’re still reading, and that you took the time to contact me. All of these things are incredibly flattering, and part of me agrees with you. A huge part of me thinks I owe it to you to tell you exactly how my sex life is structured, what it means to be LGBTQ in a traditional marriage structure, and send you home with a slice of pie and a warm feeling of hope for tomorrow.

Him: That’s what I’d like, yes.

Me: Then again, I’ve read quite a few books on writing, and while authors agree it is important to have an audience, they seem to also agree that catering things to your audience leads to atrophy in a major way. Bill Cosby said something like, I don’t know what the formula for success is, but I know the formula for failure is trying to please everyone.

Him: Teach me, oh wise one.

Me: I’m not getting paid to teach you, or, for that matter, to tell you how to live your life, or to tell you how I live mine.

Him: Okay, I’ll admit – it’s none of my business.

Me: Thank you.

Him: But I’m CURIOUS.

Me: Yes. You’re curious. That’s exactly right. You expect me to tell you intimate details of my personal life to you, the way I would to my therapist, because you read my site for a while and you feel somehow entitled to missing information. But you’re just an audience member. You’re just tuning in. You don’t know me and you have no real right to my inner physical, emotional, or intellectual life, beyond what I publish on my site, which by the way you read for free – so I owe you even less.

Him: People are going to want to know! You wrote about your sex life for years!

Me: No. Incorrect. I did not.

Him: Yes you DID. You’re being a hypocrite!

Me: Actually, I wrote about awkward dates, urban alienation, and my disappointment in a community full of brilliant, motivated, socially broken people. I almost never mentioned who I was having sex with.

Him: Come off it. You were sleeping with all those boys who made pie with you.

Me: Incorrect. Those were models, or friends, or people who contacted me online who wanted to help. It was very rare I slept with the people on my site.

Him: What?

Me: The “Awkward Dates” happen with people I don’t sleep with. That is the whole point: Here’s how NOT to sleep with me. The irony is, it’s pretty easy to sleep with me, if you’re cute and sweet, but most gay people have no interest in being kind, gentle, or generous of spirit – at least the ones who live in Williamsburg, Brooklyn don’t. They think they don’t have to, and in some sense, they’re correct. Someone will stomach their painfully underdeveloped, spoiled, sour personalities. But that someone isn’t me…

Him: Still seems hypocritical to me.

Me: You’ve now called me a hypocrite three times.

Him: So?

Me: So take a deep breath.

Him: Why?

Me: I’m about to tell you what I think about you.

(Pause. He looks concerned. I take a deep breath and count to ten.)

TO BE CONTINUED…

 

No Straight Potential

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I was feeling lonely in LA.

Some blog followers and former students pointed me to these guys.

They were very sweet to me, and we played cards all night long.

Gays helping gays. The most beautiful thing in the world.

That, and the Asian kid from Walking Dead. He’s also beautiful.

If you’re feeling lonely, I suggest you invest in your community.

Maybe that’s starting a gay poker game.

Maybe that’s joining a gay improv theater.

Maybe that’s auditioning for a community theater play, or doing a stand up open mic.

Point is, once you start saying yes to yourself, and other people, the world opens right on up.

Invest in yourself. Invest in your community. Side by side. All together. In harmony.

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Starbucks: Part One

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Him: Let’s grab a coffee. Oh, ew, nevermind.

Me: What?

Him: It’s not Intelligensia.

Me: Oh yeah. I’ve read that name a lot. What’s Intelligensia? It sounds like a philosophy about fair labor practices, or something.

Him: Um, I don’t know about that. I just know that Intelligensia coffees are fresh roasted daily in vintage German roasters. This is a Starbucks. That’s not the same thing.

Me: It’s not, but it’s New York in February.

(long pause)

Him: Okay fine, but I’ll get a tea. I’m kind of a coffee snob.

Me: That’s becoming clear.

Him: Oh, sorry. We don’t all have blogs about progressive gay thought.

Me: Don’t apologize. Some of us are coffee snobs. That’s cool. It takes a village.

Him: What?

Me: It’s a saying. “It takes a village to raise a child.” Although I might amend that statement so say “It takes a village of gays to raise a child right.”

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Him: Ew. Gays don’t want children.

Me: Ew. Yes they do.

Him: Ew. Who told you that?

Me: Ew.

Him: Ew, what?

Me: Just ew we keep saying ew.

Him: Who told you that gays want children?

Me: I guess I told myself that.

Him: Sounds so heteronormative. No thanks.

Me: No thanks?

Him: I don’t want to live in a world where gays want to have children. Why should we emulate the behavior of people who oppress us and treat us like there’s some sort of sex hierarchy, where their sex is perfectly normal, and in fact wonderful, and our sex is shameful and dirty?

Me: That’s a good point. We shouldn’t emulate that sort of behavior. But what does that have to do with having children?

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Him: To want to raise children is to support the narrative of that sexual hierarchy. That’s how their sex is so pure and gentle, because it leads them to their precious children. Meanwhile, we keep having sex for the fun of it, because it’s all we can do, and they label us as ‘forever adolescent.’

Me: I think they’re just jealous. How’s the tea?

Him: It’s mundane. Starbucks Chai. I’ve been there, done that.

Me: So, how –

Him: It’s trite.

Me: I get it. I get that you don’t like Starbucks. I actually really like the coffee here.

Him: Ew.

Me: Ew. So, wait. Can I ask you a question?

Him: Okay.

Me: What about adopting? Doesn’t that not-support the heteronormative paradigm?

Him: Wow that’s terrible grammar.

Me: Ew.

Him: Ew what?

Me: Correcting grammar in an interesting conversation.

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Him: Oh. You think this is interesting. That’s cute. Okay. No. It doesn’t not-support the heteronormative paradigm.

Me: Why’s that?

Him: They’ve been using us for thousands of years to clean up their messes. To write their philosophies, their theater, their music, to cut their hair, to design their living spaces, to make their clothing, to act in their movies, to fight their wars, to farm their fields – they’ve been using us to clean up after them.

Me: Okay…

Him: Now they’ve gone and overpopulated the world – vanity. Their own vanity has driven them to overpopulate the world. And now they want me to pitch in and love their children and raise their children? No. I’m sorry. No thank you. I’ll keep my job as a graphic designer, and I’ll go to Fire Island in the summer. I’ll sleep with twinks and I’ll do too much blow on the weekends and I’ll get along just fine. Yep.

Me: Wow. You, uh… You have some opinions.

(pause)

Me: Can I say something? Can I make one observation?

Him: I don’t know, can you?

Me: Right. Grammar.

Him: It’s important.

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Me: Not as important as where your heart is. Hey – if you did adopt a child – wouldn’t that be like taking a child away from their influence? Wouldn’t you in fact be taking a child and raising him to be less heteronormative?

Him: I don’t know. I just don’t know if I could take the heart break. What if the child turned out straight?

Me: Best case scenario she doesn’t.

Him: She? A girl? Jesus.

Me: Maybe a girl. Why not a girl?

Him: EW.

Me: No ew. I did some research. There’s sound evidence that girls are actually just people.

Him: EW. EWEWEWEWEW!!!

Me: No ew.

Him: Yes ew.

(pause)

Him: There’s gum under this table.

(pause)

Him: Starbucks.

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10 Best Gay Dating Bloggers

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Datingadvice.com has been kind enough to name me one of the 10 Best Gay Dating Bloggers! 

This is an honor. Thanks guys. You’re the best.

March 2, 2011 Piefolklex millena

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Advice

IMG_9852adam gardiner

Hi

I came across your blog and I need advice. I am 28. That really doesnt matter, nevermind. Anyways, I met a guy through mutual friends 10 days ago. We hit it off BIG TIME. I will admit, at first I was not super into it, or wasn’t attracted at first but he came onto me and I just kept finding him more and more attractive until all the sudden BAM! he was the hottest mofo ever. We had INCREDIBLE SEX. Five times the first night. He was very sweet, texting me afterwards, non stop communicating etc. He is new to being gay/out. I am kinda too but he is newer. He asked me to hang two days later and I couldn’t decide if I wanted to or not and was still talking to other guys and I passed. We agreed to hang the next night..and when he got here to the city, he invited me to come hang at his friends place. These friends are two older guys (in a relationship) that he has had sex with. So, naturally I got a little turned off and made other plans. We drunkenly made plans to meet up later that night, which was a bad idea because we were both getting intoxicated and that stuff falls through and I realize this. Needless to say, he didnt pull through and I got a little pissed off and sent some text. He called me five times that night, apologized the next day (thanksgiving). I got over it, he came over and we had more amazing passionate sex. Its not a connection I normally experience. IT feels like love to me, as crazy as that sounds but Im not naive. I know its not realistic to believe that. We just have very passionate, loving hot encounters. I feel very close to him, naturally. I seriously just wanna own this kids body and hole. Love kissing him. He had only bottomed three other times before me so you can imagine my pleasure. I also went ahead and sat on his cock too. IT was amazing. Then, the next day neither of us texted eachother. I texted him saturday and he texted back four hours later. That was cool, we chatted. I told him I was out with a bud. This bud is actually a guy I have been seeing since July but we have never had sex. He is a virgin. This same bud asks me to be his boyfriend that evening and I say no. ITs crazy cuz two months ago that is all I wanted and now I do not. I feel like Ive lost interest. That is a separate story.

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Anyways, we communicate Sunday and I guess as this point I was feeling a distance from the new guy that Im crazy about. I end up completely overreacting to his text. I guess I felt like he wasn’t being as sweet or as present as he was originally and I said something like “Whats up with you dude? Did you enjoy yourself the other night”? (knowing that he did). He said he was tired and laying down after work. I said “I dont have time for this bullshit.” Or something to that effect. I was just being a total spaz for no reason..for the second time and we had only known eachother less than a wk. So then I send a long “Im sorry Im being crazy” text, telling him I like him alot and I havent felt that way for anyone in a while and that I want to take him out. He told me he liked me the second time we hung out. I told him I did too, so this was not news. I then follow that text up by saying that Jordan asked me to be his boyfriend and that i was just very confused and acting irrationally. He then responds by saying it all threw him off but that he isn’t looking to jump into a relationship but has a good time with me etc. I then counteract by saying that I think we should just be friends and that I love Jordan and blah blah blah .A bunch of absolute bullshit!!! This was basically an outright lie to make myself unavailable and to make him want me. I will admit I could sense some disappointment which is what I wanted. I am a twisted fuck. Then, I go on to tell him how hot Jordan is (which he is pretty sexy) as he asked what he looks like and I tell him that he and I can only be bro’s, as to make myself unavailable and to make him want me. I am a DOUCHE. This kinda thing works though, sadly. Anyways, so I then tell him I really like him though and I Want him to know that and he says he likes me too and that he just is living life right now not looking for a relationship. I never once told him I wanted to be with him so idk why he keep saying it. Then I say it doesnt matter anyways as Jordan is in my life..and he says “exactly” and then I Say “but it does matter to me” and he says “I care but…” and then I say “what?”.. and he says nevermind man and then never tells me what he is gonna say! I then texted him trying to get him out of it quite a few times (I had been drinking). I then just restate what I had said, saying that depsite Jordan, I do like him a lot and that I care and that it matters and that I am just very confused. (obviously!) I then send him a sexy pic and refer to myself as the “whip nip” lol with a wink face. I then apologize again for being such a crazy ass and tell him that he just has that effect on me. He texted me the next morning and said he had been sleeping as he had to work at 5am, which he does work super early. At this point, I had worried so much about it that I didnt respond for twelve hours and all I said was “I worked all day, Im exhausted. I was drunk”. We have not communicated at all since. He never responded to my response. I am wondering what he is thinking. I keep telling myself to just give it time and space as we met a week ago and it got hot and heavy fast. I dont want to tell him Im not really with Jordan or that I am not going to be with Jordan because it will just be obvious and I will be putting it all out there. I do think this guy likes me and I think it may be salvageable despite my erratic behavior. What do I do? I already know that I will cut this crap out, for sure. ITs not even me. I was just blindsided. I am so fucking into him. Even weirder because initially I did not think I would be. What do I do or say? help. Ps- I am a pretty attractive guy with a nice body, if that makes any sort of difference and he really seems to like it..as well as my dick. Should I wait? How do I appear non crazy and express my interest while at the same time not making myself totally available? Help! 😦

– dan

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Dear Dan,

Thanks for reading and thanks for asking my advice. Here it is:

Paragraph breaks, in your emails. I think it will change your life.

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Oh, I thought of more advice. Give up on this relationship. Seriously. Scrap it. Next time you have one, don’t dick the other guy around by playing stupid mind games.

You coming clean will just reveal you as the crazy mess you are. It won’t solve anything, or make you look adorable. Just scrap this relationship and stop being a selfish idiot.

Someone’s feelings are at stake. Yes, I know you think I mean YOURS, but I actually mean the other person’s. If you can learn that, you can get over yourself and actually fall in love. If not, keep getting drunk and fucking everyone forever. That’s not the worst life either.

Oh yeah, and stop using ‘I was drunk’ as an excuse for any sort of behavior. Nobody cares you were drunk, only that you acted like an asshole.

I’m sure you’re a nice guy at heart. I’m sure your intentions are in the right place. However, it’s time the world learned that intentions are all well and good, but actions make the world go round. I’m sure Andy Dick had good intentions when he started doing comedy, and look what happened.

Being in love means putting the other person first (at least sometimes).

Jerk.

P.S. I’m serious about those paragraph breaks. It will organize your thoughts and change your life. Or at least make mine easier, next time.

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More Colby Keller

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adam gardiner

Me: Talk about overcoming shame about your body?

Him: Eventually you realize [porn] is not having sex with someone you want to have sex with. It’s a job. It took me a while to get past those anxieties. Now it’s like, maybe I’m concerned with how my body is positioned for the camera.

Me: (to the photographer) Adam, speak to this. A model must be both aware and unaware of their body at the same time. True or False?

The Photographer: Yeah, but it’s about their generosity too. Of spirit and the quality of person that they are. It’s not about looks. When you’re good at it it’s because something generous about yourself translates. There’s something shared that you experience in the person. Caught in a moment. That’s the engaging part of a photograph.

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Him: I think you really have to let go, and that’s a difficult thing to do.

Me: You shoot high fashion right?

The Photographer: I shoot – I don’t call it high fashion, but I do shoot highly commercial work. The thing that I became really good at was always photographing somebody in a way that they were flattered by, and kind of built them up and made them feel better. Somebody said that I try to look at people the way they would look in the eyes of someone in love with [the subject]. I’ve been very lucky.

Me: There was a moment in the shoot where you made us switch aprons. What was that about?

Him: Just to reassert myself as the alpha male.

(laughter)

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Me: That’s the thing about being gay that I love. There can be four gays in a room and we know that each of us will have our moment to be alpha. With straight guys that would end up as a fight. It wouldn’t – there’s always one guy in a group of straight guys who’s a dick but ‘that’s his thing.’ Straight guys have that issue because they can’t [have sex with] each other. I wish they could! Wouldn’t they be perfect?

(laughter)

Him: Some of them do.

Me: How did you come to pornography?

Him: I just graduated college and curious and had trouble finding a job. I submitted pictures one night thinking they would tell me no, and they said yes. I felt like I had to do it, because it had happened.

Me: Just to let everyone know, he’s getting a hug from his boyfriend right now.

Him: You know, like when you’re afraid of heights and you climb a mountain. I had to do it.  I had to push myself to that point.

Me: Why did you like to do it? Because you like to push buttons. You like to fuck with your mom and dad.

Him: No! It’s not about that. I like to fuck with my self, and challenge myself.

Me: Would you agree Karl Marx?

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His Boyfriend: Oh of course. He hates nostalgia, and sitting on his laurels intellectually. He’s always looking for something new. He’s so focused on challenging himself artistically and intellectually. That’s why I fell in love with him. He’s so good at working against it. Entropy is always the enemy.

Me: Entropy is always the enemy and it always wins eventually. So we have to fight it.

His Boyfriend: While we’re here we have to fight it, but he’s a great person to ride behind, because he’s constantly pushing against it.

Me: I fucking love that.

To be continued…

More Colby Keller here.

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