Tag: gay sex

MonDATE: Bisexuals and the Right to Privacy, Part Two

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

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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…

 

The Ficus is Dead – Part Three

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

IMG_3911

Me: Yeah. And the definition of a nice Thanksgiving is one where I don’t show up and ruin things. So yeah, I didn’t speak to you after that, because you proved to me that you don’t care about me anymore. I decided right then that I wasn’t going to reach out to you again, until you reached out first. Ha. I guess you called my bluff! Cause a year has gone by and you didn’t even know I was hurting over it. But it doesn’t matter anymore because the ficus is dead. It’s dead and it’s not ever, ever coming back and you don’t get to know about that!

(pause)

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Me: You run away from everything.

Him: You. Left. Me.

Me: You left me a long time before that for your drunk ass writer friends.

Him: You wanted me to be a writer!

Me: NOW YOU ARE ONE. Are you happy?

Him: Yes, Michael. I am. I’m very happy, actually.  I love my house, and I love my car and I love my boyfriend. And you’re passive aggressive, but I love you too. I just can’t be around you all the time anymore, or maybe even at all. AND I DON’T OWE IT TO YOU TO EXPLAIN WHY.

Me: That’s fine! But I don’t owe it to you to tell you when the ficus dies.

Him: That was a metaphor for us!

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Me: It still IS. Our relationship, and I mean our friendship – died. It died in the past year as you turned your back on me and slowly cut me out of our circle of friends. Have you ever seen August Osage County?

Him: No. Why?

Me: Tracy Letts writes a line for one of the characters, about how people are always complaining that America is dying, but the truth of the matter is that America died a long time ago, while Americans were focused on other things. Curling irons. New Cars. Televisions. I’m paraphrasing.

Him: So?

Me: So that’s us. We’re the ficus. It’s dead, and you didn’t even know it was dying. And because of that you don’t get to deserve to know.

Him: Do you see how passive aggressive you are?

Me: You don’t know the half of it. Talk about passive aggressive – you’re imaginary!

Him: What?

Me: I’m making you up. I’m not really saying this to you. This is just what I wish I could say to you. You’re a fantasy Carson.

Him: GOD YOU’RE SO…

Me: Passive aggressive? Maybe you’re right, but at least I’m real, and you’re not, so haha. Anyway, you got all our friends in the breakup so you can console yourself with that.

Him: Hm. Well. In that case…

Me: Yes?

Him: Since I’m a fantasy Carson, I can’t get a hangover. Should we have another beer. Talk this out some more?

Me: I go in circles with this, but I always wind up forgiving you.

Him: Aw you’re sweet. Do you forgive yourself?

Me: I’m starting to. It’s hard. That’s the hardest thing.

Him: Oh, shit, sweetie – I just realized.

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Me: What?

Him: Jason’s coming back with cigarettes.

Me: No he isn’t. This is my fantasy and he doesn’t exist.

Him: Oh no! I love him though. Plus I really wanted a cigarette.

Me: You mean like the cigarette you have in your hand right now?

Him: Oh wow. You can do that?

Me: It’s my fantasy.

Him: That’s neat. But why not just make a version of me that doesn’t crave cigarettes?

Me: Because I like your flaws sometimes.

Him: Why?

(long pause)

Me: Because I love you. What are you drinking?

Him: Stella.

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Me: I’ll go to the bar and get two Stellas then.

Him: I’ll be here when you get back.

Me: No, you won’t.

Him: What? Why?

Me: Because it’s my fantasy. And because the ficus is dead.

-1

Rice Queen

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

allison michael orenstein

Here’s a video of me doing stand up at UCB’s Soul Glo Project show for September.

I sing a song about dating Asian guys, and though I try to keep it PC, it spirals beyond my control. Just kidding. I’m in control of every single awful thing I say! You’re welcome.

Thanks to Anna Suzuki for taking the footage. And thanks for watching my horrible, racist song.

Jerks.

Advice

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

photos: kristen yoonsoo kim

Michael,

I am a 23 year old virgin… and I am madly in love with a 20 year old young man, who some have labelled as a prostitute. He is probably my best friend, and gives me everything I could want out of a relationship just being my friend. However he has never displayed any interest in me even though early in our friendship I expressed my feelings for him. I have a connection with him that I have never felt before with someone and I want him around for the rest of my life. I have known him for nearly a year now and I feel that telling him I was a virgin before I knew I liked him ruined my chances of him ever being attracted to me. I do everything for him and would do anything he asked because that is just the person I am, however I see him sell his body to men old enough to be his father and then fall in love with them. I have stood by him many times while this has happened and my heart has broken every time. Occasionally I am able to get rid of my feelings I have for him and respect our friendship, but then he will do something nice for me like wash a sweater I left at his house or cook for me and all my feelings come rushing back. He keeps a photo of one of the men who flew him out to Denmark to sleep with him next to his bed. Every time I see that picture, I fall apart.

I do everything for him, because as a person that is just the way I am with all my friends. I don’t have many so this is not a problem. I have bought most of his clothes, I buy his groceries, I cut his mother’s lawn, I drive him everywhere, I pay all expenses when we are together, and I try to look after the people important to him. He does not do anything for me, but the fact that he thinks of me wants me with him all the time means so much to me. He is the person I had saved my body and heart for, yet he is not interested. If it was because he did not find me attractive, I could handle that. However I have seen the men he sleeps with and he himself told me he finds me attractive but does not know why he does not like me. The amounts of pain I feel when I see him try and give his heart to men who only want him for sex kills me. It seems all it takes is for a relatively attractive guy to meet him and express sexual interest in him and he falls in love. I have ruined my chances at doing that, because if it goes wrong, I lose him as a friend. At one point I was going to start sleeping with some of the men who have been trying to sleep with me for years to seem more appealing. But other friends talked me out of it.

My question is…. I believe I am reading into some of his actions and it gives me hope he may one day want me. I have shared a bed with him on a few occasions, and during the night I would sleep turned away from him and in his sleep he would call my name and spoon and kiss the back of my neck. I never mentioned it to him because I thought it might make things awkward. In his relationships, he never instigates sex. Guys come to him. But on a few occasions he has oddly lit candles and snuggled up to me while watching a movie. His family members tell him he is stupid for not snatching me up. Also one night when I was driving him home, he brought up the topic of why I haven’t had sex yet and got upset when I said I would only sleep with someone I was in a relationship with. My question is; should I stay around and hope that one day he realizes that I am a good man and would do anything for him? Or should I try and come on to him sexually and hope this works for me like it has for all the other men? If I am going to cut him out of my life, I might as well go out with a bang right? I know he will never appreciate that I have saved my body just for him; the mental connection we share is far too intense to deny my attraction. I recently drove him out of town to move him into university, and now that he is far away I feel like I am dying on the inside. I am at the point where I cannot live with him, and I certainly cannot live without him.

I know this will probably read as a jumbled mess, but that is what I am at the moment…

 

Thanks for Piefolk and Best Regards,

Jeff

Jeff,

Thanks for writing. I hope the tone of my advice doesn’t seem harsh, but honestly, it seems like you need a kick in the pants even more than your friend.

Okay, firstly, let me answer your questions:

1) Should you stay around and hope he realizes you’re good and would do anything for him?

NO. He already realizes this. He is a selfish creature who’s allowed you do buy him things and provide for him. He already knows he can get you to do anything for him without even using his main bartering tool – sex. As far as him realizing you’re ‘good,’ don’t hold your breath. It sounds like he’s a sociopath. Sociopaths are frequently very charismatic and charming, but to a sociopath the word ‘good’ is synonymous with the word ‘weak.’ Just means he can take more advantage.

2) Should you try to come on to him sexually and hope it works point blank like it has with other men?

NO. You’ve already described  a situation that you don’t have any respect for, and now you want to try to add an element of sex to your one-sided relationship. You can bet as soon as you have sex with him, he’ll ask you to lend him money, or buy him something, and you, being a fantastic push-over, will give him whatever he wants. In effect, you’ll be participating in the prostitution of your friend that you’re so much in love with. Yuck. Is that how you want your virginity taken? By a blood sucking tick who sees it as a transaction? Ugh. I hope not.

There’s a larger issue here though, and it’s not with your friend, Jeff – it’s with you. You need to stop being such a door mat. Get rid of your ‘provider’ complex. Most people don’t buy groceries and clothing for their ‘friends.’ You offhandedly toss out that information like it’s normal. It isn’t.

That type of love (where you sacrifice your own happiness and well being for the sake of someone else) is called unconditional love. And it should be reserved for your children and possibly your parents. That’s it.

A prospective lover should have to prove their worth to you, because you’re worth being with. That’s called valuing yourself, and by making yourself the commodity, you’ll make a perspective partner know that pursuing you is worth something. Not just a transaction.

Honestly, Jeff, answering this letter has made me feel more than a little icky. It sounds to me like a habitual martyr has met up with a chronic taker. And the perfect storm of non-functional co-dependance has been established. I’m glad to hear he’s gone away to university. The farther the better.

You’re 23. It might be time to get laid, and get it over with. Or, it might be time to make a resolution that you’re going to wait for love. That’s up to you. But stop thinking that a relationship is you providing for someone. Start making them work for it a little. Feels good to be chased.

Get far, far away from your prostitute friend. And stay there. There’s nothing wrong with sex work, in my book, but he isn’t fucking you. Except for fucking with your head.

Chasing Waterfalls

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

eryc perez de tagle

Him: Hey. Come in. Sorry it’s so sparse.

Me: Wow. This apartment is amazing.

Him: It’s sparse. Furniture is coming next week.

Me: It’s still amazing. What a great place!

Him: I dunno. I liked my last apartment better. It was bigger.

Me: It’s a good size for one person – there’s a bedroom over here, right? And you have a waterfall in your lobby! That’s my measure of whether or not someone lives in a nice apartment building.

Him: What? I don’t get it?

Me: You don’t live in a nice apartment building unless you have a waterfall in your lobby.

(long pause)

Him: I’m sorry, I don’t think that’s true.

Me: It isn’t. I was just joking. Nice place.

Him: Ugh. I drank so much scotch last night.

Me: Oh no! That’s awful.

Him: It’s okay. Let’s have a drink. That will fix my hangover.

Me: I dunno – I gotta do a late night comedy set later.

Him: It’s just one drink. Don’t act like it’s the end of the world. Do you want a drink or not? Have one.

Me: I…

Him: You’re having one.

Me: I’m having one.

(long pause)

Him: Yeah so…  This is my place…

Me: It’s very nice.

Him: Yeah. My last place was bigger, but I’m only here on the weekends, so…

Me: Where are you during the week?

Him: I work in California.

Me: Really?

Him: Yeah. I usually fly out on Tuesdays and work a four day week, and fly back on Fridays.

Me: That sounds exhausting.

Him: It’s just an airplane ride. I take my laptop and get work done.

Me: What do you do? For work?

Him: I consult with hospitals on how to get their operations to run more efficiently.

Me: That sounds fascinating.

Him: It’s boring.

Me: You’re right, that sounds boring.

Him: Come lay on this rug with me.

Me: What?

Him: I don’t have a couch and I just bought this rug. Come on. Do it.

Me: Okay…

Him: Let’s make out.

Me: Okay?

(we make out. it is awkward.)

Him: Wow. You’re really making me horny. We better stop this. What are you trying to pull?

Me: Nothing. You wanted to…

Him: I should have jerked off. Should we have sex? That would solve the horny problem.

Me: It said on your profile that you wait for 6 dates or more before you have sex.

Him: Yeah, that’s why we shouldn’t be doing this. You’re making it hard for me.

Me: I’m…  sorry?

Him: What are you anyway?

Me: What?

Him: Sexually. Which position are you?

Me: Oh… Wow. I’m versatile. I do both.

Him: Okay. Good to know.

Me: What about you?

Him: What about me what?

Me: Are you a top or a bottom?

(he shoots me a disdainful look)

Him: Well if you must know… I’m a top.

Me: Haha!

Him: What’s so funny?

Me: You just asked me out of the blue if I was a top or bottom, and when I answered and then posed the same question to you, you acted like I was violating some sort of etiquette. That’s kind of funny, right?

(long pause)

Him: What else do you do. Besides comedy. What do you do for money?

Me: I do comedy gigs and teach improv classes.

Him: What do you do for a living?

Me: I do comedy gigs and teach improv classes.

Him: What about that site? I went there. I looked at the pics.

Me: Did you read it?

Him: No, why?

Me: Just curious. I do that too, but that’s not for money. That’s just for me to record awkward dates.

Him: What?

Me: I post anonymous dialogues from really awkward dates on that site.

Him: I think it’s time for you to leave.

Me: Seriously? I told you to check out my site before we met. It’s listed on my OkCupid profile.

Him: I really need to get some laundry done, and didn’t you say you have a gig to go to?

Me: In a few hours, but I can meet up with friends beforehand.

Him: Okay. I’ll walk you out. You should walk in front of me. I don’t want you walking behind me.

Me: What? Why?

Him: I don’t want you checking out my ass. It should be the other way around. I believe I told you I’m a top.

Me: Oh that’s right! I believe I DO remember you mentioning something like that.

(long pause)

Me: Well. It was lovely to meet you. You have a lovely apartment, and there’s a waterfall in your lobby.

Him: My other place was bigger. We should hang out again.

Me: What should we do, go to the park?

Him: Yeah. Or I could top you.

(long pause)

Me: You’re a very charming man. I’ll walk out in front of you, so you don’t get ass raped by my eyeballs.

Him: Okay. Let’s try and hang out again. Shoot for next week?

Me: Definitely! This was amazing and not at all horrible!

Him: I feel the same way. Text me.

Me: Count on it!

(surprise ending – i did not text him the next week)

Thanks Old Faggot – Part Two

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Him: So tell me a little about yourself?

Me: What do you want to know?

Him: Well, why do you meet people online who are clearly lying about their age?

Me: Well. I write about it. I had a string of painful, awkward dates about a year and a half ago, and I started writing about it. People starting reading. Now, when I come across someone online who seems angry, self important, or blatantly deceptive -no offense…

Him: None taken…

Me: Instead of ignoring or blocking those people, I go out with them and write about my experiences with them.

Him: I’m not sure I like that.

Me: I’m not sure I asked for your approval.

Him: That’s why. That’s why I don’t like it.

Me: What do you mean?

Him: You’re being glib. Sarcastic.

Me: Do you think?

Him: I do. I think it’s a real problem with your generation. You roll your eyes at everything and you’re terrified of any sort of genuine human interaction.

Me: Doesn’t this particular interaction – me sitting with you on this park bench – prove your theory wrong? Isn’t this a genuine human interaction?

Him: Well it would be, except you have the ulterior motive of wanting material for your blog.

Me: And you have the ulterior motive of wanting to sleep with me.

Him: No I don’t.

Me: Come home with me and give me a blowjob.

Him: Okay.

Me: SEE!

Him: Okay fine, I concede that you’re right about that. But where did you meet me?

Me: On Grindr.

Him: Exactly! A site for guys to meet each other because they want to hook up…

Me: So?

Him: So – who’s worse? Me, the horny, dishonest old man?? Or you, the good-looking young liar?

Me: Jeez, Old Faggot – can’t we BOTH be awful people?

Him: HAHA. We can…

Me: And thanks for the compliments. You’re a handsome guy yourself.

Him: Thanks, can I put my hand in your lap?

Me: Twenty years ago you can.

Him: What an asshole.

(pause)

Him: So why?

Me: Why what?

Him: Why put yourself in these awful situations? What do you gain from it?

Me: I don’t know. I like writing about things that are true…

Him: Don’t give me that horseshit. You’re being sarcastic.

Me: I’m not! I’m just saying it sarcastically!

(pause)

Him: So you started writing why?

Me: To process stuff. I was in a long relationship that ended. About a year went by with me being single. Then I started dating again. People were awful. Defensive. Petty. Small. I wanted to write about it. Kept me from getting depressed. After a while though, I started seeking out people because they seemed a little off. It got alienating. I don’t know exactly why I’ve kept doing it. I’m compelled to, somehow.

Him: Ugh.

Me: What?

Him: Just…  Your generation.

Me: What?

Him: You guys all feel shy, and alienated, and lonely, and yet you’re so very hyper-connected. It’s narcissistic. Everyone is squawking constantly, but nobody is listening. Nobody cares. And worse – you don’t just urgently need to communicate your awkwardness or your ironic detachment – you guys fetishize it.  

Me: I’m not sure I’d go that far.

Him: I would! What is an American Apparel ad, if not fetishizing awkwardness?

Me: Uh…  It’s…

Him: Or what about those movies by P.T. Anderson?

Me: … Boogie Nights?

Him: No, that’s a great film. I mean like Rushmore and the other one…

Me: Royal Tenenbaums?

Him: Ugh. Awful. So coy, and precious, and ironic…

Me: So you mean Wes Anderson.

Him: I guess. He’s all the things about your generation I don’t understand. He fetishizes that alienation you were talking about. He urges the rest of you to indulge in this glorification of the uncomfortable. Life doesn’t have to be so labored and ungraceful, you know. We used to just call it ‘going on a bad date,’ and it happened every once in a while, but we didn’t react by being glib or sarcastic on the next date. That was considered rude. We certainly didn’t write about it for the world to read.

Me: Okay fine. I get it. You don’t approve.

Him: I don’t.

Me: Well then don’t read.

Him: I certainly won’t.

(pause)

Me: You know. You spent a lot of time calling me indelicate. But that doesn’t explain why you think I’m interesting enough to sit here and waste the afternoon with. Stop looking at my dick. It’s nothing special.

Him: It looks pretty nice, through your pants.

Me: Thanks Old Faggot.

Him: Can I ask you one more question?

Me: Sure. But you have to wait until Part Three.

Him: Why?

Me: I rarely blog more than 800 words.

Him: Why?

Me: It’s self indulgent, Jerk.

You’re Welcome

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

lex millena

Him: Wow. You’re a busy guy.

Me: You’re busy too! It took us months to find some common time. You look good, by the way.

Him: You’re welcome.

Me: Haha. Thanks for looking so good.

Him: I told you – you’re welcome.

Me: So you did. You said you had a doctor’s appointment?

Him: Sort of. Chiropractor.

Me: I agree.

Him: With what?

Me: A Chiropractor is a ‘sort of’ doctor.

Him: Stop! I really like my Chiropractor.

Me: Hm. Got a little crush on him?

Him: Shut up. He’s such a bro, though.

Me: Bro?

Him: Yeah. He’s a ‘hey bro’ type of guy.

Me: I gather you love that.

Him: Yeah, that’s why I play in the gay sports leagues. I like bromance.

Me: You’re hilarious.

Him: I’m worried though.

Me: Why?

Him: He said that he was going to cancel our appointment next week. He doesn’t think I need to see him every single week.

Me: Isn’t that good news?

Him: What? No! It means he’s breaking up with me.

Me: That’s hilarious. Do you really  think that?

Him: What else could it mean?

Me: That you’re getting better?

Him: Yeah, maybe… See – I’m neurotic.

Me: Only a little. Still – that does seem like a Seinfeld plot.

Him: What does?

Me: My Chiropractor Is Breaking Up With Me. Sounds like a Seinfeld episode.

Him: Who watches Seinfeld?

Me: Comedy nerds?

Him: Do you know comedy nerds?

Me: I kind of am one.

Him: Comedy nerds don’t look like you.

Me: You’re welcome?

Him: What?

Me: I was repeating your joke from earlier. Never mind.

(pause)

Me: You’re thinking about your chiropractor, aren’t you?

Him: It’s just, why wouldn’t he want to see me every week? My insurance pays for it.

Me: Listen, if I was being paid an exorbitant amount of money every week to give you a back rub, I’d totally schedule more appointments – not less. Who is this guy?

Him: You’re sweet. Maybe you should be my chiro.

Me: I’m available. I’m only a few hundred dollars an hour.

Him: It’s really bothering me, though.

Me: Would you say you care about other people’s opinions too much?

Him: Yes! I’m totally neurotic about what people think of me.

Me: Oh no. That must suck.

Him: It does. I’m worried about what you’re thinking about me right now.

Me: I’m thinking you’re adorable.

Him: You’re welcome.

Me: Thank you.

(pause)

Me: I think I have the opposite problem…

Him: How so?

Me: I think I don’t care enough what people think of me.

Him: Really?

Me: Yeah. I’m super self absorbed. I had an improv teacher once say “The only absolute in life is your own opinion.” That stuck with me over the years, maybe too much.

Him: That’s a good quote though. I wish I could think that way.

Me: I do think that way, but I wonder if I might be a little bit more successful if I desperately needed to please other people.

Him: Maybe it’s more about you.

Me: Hm?

Him: Do you please yourself, ever?

Me: I’m happy with certain things. Milestones, or accomplishments. But even when I do a really good job in a show or at an audition, I still feel mildly dissatisfied.

Him: Maybe that’s the trick – pleasing yourself.

Me: That’s a very astute observation.

Him: We should order. I want oysters.

Me: This restaurant is great, by the way. You made a good selection.

Him: You’re welcome.

FriDATE: Tainted

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

photos by tri vo

Him: Ugh. I’m so full. That was good food, actually.

Me: Actually?

Him: Yeah, I was expecting it to be bad. Most people are bad cooks.

Me: Oh. Thanks?

Him: Don’t worry. It’s a compliment.

Me: I wasn’t worried. But thank you.

Him: Still. I thought there would be pie.

Me: I didn’t make any today.

Him: I wonder if your pie is any good?

Me: It’s a mystery.

Him: Should I help you do the dishes?

Me: Nah. It’s always awkward doing the dishes in another person’s house. I know where everything goes.

Him: But I feel bad!

Me: Well don’t. I invited you over for dinner.

Him: We should drink this wine I brought. I don’t like the beer.

Me: The beer’s almost gone anyway – but I better lay off the wine.

Him: Why? It’s Saturday night.

Me: I’m feeling oddly full. Like indigestion somehow. Plus I’m teaching all day tomorrow so I better just behave.

Him: Boring! I’m gonna drink this wine.

Me: Have at it.

Him: You’re acting weird. Can I look at your books and judge you on your bookshelf?

Me: Sure, but most of the stuff I really like has been lent out to people that haven’t returned it. So…

Him: That’s what I’d say too, if I were being judged.

Me: …

Him: Ohmygod. You have the Popol Vuh! Can I have this book?

Me: What?

Him: Can I have this book? Did you read it already?

(pause)

Me: Uh, sure… You can have the book.

Him: No. I don’t really want it.

Me: It sounded like you did. I just had to think about whether I’m ever going to read it, and I don’t think I am. So go ahead and take it.

Him: Nah. It’s in English, and my professor translated it in Spanish. I think I’ll read it in Spanish. I don’t want to be tainted by the English version.

Me: Yes. By all means – don’t taint yourself.

Him: Ew. Why do you have Joy Luck Club?

Me: Somebody gave it to me. I thought it was a good read.

Him: It’s super racist.

Me: Really? How so? It didn’t strike me as terribly racist.

Him: Oh I don’t know. I haven’t read it. My professor says it’s racist and I believe him. I’m getting more wine.

Me: I’ve had a few Chinese American friends read it and say it was relatively close to their own experiences as first generation Americans. I don’t think Amy Tan is a member of the Klan or anything.

Him: Hm. Wow. I’m really plowing through this wine. You should have some with me.

Me: I don’t know if that’s a great idea. I’m feeling a little off. I ate this ham earlier today. It was really cheap and I think it was leftover from Easter. I’m feeling strange.

Him: Something’s wrong with the lighting in here. You need something less bright than this lamp, but brighter than this other one.

Me: I have this – flip that switch over there.

Him: Ohmygod! What is this??

Me: It’s an antique x-ray light from the 1950’s. There’s an actual x-ray in there, too.

Him: Ew. Gross. I don’t like it. I do not like it.

Me: Okay then. Turn it off.

Him: I’m pouring myself some more wine.

Me: Go for it.

Him: I’m not leaving until I finish this wine.

Me: Well you don’t have far to go.

Him: Let’s lay on your bed for a minute.

Me: Hey. You’re really cute, but I’m starting…  Feel my forehead. Do I have a fever?

Him: Um. NO. You don’t.

Me: You didn’t feel my forehead.

Him: Come on. Just lay down with me.

Me: I’m really feeling out of sorts. Like, I think I may have eaten tainted food.

Him: Ugh. Look. I’m going to be straightforward. I want to have sex. Do you want to have sex?

Me: I think you’re attractive – but I’m really not feeling well. I think I gave myself food poisoning, somehow.

Him: You’re acting irrational and weird. Make out with me.

Me: You need to work on your game.

Him: What?

Me: You don’t call people weird and irrational and then ask them to make out. Listen to me, okay? I think I have a fever.

Him: So, sex, or no sex?

Me: No sex. Probable diarrhea.

Him: Me and my friends are going dancing tonight. You should come.

Me: I. Am. Ill.

Him: Okay, cool. Am I ever going to see you again, mister?

Me: Maybe. Maybe we can hang out again…

Him: Look. Just tell me right now yes or no.

Me: This is a first date. Cool it on the ultimatums.

Him: I’m not leaving until I finish my wine.

Me: I gathered.

Him: I really like your apartment, actually.  I expected not to like it.

Me: Thank you. You’re too kind.  Jerk.

ThursDATE: They’re Playing Our Song

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

photos by eryc perez de tagle

Him:  So that was the afternoon I got my acceptance letter to Sarah Laurence College.  And I got a scholarship, so I told my parents to suck it.

Me:  Haha – good for you.  That was a great story.

Him:  Thanks.  You know – I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about you…

Me:  Heh.  Thanks.  But give it a second – you’ve only known me for 15 minutes.  I get progressively less charming with time.

Him:  Oh, I don’t believe that.

Me:  It’s been proven scientifically.  Oh hey – I love this song.

Him:  Neutral Milk Hotel?

Me:  Yeah – I always really liked this one.

Him:  Oh my God, me too…  This could totally be our song!

Me:  Huh?

Him:  When we come here five years from now, on our anniversary – we can ask the bartender to play it because it’s our song!

Me:  Heh – all right, all right.  You’re getting ahead of yourself, just a little bit, no?

(pause)

Him:  Haha – yeah, I’m just joking, silly!

Me:  Oh.  Of course.  Of course you are…  heh…  So, what do you do for work?

Him:  I’m a freelance grant writer.

Me:  Oh?  Wow.

Him:  I know – you didn’t picture yourself with a grant writer, did you?  Nobody does – every time I ask that question, nobody does…

Me:  I…  I don’t know.

Him:  Do you like kids?  I love children.

Me:  I have some nieces and nephews and I gotta say, I like them so much more than I thought i was going to.

Him:  What does that mean?  That sounds horrible.

Me:  Hm.  I guess it does, in a way.  What I mean to say is – I wasn’t prepared for how much I was going to actually like/love them.  They’re really quite wonderful.

Him:  That sounds better – do you want kids?

Me:  I don’t know.  I went through a phase where I thought I did, but now I’m wondering if there aren’t advantages to not having them too…  I’m a writer and a comic and it’s pretty enticing, not having to slow down your work load because you had a kid.

Him:  Um, ew.   We’ll have to work on that answer, mister!  I want two kids – a boy and a girl.  Holden and Hanna – after Salinger and Woody Allen.

Me:  Really?  Holden?

Him:  You’ll get used to it.  So have you thought about a survival job?

Me:  What?

Him:  Well freelance writing and comedy can’t pay that well, can they?

Me:  Well they can, but in my case, no.  I barely scrape by.  But I’m kind of okay with that.

Him:  But how are you going to support a family??

Me:  What?  I just said that I might not have one.

Him:  I know – I was just kidding!  Even so, what about Holden and Hanna?

Me:  I don’t…  What do you do for fun around here?  When you’re not grant writing?

Him:  I hope you know I plan to retire by the age of 50, if at all possible…

(long pause)

Me:  I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

Him:  Oh you!  You always say that!

Me:  I do.  Always.  For the last 25 minutes.

Him:  You know, I’m starting to think you’re not even looking for a boyfriend.

Me:  I’m not.

Him:  What??

Me:  I’m not – well not actively, at least.  I pride myself on  not being the type of guy that needs to find validation through having a boyfriend.  Not that I’m dead set against it, I’m just not desperately searching for one.

Him:  Ugh.  I wish you would have said that online.  I feel like my time has been wasted.

Me:  I’m sorry you feel that way.

Him:  Aw!  Our first fight!  I’m sorry too – I didn’t mean that thing about wasting my time.

Me:  …

Him:  I’m just kidding!  Let’s have another drink.

Me:  No.

Him: No?

Me: No.  But thanks for meeting up.  Jerk.