Hate Mail: Part Two

photos by eryc perez de tagle 

This is a continued post from a hate letter I got a while back.  Enjoy, Jerks.

Him:  Well, what you consider funny, without all the context, comes off as kind of dickish. I get it, you’re trying to be a seinfeldesque sarcastic New Yorker. Thing is, that’s not how we really are. You’re just acting as a caricature of what you think a New Yorker is, it makes us all look bad, and I don’t like it.

Me:  Well, then, you better look away buddy, because I’m not going anywhere.  I’m just writing about things I find interesting.  Granted, most of the time those things are heart-wrenching private moments, or awkward dates I go on.  I don’t think that it much resembles Seinfeld, but thanks for the compliment.

I’m just using my blog to process weird things that happen to me.

If I make all New Yorkers look bad in the process, bonus.

Him:  The couple of encounters I read about did strike a chord with me, and yes, negatively. I get the impression that you’re painting a picture of a snide gay man, and that’s another thing I don’t like. I know so many people who are gay, but are so turned off towards participating in the gay community because they feel they are constantly getting scrutinized and judged by everyone around them.

Me:  I don’t think I’m being all that snide.  I’m respectful and friendly to my dates.  I give them a lot of leeway.  I just happen to call it out if they act particularly self-absorbed or insensitive.  And hey, if they’re funny or charming about it – I make out with them anyway.  I don’t reveal who they are, so I’m not sure what the crime is, exactly, in talking about them.

So you think the Gay community scrutinizes and judges?  Sort of like, what you’re doing, right now – writing to a total stranger, and telling him why you don’t like him?

I can see how there could stand to be less of that in the Gay community.  Good point.

Him:  I’ve had some unusual encounters too, but when it reaches the point where I’m not comfortable anymore, I say “well, I’m going to go now, goodbye,” and I walk away. I don’t sit there and ridicule the person I have no interest in for my own personal entertainment.

Me:  I don’t sit there and ridicule the person either.  I take notes on their terrible behavior, so I can report it back to the snide, judgmental Gay internet.  Jeez.  You have a lot to learn if you’re going to start a Seinfeldian Gay pie blog, mister.

Him:  What I’m implying is either take it or leave it when it comes to living here. I’ve lived here my whole life, and I love it. There’s never a dull moment here, and so many people are here just for the sake of being here, that they forget just how awesome this city is. Yes, there are people from all walks of life here, you’re going to have to deal with that. Someone has to make the subway sandwiches for you, right?

Me:  Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz….  what?  Is it my turn to respond?  I fell asleep…  Sorry.  Something was really boring the shit out of me, but i swear it wasn’t your banal platitudes.  It was something else.  I promise.

Are you really bringing up the Subway sandwich guy?  He pulled his dick out in the park and talked a bunch of ‘sup bro’ shit at me.  Sorry, kiddo, but I’m going to make fun of that.

Yes I am.

Him:  I think what it all comes down to is that I’ve run out of patience with the whole hipster thing. I assume by the thick rimmed glasses, you’re part of that sub-culture too. I think what it all comes down to is that previous generations said “I’m going to do whatever I can to not be like my parents.” Whereas this generation is trying to be EXACTLY like their parents. I mean, WTF? Why bother living if you aren’t going to even try to blaze your own path. How many other “20 – 35 somethings” in Williamsburg are comedians, or actors, or making a blog about their horribly average lives but giving it a slant to make it more appealing, or sell artisan food products out of their apartment, do you get what I’m saying? I don’t care much for being ostracized by people because I choose not to bake for a living. This subculture should have lasted for about a week, but it’s become this utterly annoying thing that’s got way too big to manage, and now they’re sitting in a park in Manhattan, telling me how I’m supposed to feel about the government. No thanks.

Me:  Ouch.  That part really hit home.  I guess when you think about it, I AM trying to be just like my parents.  They both have pie blogs where they talk about awkward Gay dates.  I’m so derivative.

Hey.  I’m sorry for ostracizing you because you don’t bake.  I’ve been doing that for years.  Since elementary school – bullying kids who don’t have perfectly flaky crusts.  Oh man, the football players in my rural high school that cried when I criticized their croissants – but I had to!!  I had to sit on top of this baking heirarchy that excludes salt of the earth people like you.

Now look what you’ve done:  I’m crying in the lap of my rather handsome young baking helper.  I hope you’re satisifed.  You really held up a mirror and showed me who I really am.

I mean, you could have just walked away, and never gone to my site again, but you didn’t.  You did everyone a favor and lobbed a bunch of super weak criticisms at me.

You’ll never believe this, but I had a good time answering this letter.  You really made my day.  Thanks for writing in.


SaturDATE: I’ve Already Figured You Out

Sometimes people ask me on dates.  They tend to go horribly.  These are their stories.

(Law and Order Sound Effect)

Him: Come home with me.

Me: No.  Do you think this sweater is too heavy for the springtime?

Him:  Come on.  Come home with me.

Me:  No.  It’s late and you’re drunk and I’m not and I’m tired.

Him:  Come home with me.  We’ve been flirting with each other for a long time now.  Come on.

Me:  No.  9 months is a long time?

Him:  Come on. (hails a cab)  Get in the cab.

Me:  No.  I’m going home.

Him:  Yes.

Me:  Okay fine.

(Montage:  Snuggly cab ride.  Surprised cab driver.  Deli visit for food and beer. Fumbling with keys.)

Him:  Do you want a beer?  I’m having a beer.

Me:  Yes.  I’m going to start drinking at 3 am.  Good idea.

Him:  Great, I’ll open you one.

Me:  No, wait.  I changed my mind.

Him: Fickle.

Me:  More like, sarcastic.

Him:  I like that.

Me:  I like you.

Him: I know.

Me:  Don’t worry.  I don’t get weird.  I let things develop naturally.  We’ll have two kids, one Korean girl named Ellen, and one African boy, named Sh’Africa.

Him:  Sounds like you’re telling Africa to be quiet.

Me:  I’m not.  I like the names Sean and Africa.  Sh’Africa. If anything, I think Africa should be louder.

Him:  Why?

Me: All that suffering?  Isn’t there a lot of suffering and economic inequality?

Him:  I’ve never been.

Me:  Me neither.  I’m operating on what I’ve read in liberal news media and what I’ve seen in movies like Congo.

Him:  Take your coat off.

Me:  Certainly.  I’ll just throw it on the floor here.

Him:  You’re funny.

Me:  You’re pretty.

Him:  Make out with me.

(We do.)

Him:  Take your shirt off.

Me:  Yessir.

(We take our shirts off.  Bitchin’ make out session.)

Him:  Take your pants off.

Me:  Yessir

(We take our pants off.  Bitchin’ make out session.  It’s getting hard to contain ourselves.  Get it?)

Him:  Let’s get naked.

Me:  How dare you.  No, wait.  I changed my mind again.   That’s a great idea.

Him:  Are you a bottom?

Me:  What?  Oh.  Sex?  Oh!  Sex!  Okay.  Yes.  No.  I’m versatile.  I’m the opposite of whatever your favorite thing to do is…

Him:  Then you’re a bottom.

Me:  I am indeed!

(We get naked.  Bitchin’ make out session.  Then, suddenly – he loses interest entirely. The evening goes limp.)

Him:  I was afraid of this.

Me: What?

Him:  I was afraid that this would happen.  My penis stops working after a while.

Me:  No!  Stop it!  It’s okay.  Cut yourself some slack.  You had a lot to drink.  I watched you.

Him:  No.  What?  No.  I don’t have whiskey dick.  Hahaha.  No.

Me:  What?

Him:  I have a thing that happens.  Once I get someone naked and it’s obvious that I can sleep with them, I lose interest.

Me:  Heh.  You’re funny.

Him:  Please don’t make fun of me.  It’s a real problem.

Me:  I was going to say, why don’t we just go to sleep and give it a shot in the morning.

Him:  Ha.  Right.  No.

Me:  What?

Him:  I think you should leave now.

Me:  WHAT?

Him:  It’s like this.  I already got you naked.  You already said you’d give me what I want.  It’s kind of like I’ve already figured you out.  I’m not going to be interested anymore.

Me:  What?  Heh.  Ha.  I uh…  hm…

(He starts putting on clothes.  He starts handing clothes to me.  I start putting on clothes.)

Him:  Yeah.  It’s best if you just go home.

Me:  I’m much farther away from home now than when you talked me into the cab.

Him:  I’ll call you a car.  You should go home.

Me:  No.  I’ll take the train.  I should never have come here.

Him:  Oh stop.  I had fun.

Me:  Yeah it was a blast.  You’re a real great host.  Thanks for having me over.

Him:  It’s a real problem, okay?  I have a problem with sex.  I’d appreciate some sympathy.

Me:  Awww… Sweet baby…  Hey.  I’m going to say something – please don’t take it the wrong way, okay?

Him:  Okay.

Me:  You’re an asshole.  I don’t mean like self-absorbed like me and my comedy friends.  I mean for real.  You’re a real, true, asshole.  I’m going to leave my card.

Him: What is this?

Me:  I want you to check out my site, but wait a few days…

Him:  Why?

Me:  Because when people act like assholes on dates with me, I put it on the internet.  Is that my coat?  Thanks.

Him:  What?

Me:  Yeah!  You’re famous!  Congrats!  And hey.

Enjoy playing mind games with someone else, Jerk.

(Surprise ending:  I laughed about him the whole train ride home.  I didn’t feel bad about myself.)