Tag: Pie

Showtime

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Her: But he always does that. Haven’t you noticed?

Me: Does what?

Her: Won’t say yes to your idea. His is always better. You haven’t noticed that? He has NO RESPECT for the work.  We’re trying to improvise a show here! Doesn’t he? I mean… Fucker. I know he hates me.

Me: Of course he hates you.

(long pause)

Her: What?

(long pause)

Me: Nothing.

(long pause)

Her: What’s that supposed to mean?

Me: Nothing.  He’s Kyle’s best friend. He thinks you’re the devil. You can see that, right?

(pause)

Me: Let’s just get ready for this show. Huh? He’s funny. You’re funny. No bigs, right? Let’s change the subject.

Her: Let’s go into this grocery store.

Me: Why? Do you need something?

Her: I’m a little hungry. We’ve got 20 minutes to kill before we warm up. Come on.

(we enter the store)

Her: Ooh! Look at this. Marshmallows! Yummy right? Pretty. Don’t you want to eat them?

Me: I’m full, but you should get some if you’re hungry.

Her: No. They’re made of cow hooves. I just remembered. Don’t you think he’s a little bit of a steamroller? I mean, he just powers through scenes. There’s no subtlety.

Me: He’s a big player. He plays big. What do you want? He’s fucking hilarious.

Her: See. That’s what bugs me. He gets rewarded for doing bad improv. He doesn’t support. Oooh! Look at this melon.

Me: It’s a watermelon.

Her: But doesn’t it look great? He’s a dick.

Me: He’s not a dick. You can’t buy a whole watermelon right before we do a show.

Her: Why not?

Me: You won’t be able to cut it open. He’s just super aggressive with his moves and so are you. It can cause friction.

Her: I’m not aggressive!

Me: You are. It’s a good thing, remember?

Her: I’m not aggressive like he is.

Me: I mean…

Her: I’m not! Am I?

Me: Yes. You’re aggressive. We all have our shows where we’re barreling through. I have to remind myself to slow down. What about a granola bar?

Her: I don’t want a granola bar – ooooh, look at these pickles! They look so good!

Me: When did pickles become 11 dollars?

Her: They’re artesianal.

Me: They’re cucumbers.  Are you hungry or what?

Her: Whydoyouask?

Me: Jeez. I dunno, Ellen. I guess because every time you’re stressed out over a show you take me to a grocery store and look at food items you don’t purchase.

Her: Is that weird?

Me: A little. I mean, especially knowing you had an issue with anorexia.

Her: I usually eat some bread and cheese in the morning to make sure I have some protein inside me.

Me: That’s not reassuring. I’m sorry to tell you this, but yes, we’re all aggressive sometimes. And yes, Carl hates you. You broke his best friend’s heart. You had an affair with one actor in the show, and then you had an affair with another, and you expect everyone to just get along, when both men loved you.

Her: I LOVED THEM TOO. I’m not a monster in all this!

Me: I’m not saying you’re a monster. I’m saying, people can’t always put their feelings aside and do the show.

Her: I can.

Me: Can you?

Her: YES. I’m a professional. He’s not. I’m only aggressive in scenes with him!

Me: That’s not true, but even if it was – how is that you putting your feelings aside?!

Her: He hates women! He doesn’t do that with you, does he? He can’t stand an assertive woman improviser, that’s what it is.

Me: That might be part of it. You’re aggressive onstage.

Her: Assertive.

Me: AGGRESSIVE. And yes. Comedy is full of immature boys that condescend to women. Please don’t start crying. We have to do a show in ten minutes. Come on. Let’s go.

Her: (still crying) Why does everyone hate me?

Me: They don’t… because they’re jealous of you. You have a big talent and it’s intimidating to them. They probably don’t even know they’re jealous of you. You’re a force to be reckoned with. Look, we all love each other, even when we get jealous. We all love being here, and respect each other.

Her: How do I know you’re not just saying that because we’re going onstage right now?

Me: You don’t. You just – we have to trust each other. I’m on your side. Okay?

Her: I guess.

Me: I’m sorry I brought this up at the wrong time. I was a jerk for doing that. Will you eat something?

Her: No.

Me: Okay. Let’s go. It’s showtime.

Advice

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

eryc perez de tagle

I’ve been sitting here for the past 20 minutes thinking of what to say without it seeming like I’m sending a letter to the editor of a self-help magazine. I’m reaching out to you because I feel like, although we’ve never met each other, you can empathize better than anyone else can about these emotionally draining complications I’ve encountered in regards to coming to terms with my sexuality.  I’m gay, I can confidently say that. I know that. Yet, I still find that I can’t (or won’t) act as the person I’m meant to be. It’s like I’m living life as a double agent. I’ve got a group of friends who know about my sexuality. And then I’ve got this other group, my family, who still think that I’m completely interested in what they want; and that everything I’m doing falls completely in line with their expectations. And this dichotomous social life that I’ve set up is starting to blend. And as a consequence, I’ve found that hiding is much more convenient for me than putting myself out there.


The solution seems easy, doesn’t it? Just be truthful with my parents. Everyone has coming out horror stories, and a large majority of them end in happy endings. But, how can I tell my mother that I’m gay, when she constantly asks me if my best friend’s (who’s also gay) mother ever regrets raising a gay son. I can’t be truthful to the parents who wanted me to stop hanging out with my friend in 9th grade because people might assume I’m gay by association. Pretty ridiculous, right? And it sucks, it really does. So the problems I face are not internal, rather they’re external problems that I’ve internalized — taken to heart — and it’s killing me. My pursuit for happiness is not a fantasy that I want, but rather I fantasize about a happiness that my parents wouldn’t mind me having. I’ve done a lot of growing up and I’ve realized that being attracted to men is not wrong. I’m trying so hard to keep this homosexual label from manifesting into a rain cloud that hangs over my head, never ceasing to rain. Instead of trying to be something, I simply want to just be.

The way that I keep myself hidden has affected a lot of my past relationships. My relationship with my parents is pretty rocky, but I bet you could’ve guessed that. My friends often remark about how much they don’t know about me and I laugh it off. “Oh come on, you know more about me than anyone else does.” That’s only true because they know the small amount I’m willing to tell them. Now that I think about it, I don’t think anyone knows what my favorite color is, or where I want to be when I retire. Haha, trivial things, yeah. I feel so selfish, too. I can’t explain why.  But the way I hide my emotions makes me feel like I’m waiting for people around me to notice what’s wrong and pour every ounce of effort they can afford into helping me. I feel like an opossum, playing dead just to grab people’s attention. Bleh.

It’s not easy being two people at once. I feel like I’m on the verge of an identity crisis and I’m slowly approaching the point that being miserable is better, as long as everyone else is happy.

Before you ask, yes. I’ve had a boyfriend. That lasted a month because I was afraid my parents would somehow find out via Facebook. Silly, I know.

Welp, here we are. At the end. And I can’t help but laugh because it seems I’ve turned you into my therapist. But I guess I need an unbiased 3rd party that I can vent to. I don’t want you to feel like I’m expecting some grandiose answer, some response that will cause something to click inside my head and suddenly I’ll be enlightened and everything will be better. That’s a shit ton of responsibility to place on a stranger. I guess all I’m hoping for is some insight. Now that I think about it, I’d have to say the reason I’m coming to you is that your blog helped in that process of self-acceptance. So thank you for that. Now, just to make it so everyone else accepts me for who I am.

Cory F.

ps: I like to pretend I’m artsy, so I attached a photo that represents how I’ve been living my life for the past two years.

Cory,
Don’t you want to be whole? A whole person? Don’t you deserve a normal life with a family that (for better or worse) knows who you are? Of course you do. Also, I think you know this by now, it’s not a matter of if you tell your family – it’s a matter of when. You can’t keep it up forever. What are you going to do, marry a girl and pretend to have a heterosexual life? That’s absurd.
Here’s the most disturbing thing  – you seem willing to let your own happiness be destroyed for the sake of not bothering other people. You said it yourself – you had a boyfriend and broke up with him because you wanted to maintain your ‘closeted’ identity. That’s really sad, Cory. Plus you had to hurt someone’s feelings and break up with them in order to maintain your precious little ‘secret.’
Stop doing this to yourself. You’re never going to be a whole person until you can be your real self, and ask for acceptance from your family. They may or may not give it to you immediately, but when you come out to them, their homophobia becomes their problem, not yours. Does that make any sense? Part of the power of coming out is that you give away the shame. You take the self loathing, and fear that you were raised to harbor against yourself, and you give it back. Then you can start the long journey toward feeling happy and whole.
I’m not trying to make this sound easy – it took a number of years for my own family to accept me for who I am. I came out in high school, which made high school and college pretty tense between me and my parents. It wasn’t until my mid-twenties that I felt that my parents had come to fully accept me for who I am. But that’s my point, Cory – you have to get the ball rolling on this. It’s going to take some time for the fallout to settle and for your family to adjust to this – you should tell them sooner than later.
I know it’s scary, and you should prepare yourself for some pretty awful treatment from your family – that’s true. But I wonder if you can imagine – it’s like a heavy weight is lifted off your chest when you do it. Even when the reaction is negative. Because once you own up to yourself, you become a whole person. A person with integrity. I know you want that. You wouldn’t have written if you didn’t.
You owe it to yourself, Cory. For once, put your own happiness first. This secret is eating away at you,  causing even more shame and self loathing. It’s a heavy load to carry. Put it down, buddy.
You can do it.
We love you.

Thanks, Old Faggot – Part One

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Him: Hello there. Are you Michael?

Me: That’s right… Are you –

Him: Ed. Edward.

Me: Which is it?

Him: Ha. I dunno. Whatever you like. It’s Ed at work, but I’m Edward to most of my friends.

(pause)

Him: So…

Me: Yes?

Him: Don’t get mad, but you’re better looking in person than on Grindr.

Me: Thanks. I’m not mad, by the way. I don’t think it’s rude. I’m intentionally less attractive on Grindr and OkCupid.

Him: Why?

Me: I want to be a pleasant surprise, rather than an immediate disappointment.

Him: Oh no!

Me: No. NO. Stop, Edward. I was speaking only for myself.

Him: But I don’t look like my Grindr profile, do I?

(pause)

Me: No, Edward. You don’t. But that’s totally okay. Okay?

Him: Yikes. Why don’t you be brutally honest?

Me: Edward. Your Grindr profile says you’re 35.

Him: How old do I look?

Me: How old is that photo?

Him: Guess how old I am.

Me: 45?

Him: Ha. I’m 51.

Me: Jesus.

Him: Is that old?

Me: No. But it’s older than 35.

Him: I know. Sorry.

Me: Don’t be sorry. It’s fine. Sit down and talk to me.

Him: Okay…

(pause)

Him: You, uh…  You don’t seem that disappointed or surprised by this turn of events… People are usually relatively put out.

Me: Why’s that?

Him: Because they think they’re going out with a significantly younger man.

Me: Then why do it? Why post old photos of yourself and meet up with younger people?

(pause)

Him: That’s complicated. A lot of reasons.

Me: Well… What are a few of those reasons?

Him: I didn’t have a lot of gay friends when I was younger. They were all straight. Now they’ve all got children, and lives, and some even have grand-kids at this point. I’m lonely. I miss being young. I like spending time with young people.

Me: And sleeping with them.

Him: Well, most of them don’t want to sleep with me, and I don’t blame them – but lots of them will spend some time with me, and I like that. And yes, some of them don’t care and will take pity on an Old Faggot.

Me: Ha. I like that…

Him: What?

Me: The way you say it – Old Faggot. Like a title.

Him: Well.  I started sleeping with guys when I was 16. I’ve been a faggot for 35 years.

Me: That’s an Old Faggot.

Him: Thank you. So, Michael?

Me: Edward.

Him: Why did you seem so unfazed by my appearance-slash-age?

Me: Uh…  I kind of guessed it – that you were Secretly Old.

Him: Secretly Old?

Me: Yes. Hiding your age online.

Him: I don’t get it? Do you like old guys?

Me: I wouldn’t say so specifically. I mean, most of the guys I sleep with are under 40. There have been exceptions, but mostly I keep it my age and younger.

Him: So why meet up with me, if you knew I wasn’t being forthcoming about my age?

Me: I do that, sometimes. I meet up with people online that seem off-beat, or troubled, or lonely.

Him: Why?

Me: I write a blog about it. About awkward dates.

Him: I see. So do you want to go back to my place and have sex, Young Man?

Me: I do not. But maybe we can sit on this bench and watch people go by and chat with one another?

Him: That sounds lovely.

(pause)

Him: Can I say? You seem very kind and intelligent.

Me: Thanks, Old Faggot. So do you.

Him: You’re welcome Young Man.

Letters

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

eryc perez de tagle

Him: I’ve been following your blog for awhile now, not only because I enjoy reading it, but because I think I’ve projected a fantasy onto you and admire you for everything I am not – handsome, talented, comfortable with their own body, freely pursuing their passion. I admire someone who is not afraid to put themselves out there – mentally and physically (in your case, literally, via photos). Do you have any advice for someone that has pretty low self esteem on how to get a shred of that? Also, any workout tips would be appreciated.

– clue do

Me: Hey Clue.

I need you to listen to me for a second, okay? Are you listening?

You’re beautiful.

I know you are. I’ve never seen you or met you but I know you’re beautiful. You might not be everyone’s type, but trust me- there are people in your life who already stand in awe of you.  I know that. You’re unique and perfect and beautiful.

And I know how you can become more beautiful:

Identify your passion, and pursue it.

Stop listening to the reasons why you can’t succeed. That critical inner voice that says you can’t do it? That voice is the devil. It’s the closest thing to pure evil on this planet.

Don’t compare yourself to other people.

Most people who feel inadequate have a little mental list of people who have done more, achieved more, are better looking, more talented, or deserve more than they do. Keep things in perspective. Even huge movie stars have a list of artists they think they’ll never measure up to.

(In Anna Paquin’s case, that list must be very, very long.)

(we can still see your vagina, anna)

Realize that everyone’s just faking it.

All these photos you see of me running around my kitchen with cute boys in the gorgeous late afternoon light? Carefully staged. I’m a guy who constantly doubts himself, too. I’m faking it as much as Meryl Streep, Barack Obama, or your mailman. We’re all faking it. But if you start behaving like someone who believes in themselves, eventually you trick yourself into having moments where you actually do believe in yourself. Then after a few years, you forget why you were terrible in the first place.

Work.

There’s not much we can do to alter our circumstances, besides working. Some people were born rich, good looking, unnaturally talented. Good for them. The rest of us have to work at it. Identify the thing you love, or are passionate about, and go for it. Don’t expect to master it overnight. Just take the slow steps you need to take for your passion to flower. Work toward goals. Set attainable ones. When you attain them, set loftier ones.

You might not wind up getting what you want, but I guarantee – the very act of pursuing a goal will take you places that astound you. You’ll never believe how much good fortune you have if you work every day toward a simple goal.

I never met anyone who was ‘lucky’ that didn’t work their ass off.

Oh, also – if you want to be more ‘cut’ then lift weights. Free weights. Not machines. Aim for five days a week, and be happy when you go four days. Get mad if you’re only doing three. If you want to slim down, then do cardio. Run outside, or swim. Again, try five days a week.

Aw. Clue. You’re adorable. I want to find a way to end this post where I call you a Jerk, but I just like you too much to do that.

Jerk.

See? I did it anyway. Sorry.

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.

What If There’s Nothing Wrong?

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

photos by eryc perez de tagle

Me: So? What’s the spice?

Him: Paprika.

Me:  You’re right.

Him: Smoked paprika from Spain.

Me: Yes. Wow!

Him: Yes. Of course. You were expecting me not to get it?

Me: I guess? I… No. I dunno.

Him: I lived in Spain for two years. I can tell paprika.

Me: I like that.

Him: I feel like I should be doing something.

Me: Don’t worry about it. Sit. Relax. There’s beer. Want another beer?

Him: No. I cant. I can’t take your beer. I shouldn’t – I’m exhausted.

Me: Oh no. Really?

Him: Not totally exhausted. Just. I want to nap. Can I take a nap?

Me: What?

Him: That’s weird right? If I take a nap while you cook?

Me: Maybe…

Him: Oh, no. Forget I brought it up.

Me: What?

Him: Now it’s gone wrong. I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.

Me: You can totally take a nap if you want to…

Him: NO. You probably want me to leave, right? You can just tell me. I like it when people are straightforward.

Me: What? No. Hey. Have another beer. Do you… Can I hug you?

Him: Okay.

(we hug)

Me: I’m glad you’re here. Are you hungry?

Him: Yes! I’m getting there. I could be hungry. I’m hungry. Yes.

Me: Great. Pick at this while you wait for dinner.

Him: This is good. I like ham.

Me: You can totally take a short nap if you want.

Him: No. I’m sorry I brought it up. I’m ADD, I think. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

Me: It’s okay. We’ll eat soon. You don’t have to stay all night.

Him: Why. You don’t want me to stay?

Me: No. I mean yes. I mean… You said you were exhausted.

Him: Hey. I need to use the bathroom again. Can I?

Me: You don’t have to ask. Go ahead.

Him: Sorry, I just broke the seal.

Me: What? Oh. The urination seal!

Him: Yeah. You never heard that?

Me: No, I did. It just took me a second. I didn’t know ‘the seal’ meant urination. For a second.

Him: I never heard of the ‘Urination Seal.’

Me: I was just clarifying.

Him: Well that’s not a thing.

Me: I… You’re right. But I get it.

(pause. he goes to the bathroom)

Me: Even so.

Him: What?

Me: Even so. What are you doing? When you break the seal?

Him: Pissing.

Me: So it kind of is the Urination Seal. Right? If we’re to be clear?

Him: That’s not a thing. Breaking the Urination Seal isn’t a thing.

Me: Okay.

(pause. he comes back from the restroom.)

Him: You should water that plant.

Me: Should I?

Him: Yeah, it looks sick.

Me: I watered it yesterday.

Him: Really? It looks sick.

Me: It’s doing fine.

(pause)

Me: Wanna try the pulled pork?

Him: Yeah.

Me: Do you like it?

Him: Yeah. It’s good.

Me: Thanks.

Him: You’re acting weird.

Me: I am?

Him: I dunno. I’m here. I don’t know you. You could be a serial killer. You’re cooking food.

Me: I’m going to serve us dinner.

Him: I know but… You’re making me feel bad.

Me: What?

Him: I’m not doing anything. I feel like I should be helping. Or taking a nap.

Me: That’s the second time you mentioned… Do you wanna go to sleep for a sec?

Him: No. I just say what’s on my mind. I think I’m ADD.  I’m trying to fix what’s wrong with me.

Me: What’s wrong with you?

Him: That’s what we’re trying to fix. Me and my psychologist. Once I fix myself they’ll be no stopping me. I don’t like the lighting in here, by the way…

Me: Really?

Him: Yeah. I don’t like it. Too controlled.

Me: So much of life is about carefully controlled lighting.

Him: That’s ridiculous.

Me: Is it?

Him: NO.  I don’t know why I’m saying that. It’s not. You’re not weird or ridiculous. I don’t know why I’m imploding right now. Something’s off. I think I’m really ADD. I’m going to find out what’s wrong with me.

Me: What if it’s nothing?

Him: What?

Me: What if there’s nothing wrong with you?

Him: What do you mean?

Me: What if you’re just great how you are?

Him: Huh?

Me: What if there’s nothing wrong with you? Sorry. Maybe you’re ADD, that’s true. But what if you’re okay, even though you’re ADD? What if your attention span is exactly as long as your evolution in the world has taught it to be? What if your own experience isn’t flawed? What if you’re unique and deserve respect? What if the rest of the world is totally fucked and you’re okay? What then?

Him: I’m tired. Can I nap? Can I sleep while you cook dinner?

Me: Jesus. Please do.

Letters

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

photos by eryc perez de tagle

Hey Michael: I think I spelled your name right. I just wanted to take the time and tell you I enjoyed reading your blog and I also wanted some advice.

My current boyfriend lives 2 hrs away from me and is highly attractive. He’s not out of the closet either so he won’t hold my hand in public unless we’re at the gay bar or something. He also does not want to introduce me to his friends who KNOW he’s gay. Which i find odd. He says it’s too soon. But he’s met my family. And he also texts facing his phone away from me. That really bugs me. He doesn’t text often but when he does it’s in a very suspicious manner. I’ve found myself creeping on his facebook, which is empty really, every now and then. And don’t tell me to talk to him about it because when i do, he gets very angry. Apparently, i’m asking too much too soon. we’re six months in now. So do you think i’m being paranoid or am i on to something here?

Thanks for reading.

Sincerely,

LewieCharles

Hey Lewie,

Thanks for writing in. First let me say – your new boyfriend is not the only ‘highly attractive’ one in the family. You’re looking pretty good over there yourself.

I’d say that you’re right to be suspicious. Him hiding his txting from you is a clear indication he’s speaking to someone he doesn’t want you to know about. Add that to the other pieces of the puzzle (he lives two hours away, he won’t introduce you to his friends, even though they know he’s gay) and it certainly creates a shady looking picture. It sounds like he could be dating or sleeping with more than just you.

But, ultimately, that doesn’t matter. Seriously. It doesn’t.

Here’s what matters: He’s been with you for six months and won’t even introduce you to his friends. He’s in the closet. He gets angry when you try to initiate communication. Dump him.

This isn’t the relationship you want, and he’s never going to suddenly turn into the type of guy you want him to be. It doesn’t work like that. You deserve a proud young man that can introduce you to his parents, or at least his friends. Someone who will show you affection in public. Someone who won’t blow up at you if you want to talk about something bothering you.

The issue isn’t whether you have a right to be suspicious. The issue is whether you’re going to insist on the type of partner you deserve. And believe me, Lewie – with a face like that (and other lovely, erm…  assets) you can afford to be picky.

Everyone should afford to be picky. Better to be alone than settle for something disappointing.

You’re a beautiful young man, Lewie. Thanks for writing in.

 Dear Michael, I am a 21 bisexual studying in a former Soviet country at the moment.
I have been reading your blog after discovering it on Vice recently.
It fucking rocks. It has helped me so much in regards to respecting
myself and loving myself more, and not being ashamed or confused about
my sexuality. I like how you said that you consider bisexuals fully
gay and straight, and that is in a way very comforting.

I also got inspired to make a crust-less quiche in our shitty
dormitory in our toaster oven. I used sour cream instead of all milk
and a little beer for the egg base. I also filled it with lost of
onions bacon and some cheese. Hope you enjoy the picture as much as I
enjoyed eating the product photographed.

Keep on keepin’ on Comrade Martinov!

-T

Hey T –

Wow.  I hope you mean that you added sour cream to an already milk base, and you added (instead of substituting)  beer to an egg base. It looks like you did. For dorm food, it looks exceptionally yummy.

Thanks for all the praise. I’m glad you’re learning to live without some of the god-awful shame the world still persists in trying to invoke upon us. There’s always room for more self-respect and love, so I’m glad I could inspire it. Flattered even. Thanks for reaching out.

Hang in there. I feel like bi-sexual men are frequently met with a suspicious or patronizing attitude from the LGBT community. Glad you’re still willing to love yourself.

That photograph is both sexy and hilarious at the same time. Today, you win the internet.

Thanks for taking the time to write and send in your photos.

Jerks.

Don’t Write About Me

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

photos by eryc perez de tagle

Him: Hey. I know you.

Me: Hey. Do you?

Him: Yeah I think so.

Me: From where?

Him: You’re the guy online.

Me: Oh shit. Yeah. I guess I am. Hi.

Him: Hi.

Me: What’s your name?

Him: Kelley. 

Me: Oh wow. I really like that name for a guy.

Him: Thanks. You’re…?

Me: Michael. It’s nice to meet you.

Him: You too. (pause) Oh my God. Do you have pie?

Me: What?

Him: Did you bring pie?

Me: To a Brooklyn gay bar?  No.  I didn’t.

Him: Well. You’re supposed to be the one who has all the pie, aren’t you, mister?

Me: I suppose I am.

Him: Well see?  You should have brought some.

Me: I’m hoarding it.

Him: You are?

Me: Yeah. I’m hoarding all the pie and nobody can have any except people I like.

Him: Aw!  That’s not fair.

Me: Also I tried bringing pie here before but it made my coat pockets sticky.

Him: Really?

Me: No. But you’re cute.

Him: Really?  So are you.

Me: Thanks. So are you hungry? Wanna get some cheap Mexican food?

Him: Right now?

Me: Yeah, or later. It’s always there, on Grand and Graham.

Him: You know what?  I better say no.  No offense.

Me: I’m… What? I’m not offended.

Him: Yeah but I better say no.

Me: Why?

Him: I’m just more of a prude than you are.

Me: So?

Him: So I’d better not accept a date invitation from you.

Me: ‘Cause you’re a prude?

Him: Yeah. I’m a super prude. I’d never have a website where I do what you do.  Post revealing photographs like that.

Me: They’re not that revealing, are they?

Him: Don’t you think they’re slightly dirty?

Me: Not really. I feel like I’ve seen worse in fashion magazines.

Him: Maybe. But there’s this context. It’s jarring.

Me: That’s on purpose.

Him: Well, mission accomplished.

Me: So, okay. So, don’t start a website where you post photos and stories like I do. What’s that got to do with having some cheap Mexican food with me?

Him: I just think I probably wouldn’t be the best person for you, is all…

Me: Well that’s why people go on dates. To find out if that’s true or not. And to have fun along the way.

Him: Thanks for asking. I’m going to decline.

Me: Okay. I respect that.

Him: Partially, too, I don’t want to get written about.

Me: Oh, I’m probably going to do that.

Him: No!  Why??

Me: Because it’s a slow news week, cutie.

Him: Stop.

Me: I don’t know why. ‘Cause that’s what I do. I probably would write about you either way, but now that you’ve implied I’m too slutty to qualify for a date, I’m definitely going to.

Him: Oh jeez.  That’s not what I meant.

Me: I know. But I have to capitalize on what’s going on in front of me – as a writer.

Him: I’m not an extrovert. I don’t want to be part of your thing. I like it, but I don’t want to be part of it. Why isn’t that okay?

Me: That’s fine. But I might write about it.

Him: Why?

Me: Because I write about conversations I have.

Him: I know, but just don’t write about me.

Me: You’re trying to censor my writing, and you just met me, Kelley.

Him: That’s not true.

Me: What else would you call limiting what I can write about? I’m kidding. I don’t think you’re really trying to censor me. Except for the censorship part.

Him: Okay, fine. Please don’t write about me?

Me: Sure. On one condition.

Him: What?

Me: Come have cheap Mexican food with me. Sit with me and chat for half an hour and I promise I won’t write about you, ever. You don’t have to ever talk to me again.

Him: No. I already said no.

Me: Okay. There it is then.

Him: But, don’t write about me.

Me: Eh. We’ll see…