Runaway Lessee

The first open house I ever went to was for an apartment near Mt. Vernon Square about two blocks away from the convention center. The apartment itself was the third floor of a converted townhouse, no doubt the work of a gay couple from Chevy Chase or Fairfax dabbling in real estate on the side. Everything was pretty and new, down to the roommate, a congressional staffer from the Midwest. He was the embodiment of corn-fed gorgeousness. I listened to his smalltalk halfheartedly, spellbound by his looks and the prospect of seeing him walk around communal areas naked. The room was less impressive. It was windowless and maybe 6x9 with enough room to fit a twin bed and almost nothing else. It kind of reminded me of that scene from Kill Bill where Uma Thurman wakes up inside a coffin. I also thought it was grimy that I would be paying the same price as him while he slept in the spacious master. Drew, the roommate, asked me if I would contact him to follow up. I said I would. I did not.

A few weeks later, I went to another open house in the Chinatown neighborhood. The apartment and room were slightly larger and it was part of a complex with amenities including a gym and a pool. But as soon as I walked into the unit, I knew I wasn't going to live there. It was one of the dirtiest places I've ever seen. There was uneaten and spilled food on the coffee table. Piles of dishes in the sink. Dust and grime on all the furniture. The carpet was discolored and the entire place smelled weird. It was cheap and conveniently located, so he may have been able to sell me on it, but the roommate was blasé during our entire meeting. His face only lit up when our time was over and two blonde girls arrived for the same tour. I seriously doubt any girl would be interested in living with such a dirty person though. He was pathetic, I don't even remember his name. He is a college kid that never grew up, and most likely never will. Mostly, I'm just annoyed that he had the audacity to not clean up before an open house and then act completely nonchalant about it. I didn't call him either. I still see him post ads on Craigslist to this day.

Perhaps the most impressive open house I went to was in a complex in Columbia Heights. The building was beautiful, the apartment was beautiful, the bedroom was beautiful. The roommate was beautiful but something about him seemed off. It may have been his ad, with glittering statements like, "To be in contention you must have enjoyed chugging a 4loco before Chuck Schumer banned them, raging house parties and loud bars. If you're a homebody, this home ain't for you. The unit is somewhat small, so if you are not outgoing and you act like a hermit you will get annoyed and wind up passive aggressive." During the tour, he couldn't stop disparaging poor people, people who eat mac & cheese, and the "Petworth hood." He reminded me a lot of Patrick Bateman, especially when he pointed at his TV and said, "This is my new $1,000 TV." In later emails, he would demand that I reimburse him for all the things he bought.

I told myself to grin and bear it. This is not America's Next Top Best Friend, I just need a place to not be homeless in. Needless to say, we had a confrontation about rent even before signing the lease. He went on this rant about how, "some people wouldn't think it's fair for me to squeeze my life into the den and pay less rent." I was not about to have some brat from Long Island tell me about the unfairness of life, so I called it off.

Sometimes I wonder if I treat this housing search too much like I treat my search for love: impossibly high expectations with too much emotional investment in things that I know won't work out. I'm also a size queen in both regards.

Mama's Boy

One of the most poignant memories from my childhood is from when I was four years old and my father got a rather unexpected call from his ex girlfriend. She was visiting the United States and wanted a ride from the airport. About twenty some odd years earlier, she had broken up with my father, leaving him heartbroken, and one must assume, still the slightest bit in love. My mother flew into a rage. Storming to the basement to retrieve two large, black suitcases. She tossed them onto her bed and began packing clothes. I wandered into the room, asking her where she was going. "Nowhere. I'm trying to scare your father."

Sure enough, he never went to the airport and my parents are still together (for better or for worse).

I have a theory that my eyes and lips were inherited from my mother through nature while my need for love and flair for the dramatic, through nurture. Traumatic events defined my childhood and I became like her in many ways. I fall in love easily and get hurt easily. I recall both of us gasping with giddiness during the dance scene between Harrison Ford and Kelly McGillis and then sobbing uncontrollably when they part ways at the end of the movie. The slightest bit of emotional letdown sends me spinning and I too, take guilty pleasure in "scaring" people back into loving me.

The recent barrage of dates was rather pointless, something my mother would do. An effort to feel something, anything, other than lonely, it was as ill-conceived as TLC's search for a Left-Eye replacement. I found myself comparing each and every guy to him, wondering if I was trading up or trading down. It was unhealthy. And I also discovered that all the guys in DC are really self absorbed; but unlike the self absorbed gays in NYC, they're ugly. And a little bit mentally insane.

I was about to give up on men and relegate myself to dying alone, sexually inactive, and surrounded by cats (which I am allergic to so you can add "with sinus problems" to that depressing list), when I got one last message from OKCupid. I figured I could listen to one more guy tell me I'm cute only to confess, after getting to know me, "Sorry, I have HPV. Bye."

Unfortunately, this guy turned out to be genuine and sweet. The bastard texts me in the morning, apologizing for falling asleep while we were Skyping at 2am. This asshole talks about taking care of me when I'm drunk and listens patiently while I freak out about my "lost" wallet that I drunkenly stuffed into the glove compartment of my car. He has the nerve to worry about me getting home safely after a night out. And like the douchebag that he is, he tells me that thinking about me gets him hard at work.

I could forgive all that shit if it weren't for one thing: he is straight.

Well, he is as straight as a man looking for other men on the internet can be. But he's never done anything with a guy and has only recently developed feelings for men. I mean, he plays lacrosse and drives a Nissan Sentra... what more can I say? Do I know what I'm getting myself into? Probably not. Do I think anything will come of this? Probably not. Do I think he will marry me? I'm not sure. No, like, I actually asked him, and he said, "I'm not sure." 

I sensed he was uncomfortable with my awkward and personal line of questioning, and I was worried that he too, would end up telling me had HPV. So I told him that I was sorry for asking and that we should stop talking because I was having feelings for him that he couldn't reciprocate. He just laughed and said, "I dunno, I'm pretty into you."

A play right out of my mother's book. Worked like a charm.

Haven't Been Date Raped Yet But There's Still Hope

I've been thinking, trying to figure out why Tall Blonde Alcholic broke up with me [for real this time] to spend the last two months of his summer alone before he moves to New Jersey. The obvious occurred to me recently, he doesn't want to spend them alone, he just doesn't want to spend them with you. 

Then my mind drifted to his mouse-y new love interest. I guess he's kind of cute in a Joseph-Gordon-Levitt-I-will-never-age-Peter-Pan sort of way. But I inwardly hope to run into him somewhere in public so I can break him. Sometimes when I'm feeling especially lonely, I wonder if they are together at that very moment, laughing about my pathetic idiocy. I wonder a lot of things about them, but I know that answers to these questions won't quell my pathological interest and will only make things worse.

There was one night I couldn't fall asleep. I kept having short and vivid dreams about TBA in relationships with new people. In the last dream, he was dating a girl named Hannah Ruth and I was so infuriated that I slept with this hot black guy only to find out that he didn't want to be exclusive, which was crushing. When your dreams start to piss you off, you really know that you need to make a few life changes. So I decided to go on a few dates and find a new man. Because you know those losers that whine about how they don't know how to be alone and they need a man to feel fulfilled? Yeah I'm one of them.

Date #1

This was my first real date considering Tall Blonde Alcoholic and I kind of threw ourselves into the relationship immediately since we had already known each other for about six years. I met PR on OKCupid and we found that we had matching eating and body dysmorphic disorders. Somehow, we decided this was enough to meet up. 

He was much cuter than he let on. He had beautiful eyes, light brown hair, and a great butt, but the compliments kind of end there. Throughout the entire date, he talked about his Twitter account and his mom and his personal problems, many of them involving dating other guys. At one point, I had to walk him through how he should approach the cashier at Crumbs that he had a crush on but was ignoring him. Towards the end of the date, I was desperately searching for ways to get out. So I told him it looked like it was going to thunderstorm and he should get back to his place lest he get caught in the rain. My parade, had already been rained on.

Date #2

I met JB on manhunt recently, (yes I exhaust every internet dating option). Originally, he told me he had just gotten into a relationship and that he was looking to develop that. I didn't ask how still being on manhunt was part of the grand scheme of couples development and just assumed he was lying. Less than a week later, he messaged me telling me he liked my profile and thought we should meet up. This more or less confirmed he was lying and also that he was kind of dumb for not remembering who I was. But I agreed because he's totally an otter and I'm kind of into that in a weird, self-destructive way.

Since he is one of those happy to be alive gays with supportive parents and a job in human rights, I couldn't really tell if he was having a good time or not because there was a permanent, idiotic smile plastered across his face. I, on the other hand, felt really awkward. He was kind of high strung, (an otter on speed), and he kept talking about being gay in a triumphant and pretentiously intellectual way. During the middle of the date, he literally yelled "I am gay!" in Chinese inside a Chinese restaurant. He is white.

After lunch he basically ran off to meet another friend. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to take this as, "I am a super busy, popular person," or "this is me dismissing you immediately," but I was super relieved to have it be over. I can only stomach so much awkwardness in one day before the pain becomes visceral.

Later that night, he sent me this, "Although I don't feel we have chemistry in the sexual or romantic sense, I enjoyed lunch and I wish you the best of luck in both your personal and professional pursuits."

This was annoying because I had just assumed we were going to ignore each other and pretend the date had never happened. How is he the one to tell me that I didn't exude a sexual attractiveness? YOU EAT LIKE A HOMELESS PERSON AND NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR FORMER BISEXUALITY. So it's settled. You can go shave your back hair now.

Date #3

My date with CM has yet to occur but it appears to be the most promising. He is 6'3" and blonde and super cute and already calls me "babe," which I LURVE. He sent me this extremely serious text confessing that he is kind of a fanboy and into KPop. I thought to myself, this is perfect; people mistake me for a Korean all the time. But nothing is perfect; he lives in Virginia and I'm in Maryland. Also, he'll go days without saying anything to me and then randomly he'll send me a "Good night babe :)" text. I can't tell if he's seriously interested or not. I really don't know how men work, but of course you all know this by now.

Time To Reactivate Manhunt

I don't know if I have the clear mind to write about what has just happened but a vague and angsty twitter comment pretty much obligates me to write a follow up post.

In my sophomore year of college, one of my roommates taught me how to hack passwords on a computer. Giving this kind of power to a person with not one, but two True Life ailments ["I have trust issues." and "I'm addicted to social media."] is similar to giving an addict a brick of cocaine the size of the Pyramid at Giza.

I don't know what possessed me to check up on Tall Blonde Alcoholic's Facebook but it probably had something to do with the fact that he has seemed distant in our conversations while I've been in Europe and I wanted to know what was going on in his life. You can choose to read this as: I'm a creepy, jealous stalker that wants to make sure somebody I'm not even "with" isn't "with" somebody else.

It's a strange sensation to find something you are looking for but inwardly didn't want to exist. In my case, I found a string of messages between him and another guy. They talk about exchanging numbers and dinner dates and catching up as soon as he gets back, (coincidentally he is also in Europe). Tall Blonde Alcoholic sends him messages full of flirty smiley faces about how he will be totally free to hang out and look at his "cute pictures." Reading the excitement in his words to start something new with somebody else makes me feel hurt. He used to talk to me that way.

Side note: Tall Blonde Alcoholic met this new guy at a party that we both went to. I left early. On the way out, I was casually involved in a fight with this new guy and his two fag hags. Hopefully this is one of those funny coincidences that I can look back on and laugh about...

In some sense, I can't complain because we are not technically together. And what do I know about social propriety, I hack Facebook accounts. Regardless, I feel like a fool who has been holding onto nothing while he has been making plans otherwise for quite some time now.

The vengeful beast in me would like to do something to retaliate but the most I can do is to stop speaking to him; which only gives him an even more perfect opportunity to move on with his new guy. But callousness and being neurotic (dad's side, mom's side, inherited respectively) is probably what got me to this point to begin with. And I'm pretty sure that finding out about all of this is only going to further my emotional hangups. So maybe I should take a different route in dealing with this. Thus far, nothing comes to mind except the occasional fantasy of shoving them both off of a cliff.

Just a few hours ago, I thought that I would go home at the end of the week and spend two months with a person that I loved and I thought loved me. Now, my mind is filled with strange and morbid thoughts about the nonexistence of true love and how anybody can wake up one day and decide they don't love you anymore. I wonder if he will think of me when he takes his new guy to the places we used to go to and does the things we used to do. I wonder if his new relationship will mean more to him than the last. And I wonder if the new guy will be better for him than I was. My life has devolved into an Alanis Morissette song.

I don't really have any regrets about what I did. My moral compass may be seriously misguided but I believe snooping around is only wrong if you don't find anything. I certainly deserved to know about this, one way or another. This may be a good way for me to get the final push to let go. For the past six months I've been that idiot girl trapped in a Lifetime movie who just doesn't get that her relationship is doomed to fail. In some ways, I kept caring about us because I thought he cared too. So if ever there was an indication that things would not work out, I think this is it.

Oh, Hey Losers

I haven't been on here in a while. I actually forgot my password. I've been really busy with emotional lapses and losing 30 lbs. Also, I feel utterly incapable of stringing together one long and thoughtful post, so I will present a series of vignettes.

I graduated. All during college I had this lurking fear that I would snap unexpectedly and become incapable of going to class or studying and I would have to drop out and be the new homeless man, (as if there is only one), on the corner of H and 7th street. That didn't happen. Graduation was decidedly anticlimactic, the proverbial kthnxbye moment. The nostalgia is inside of me though and it will probably hit me in a massive wave while I'm riding the Metro and I will just start bawling in front of everyone who is on the train between Columbia Heights and National Archives.

I went to New York City this past weekend. I met up with an old family friend that I hadn't seen in ten years. He turned out to be flamboyantly gay (hence, living in Manhattan). He took me to a "club" that turned out to be emphatically gay. This was kind of awkward because I had to act nonchalant about the 360 degree views of exposed penises. His gay friend hit on me the entire night. He kept commenting on my lips and at one point told me he was imagining my lips in dirty places. I didn't really know how to react to that so I just took his comment "as is" and applied some chapstick.

My boss at my old job used to write me really mean emails telling me how inept and fat I was. Then she would end every message with a :) as if that was an appropriate substitute for social propriety. I kind of miss that about working in an office. I finally got a job. It's in DC so thank god I don't have to come up with a new name for this blog. Starting September 15 you can expect the bulk of my posts to be about how work is slowly draining my soul.

On Monday, I'm going to Europe for a month. I fly into London and fly out of Athens (LP <3) and will be visiting 13 countries in between. I bought tickets for the French Open but I'm scared of French people and I'm worried that I'll get beaten up and robbed on the metro while local Parisians watch, laugh, and ridicule my clothes. So I'm looking forward to that with equal parts excitement and extreme worry.

I'm still seeing Tall Blonde Alcoholic. Our relationship has taken on a strangely cyclical pattern where we fight about how he doesn't love me, we get drunk, I end up in bed with him, and I wake up and eat something really oily and dense. And then we do it all over again. He is going to Princeton in the fall. It's kind of depressing to think that one of these days my go-to melodramatic drunk rant, "Goodbye, I will never see you ever again" is actually going to stick.

I feel like every aspect of my life is changing and I am in a constant state of free fall. While I look forward to Europe, and upon my return, my new life as a young professional in DC, I worry about the uncertainty of it all and I wonder if reality will meet my conservatively low expectations. Like a book I don't want to end, I cling desperately to the last few pages of college life, not wanting to say goodbye to the familiar characters yet. Who, if anyone, is going to be a part of the next chapter in my life? Should I make an okcupid account?

I have a friend who graduated one year early to start working. She came home for the weekend and I met up with her for lunch today at New Big Wong in Chinatown. Talking to her made me feel like no time had passed at all since high school, giving me hope that the connections we make with real friends will last. But undoubtedly, she has changed, now a part of the corporate world and with a new boyfriend who leaves messages for her in the morning by putting blueberries on her laptop keyboard.

The Best Stuff Happens To Me When I Wear V Necks

Out of the three people in my sophomore year triple, Chris Colfer was definitely the most flamboyant. He also had the voice of a wattled crane. So everyone kind of suspected that he was gay and it was funny and sort of awkward that the other two roommates were actually the ones having sex with each other. Chris Colfer assured everyone he was straight and I was pretty much convinced. I assumed he was one of those guys that likes musical theater and vagina at the same time. Well, not the exact same time.

So I'm at my roommate's party [not the one I was casually having sex with, the other one] in my blue v neck. I don't know anybody there so I went straight to the kitchen to "do my thing" aka take shots of vodka and chase with water. The vodka is blue, so it's like, meant to be.

Chris Colfer says he has to tell me something and pulls me into a closet [ironic]. At this point, I am standing in a dark closet with a flamboyant junior with an entire party watching from the outside and I am wearing a blue v neck. And then he leans in to kiss me. I'm not sure if I expected this and went into the closet just to confirm my suspicions and flatter myself. But I'm not interested at all; I prefer the Darren Criss type. So I turn my face away and ask, "So what do you wanna talk about..."

"I think I'm in love with you."

This is the first time I've seen Chris Colfer in two years. So either his love grew from afar or maybe he was sitting on this bomb for the past two years or maybe he was just trying to feed me lies to get me to sleep with him. Regardless, I wanted to kill myself. This was the worst closet I've ever been in, hands down. I manage to respond with a feeble, "Thanks. But I'm one of those guys that likes Mariah Carey and vagina at the same time."

So I tell him I have to go to the bathroom but go to his room instead. I close the door, open the window, and leave.

In case you're keeping track, this means all three of the guys living in my sophomore triple were/are gay.

Nothing Tastes As Good As Cam Gigandet Feels

I am good at doing two things.

I am really really good at pouring the exact right amount of water into a rice cooker on the first try. This helped me in AP chemistry and Orgo to a certain extent. Mostly it helps me make really really good mixed drinks.

I am also really really good at losing weight fast. One time when I was 13, I got pneumonia and lost 15 pounds in two weeks because the only thing I ate the entire time was a clementine. When I came back to school, my friends formed a group and went to the counselor because they were worried that I was anorexic. To this day, the thought that somebody would believe that I was anorexic still flatters me and makes me smile.

My crash-break-up-crash-diet comes pretty close. So far, I've lost 17 pounds in three weeks. I don't know if it's the euphoria of being skinny or the lack of nutrients reaching my brain, but I am swooning with satisfaction.

Before you point your finger and warn me about the perils of depression, realize that is not the case here. Usually when I'm depressed I eat a ton of Chinese takeout, lie absolutely motionless in bed, and watch America's Next Top Model marathons for DAYS. Wendy from Shanghai Cafe and Tyra Banks are literally my therapists. So I don't really know what the motivation for this sudden weight loss is. My parents think it's because I have a new girlfriend, *giggle*. But I just want to look good. Mostly, to win over a new boyfriend. (Cam Gigandet, if you are reading this, I'm available.) Subconsciously, I'm sure, to get the old one back. 

On top of the diet, I've also been going to the gym 5-6 times a week. Mostly, to build muscle. Subconsciously, I'm sure, to snare a bro. The second part hasn't really worked. Gay college guys don't go to the gyms. They are still "figuring themselves out" or whatever.

Side Note: On every single treadmill there is a little red sign warning about "Exercise Bulimia" because February was National Eating Disorder Month and nobody bothered to take them off.

Working out to purge a meal? Check
Working out more than 45 minutes more than 5 times a week? Check
Exercising instead of spending time with friends? Check
Feeling guilty for not working out? Check

I was at a bar last week, dancing my heart out, when one of those "happy to be alive" gays with those really broad smiles that reveal all 32 teeth came up to me and told me I was a really good dancer. Then he just stood there, expecting me to give him a lapdance for telling me something I already know. I said, "My girlfriend thinks so too," and I pointed to an Asian girl in the crowd that I've never met before.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I didn't look terrible to begin with and I've found most of the changes have been subtle. But considering how vain and narcissistic gay people are, it has definitely made a difference. Even so, the new found attention doesn't give me the satisfaction that I thought it would. I still feel as if no matter what I look like, it will never be enough. And I will eternally have another 17 pounds to go.