I Blame All This On Grindr

I don't actually have any groundbreaking new material to talk about but I'm trying to post more often and this is my last chance to squeeze one more January post in. So. 

The dating game is at a complete and utter stalemate. Even still, I can't pry myself away from playing, though I have much more pressing and productive things I could be doing like developing my biceps and studying for my federal tax exam.

Why do I even get into it if every last guy ends up a disappointment? 

Because the beginning is so sweet, when you exchange names and mutual interests. Because he tells you that you are adorable and that you should meet for coffee or drinks. Because it's so exciting to go to his apartment and watch TV in his bed with your socks still on. Because the first kiss is always electrifying to some extent, even if there's no chemistry there. Because if he doesn't call you the next day (or week), maybe he's just busy. Because when he tells you you're "adorable, but..." you can seek some solace in your cuteness. Because even though he's hurt you, you'll get over it soon enough. Ah, because the next one, surely he will be different. 

See, there are a lot of reasons.

My friend and I were on the phone today theorizing reasons why guys never seem to want to keep seeing me after the first or second date. The top three potential reasons were: I look better in pictures that I've meticulously doctored in Photoshop; I smell really, really bad; white guys will only ever respect Asians enough to treat them as casual things on the side that they can dump on a whim and not feel badly about at all.

This habit has become obsessive and it's clearly destructive to my psyche. But I feel like in some ways I've been too overstimulated (by my iPhone, obviously) so that my baseline level of excitement is impossibly high. I just want to feel something so I grasp desperately at anything that presents itself, whether I know inwardly that it's going to damage me or not. There's also a chance that I do this because I'm tired of being alone and feeling unwanted - and that last pesky bit of optimism hasn't been extinguished yet.

See, all old themes.

"I Like Having Too Many Friends"

I have a lot to say; I always do. I just feel so emotionally-exhausted that I dont know if I have the words in me these days. I'm also regular-exhausted. I have this free 3 [consecutive] day pass at the WSC but everytime I go there's a new receptionist who perpetually thinks it's my second day. I've gone 5 days in a row now. I can't feel my arms.

The picture of complete and utter loneliness that I paint around myself is not entirely true. My situation could be worse. I could be a black, lesbian Jew - I could be Aneesa from Real World Chicago. But I've done ok, working with what I've got, in the district of desperation and dismissiveness. I go on a steady stream of dates, (I'd say an average of 3 first dates a week). I went on three last Thursday alone. The problem is these dates almost always end with, "I'd be cool with messing around, but let's just be friends."

Now I don't know about YOU guys, but I don't give handjobs to my friends on the Metro. So my general reaction to these overtures is something biting like, "THIS IS NOT AMERICA'S NEXT TOP BEST FRIEND." It's insulting to be told you aren't qualified for the upper echelon of dateable guys; what about me isn't good enough for them? Since I'm dating exclusively white guys, it kinda puts me right back in San Francisco in the mid 1800s, "You're ugly. Go build me a railroad."

Somebody on OKCupid put it perfectly when he said gay guys no longer form relationships via their daily lives. Everyone's on an online website or on Grindr where the pool is seemingly limitless. They make split-second judgements without making the effort to observe any other personal qualities. In doing so, "the perfect guy" is potentially bypassed for a "total babe" who is a total nightmare. This guy is either a genius or as pathetic as I am. Perhaps both.

Ok, so let's say I get why people wouldn't necessarily want to be with me. The larger problem I'm wrestling with is its effect on me. Why does it matter? Why can't I be like the rest of these bumbling idiots, content with going on an endless string of first dates until Mr. Perfect falls right into my lap? How come I can't stick my toe into the pool without falling in and drowning?

The truth is, I notice problems with every guy I date too. Mr. Thursday was slightly effeminite, mildly arrogant, and a Republican. Mr. Friday was selfish, awkward, and had this really consicupous stain on his front tooth. Red head #1 was immature, transient, and looked like a dinosaur. Thor was Icelandic.

The difference between me and all the other men is that I search inwardly for ways I can make a relationship with an otherwise imperfect person, perfect. They, on the other hand, only look for reasons why it won't work and treat each one as a dealbreaker. Maybe it's only fed by desperation, but I feel for people, imperfections et al. White people only care about themselves - finding somebody to satisfy their needs. And so the real question becomes: is it worse to settle with somebody or grow old with nobody? 

I suppose the verbiage is still in me, I just have to dig a little deeper these days.

Reflections, Regrets, Resolutions

I've been thinking a lot about time lately. The holidays provide the perfect backdrop for my temporal affective disorder. The one, two, three combination of Christmas, New Years, and my birthday are relentless. They simultaneously remind me of how quickly the last year has passed and how slowly the time ahead of me seems to move. They emphasize how desperation can stretch for months onto a year and happiness can only last for a day, and in some cases, just a few seconds.

Christmas as a young adult is always letdown. The traditions I remember from my childhood have all been abandoned and family togetherness is contrived- merely an excuse for my parents to get me in a room with them and warn me against dating anything but an Asian girl. My sister somehow escaped this purgatory. It turns out San Francisco is just out of arm's reach. I should move there.

My parents and I went to Great Falls on the Potomac on Christmas day. Standing on the bridge above the gushing rapids, my father felt the need to unload some philosophical musings about how time is like water: it seems never ending but the water you see right now will be gone in a moment and you will never see it again. This was depressing. Then my mom made a comment about how if I ever abandon or disappoint her, she is going to jump into the falls headfirst. "How about if I jump instead," I bargained in my head.

New Years was less of a downer. I went to New York City this year; its frenetic pace and the masses of unfamiliar faces helped me forget about my "DC problems" for a few days. Also, I imagined myself as Michael Fassbender in Shame. That was fun. 

New Years Eve, at around 11pm, I text a guy that I'm seeing to wish him a happy New Year. He texts back, asking me what I'm up to. Turns out we are both in NYC, both in East Village. He doesn't want to meet up. The ball drops. And then I go home.

Birthdays are especially hard. I spend the entire year building up immense expectations that this is the one day out of the year that the people I care about will want to make me happy, that the universe will somehow allow everything to go my way, that I will feel loved. Not so. I worked all day, went to dinner with my mom (apparently after not receiving a text from this cute guy that wanted to buy me dinner- not sure if I believe him when he says this now), went home, watched Modern Family, went to bed. I don't even like Modern Family. The only thing more disappointing about the actual day is the fact that I have to wait a whole year to experience it again.

At the moment, I don't know how to feel about time. In some respects, it moves too quickly and I feel like every part of my life is out of control. In other respects, it moves too slowly and I feel like there's no passion, no excitement, nothing to live for.

In the new year, and my 23rd year of life, I've made the resolution to let go of everything behind me and strive to be a better, happier person. But aside from waking up earlier, eating less meat (interpret this however you want), and investing more in my 401k, I don't exactly have any fabulous ideas that will make me the cute, upbeat, loveable guy that I want to be. More importantly, I wonder if change really is easier to achieve now, when the "new year" concept is just an overblown celebration of the arbitrarily selected Julian calendar. WHAT DO THE ROMANS KNOW ABOUT MY LOVE LIFE? 

Maybe my dad was right. Perhaps true happiness exists only for a moment in time, and when that time passes, it's gone forever.

Can We Take Today Off the Calendar Please

It's been eight or so years since I began my "gay life," marked by the moment I realized that my adulthood would be different (read: difficult) and there was no way to deny or avoid it. I had one last girlfriend during my gay life. She wasn't really so much a girlfriend as she was an asexual beard. But we both got some sort of self-esteem boost out of our dysfunctional relationship and I hear she's doing quite well for herself now so I don't feel too bad about it in retrospect.

Despite my dutiful and supportive beard, I was miserable the first half of my gay life. I thought about what would happen if my parents and my friends found out. I worried about how I would hide my sexuality during college. I lay in bed most nights wondering, "Why me?"

My first gay relationship marked a turning point in my gay life. Today marks two years since. I remember driving home the night we started dating officially (though we were only ever official in our heads) thinking to myself, well I guess I'm pretty lucky after all.

Tralala.

In the time since my last post, I've been trying to move forward with gay life. More accurately, I've been trying to live regular life without suffering a nervous breakdown in a public place. For the most part, I've been successful, though I do tend to drag my feet and look down at the ground a lot like I'm Macy Gray in the music video for "I Try." Life is hectic, I don't know if that helps or hurts.

I still think about "it" a lot, though thinking about it at all is probably thinking about it too much. It's probably unreasonable to not care for four months and suddenly suffer a massive epiphany/stroke and start caring. A friend pointed out to me today that I tried, and he tried, and it didn't work out, so I should just let it go. She also suggested that what I really missed was intimacy and not him in particular. I hate people who are all, philosophical and insightful on Skype. I just want you to tell me my hair looks nice.

I wonder what it's like for him to love somebody new. I wonder if he thinks about me on occasion. I wonder how he can suddenly do without all the things he used to love about me. These thoughts are depressive though. For the moment, it seems like the best thing to do is to bottle up all my questions and doubts and fears inside of me in the hopes that one day I'll forget that they exist.

In truth, all of this posturing is hypocritical. I've been on a steady stream of dates since the summer. The fact that none of them has led to anything seems kind of like it's my own fault and it's certainly aligned with the kind of luck I've come to expect. 

I used to worry if being gay meant everyone in the entire world would hate me. Now I worry if it means nobody (other than my beards) will love me. And while I spent the first half of my gay life wondering, "Why me?" the second half of my gay life (this is assuming I don't make it through 2012) is mostly defined by the question, "Why not me?"

The Irony In My Life No Longer Impresses Me

I was feeling manic on Sunday night after Once Upon A Time and before Desperate Housewives so I googled "gay-friendly therapist, dc." Finding one that seemed to have a particularly sympathetic looking headshot, I sent an email urgently asking for a first consultation as soon as possible. She emailed me back the next day, "First consultations are $350." Miraculously, I felt better instantly.

It's downright prophetic that I wrote about TBA in my last post because 3 days later a friend texts me, "Do you know the new guy that TBA's dating?" I was, in fact, not aware that he was seeing somebody. This was one of those shoot-the-messenger moments. I resisted.

I suddenly felt like I was being kicked in the stomach and the back of the head, simultaneously. The guy he met right after me turned out to be somebody serious. Being the dramatic diva that I am, I sent the most awkward and ridiculous message I could have possible come up with, "Do you love him?" He said, "what?" and then a few minutes later,"yes."

I felt the kicking again. How could two people who were basically each others entire lives just move on? Well, I guess the real questions is, why did one move on and the other one didn't? It's tough to imagine all the things he used to do and say to me, he's now doing and saying to this new guy. I wonder if he makes him happier than I did and I suddenly feel this strange connection to Adele.

This question is more or less answered by the fact that TBA also came out this summer. He decided not to go to Princeton but to stay in the area for a job. I wonder if this is the work of the new guy too, getting him to do and feel things that I could not. Ultimately, I will go down in history as a footnote in TBA's little black book, the boyfriend that was always in the shadows and a little bit insane. This new one seems more real.

I was dropped, I see that now. And I also know now that anybody who says they will love you forever can wake up one day and decide that they don't anymore. Four months after the fact, I should care less than I do. Perhaps it seems like I'm only upset that he found love sooner than I did. But the truth is I'm upset because he found somebody to love and I think I'm still in love with him.

There are many more questions I would like answered. But although knowing may satisfy my curiosity, it will probably only make me feel more horribly inadequate and depressive. The best strategy here is to go back to what we were doing just a few days before, not talking to each. For me, it takes a conscious effort to not pick up my phone and tell him that I want nothing more than to fall asleep in his arms. For him, it's rather effortless. It doesn't seem to matter to him whether he contacts me or not, and when he does, he comes off surprisingly glib. Yesterday morning, out of the blue, he said to me "if you are looking for new music, the new florence + the machine album is fantastic." This might be the last thing he ever says to me and I'm always going to wonder if it was spam...

Compounded with the rest of my problems, I feel especially helpless - like I'm drowning and there is nothing for me to hold on to. People say, "just move on" like it's that utility bill sitting on my desk that I've been putting off. They say, "don't think about him" as if the new season of Top Chef, white Hyundais, Angry Birds, Fresca, Pop music, the very thought of college, and a million other things don't remind me instantly of what we were together.

I was on OKCupid tonight hoping to spark up a conversation with a rando internet freak that would somehow result in the love of my lie. I clicked on a profile that looked somewhat promising and there he was, standing in the background of this guy's profile pic. TBA was wearing a shirt we bought together, smiling.

How fucked up is that?

This Is the Part Where I Tell You I'm A Cutter and You Tell Me How To Fix Everything

I'm not really a crier. I've cried a handful of times in my adult life, mostly during episodes of Desperate Housewives and one time to make TBA stop arguing with me and hug me. Usually, I express my feelings of profound sadness through eating fatty foods or just going to bed. So it is surprising, even to me, that I came home from work today, sat in the corner of my room, and cried.

I realize it's a little bit early to be having an existential crisis being that I'm still young and there is still time to make sweeping life changes. But the very root of my frustration is that extenuating factors will keep me from making these sweeping life changes and I'm going to have to live the life I'm leading now for the next 30 years until I turn into an old gay person / cease to exist in society's eyes.

I'm adjusting poorly the real world. I can't even explain how disappointed I am in myself for choosing subsequently easier majors until I settled on one that would lead me down this career path that [I am just now realizing?] is going to drive me fucking insane. Maybe it's just the company I work for, which seems to be relegated to the smaller and more remedial projects. Maybe it's the project itself, which is indeed small in scope and remedial. Or maybe it's my boss, who can only explain concepts while making motions like he's throwing a football, and still does a shit poor job of it. 

But I'm trapped. If I leave before a year, every company on the face of the planet will think I have some form of professional leprosy. I also have to study my ass off for the next six months to finish my CPA exam or I owe my company the $3000 they paid for the useless study courses. After one year, I could always move to another company, go to law school, or maybe get my MBA. But will these things really make my life better, or provide more of the same problems? What I really want to do is start my own food truck. I do not have the capital for that.

More than my professional problems, I'm affected by personal ones. I'm lonely. My friends have scattered to far flung places like London and Seoul and Arlington. I used to eat every meal, do every workout, and drink every drink with a friend. Now, I find myself doing all those things alone. I have too many nights of quiet desperation where I don't do anything but evaluate and reevaluate my life. Just like saying a word over and over makes it lose its meaning, thinking about my professional and personal goals on an hourly basis makes them seem so much farther away and wholly unattainable.

Recently I've been thinking about TBA a lot. We did this whole awkward social tango where I successfully ignored him for about a month after our break up and then he texted me out of the blue and asked "Are we seriously never talking again?" so I relented and we talked for about a day and then he started ignoring me. I'm not sure if he was just doing that to gain the upper hand and have the last say but that's what happened. I'm pretty sure he's sitting somewhere, stroking his four cats, blissfully aware that I miss him and I am utterly incapable of starting a new relationship because every guy I go out with either doesn't remind me enough of him or reminds me too much of him.

It feels good to get some of my feelings out on virtual paper even though emoting online doesn't make anything go away. Realistically, all I can do is hold fast and try to make good life decisions. But inwardly I worry that the natural flow of "wise" life decisions is going to keep taking me further from the things I really want.

The Lease Dies Tonight

I have this roommate. 

He seemed like he was going to be white and gay and friendly and smart and considerate and funny. It turns out he is only white and gay. Apparently white and gay are not synonymous with any of the aforementioned traits; only bitchy, selfish, and... what's the word for "has really nice hair"?

I pose an example.

Every day, after he comes home from work, he frantically changes out of his suit and into some sort of hipster clothing article he bought from a thrift store for $1 or a vintage store for $100 and spends a good 15 to 30 minutes complaining about everyone he spoke to that day. Normally, I would be fine with this, but he does exactly what the people he complains about do.

I pose an example.

He takes very serious issue with a coworker who makes judgmental comments about what he eats for lunch. "I don't understand why anybody would try to impose their arbitrary food preferences on somebody else like it even matters."

Nevermind the obnoxious use of the word "arbitrary" in that sentence [like it even matters]. But the other night, he comes home, looks at me drunk-eating a sandwich, and goes, "I don't understand anybody who would buy pre-sliced and pre-packaged turkey." What does he do? Hunt, roast and slice a wild tom every time he's in the mood for a turkey club.

He also likes to preface most of his comments with the phrase, "I don't understand." As if the idiocy that is about to follow can be forgiven because it's all part of his endless quest for knowledge.

Anyway, he's a complainer. And after going on and on about how he has the worst life out of anybody on the entire planet, he takes a stab at politeness and asks, "I'm sorry, how was your day?" But at that point he isn't really interested in listening and is already thinking about J. Crew's November catalog.

One afternoon, I came home to find him dragging a sponge across the kitchen counter. It was like the only place he ever saw somebody clean was during "The Help." "I cleaned the apartment all day" he said in his best housekeeper/martyr impression. He then complained about our other roommate for never cleaning (I'm sure he complains about me when I'm not around). But the real irony is that the place looked exactly the same. White people's idea of cleaning is putting a spoon into the dishwasher and then going back to reading Gawker, eating grainy mustard, and bitching about why everyone else won't clean everything else.

And he also does this thing where he says something really obnoxious and catty like "I don't understand why anybody would watch Desperate Housewives", pauses, and then goes, "are you mad at me?" like asking how his bitchy comments make you feel makes him somehow thoughtful. FYI, just because you're paranoid about being inconsiderate does not make you considerate.

Then there are the little things: like the fact that we are fighting a war of attrition on who should by the next ream of toilet paper, and the fact that he refuses to split the cost of buying a couch from Ikea because it's "ridiculously expensive" but will buy a $200 peacoat from Zara right after work but before going to the store and spending $50 on arugula and Icelandic yogurt.

But more than all of this, it seems like he's just not a great person. He finds himself very intelligent and inquisitive and cool but everything about his life is so contrived and refuses to be disagreed with. To top it all off, he's always saying something shitty about somebody, most of the time, right after they've left the room. Sure, he tells me he's my friend to my face, but who knows what that even means coming from a white and gay person.

Perhaps it's fitting then that last night, he came home from the grocery store fuming, "Can you believe somebody at Giant told me I had no manners?"

I did, but I didn't say anything, because I'm the good roommate.