(First published at mikealvear.com)
Why do bad things happen to good people? What is my purpose in life? Why is “The View” still on the air? Most of these types of questions are best left unanswered, yet they bob in and out of our minds on a daily basis.
Being single can be a bottomless well of unanswerable questions, triggering confusion and frustration rarely seen outside of a Physics class. While in the midst of a dating dry spell, one finds themselves consumed with thoughts as to why no one wants to go out with them. Is it because of what you do for a living, where you hang out, who you know, or because you look like an Ewok? These concerns turn out to be as insignificant as a Mosque in Alabama once you actually start dating someone. That’s when the real trouble begins.
Anyone with a lick of sense will tell you that the keys to a happy relationship are simple: trust and communication. But in a way, that’s like trying to breakdown the complexities of something as confusing as organic chemistry into a sound bite. The notion of both trust and communication as being “simple” is ridiculous. In the long run (if you’re lucky to actually experience the long run), they become second nature. But on the path towards commitment they make about as much sense as Sarah Palin.
Trust is something that both attracts and disgusts us when we find ourselves at the start of a new relationship. We are drawn to the idea of having met someone that we trust, yet there’s no fun in dating someone that no one else wants. A little jealousy and confusion can be a good thing, assuming that it doesn’t turn into a situation where you find yourself camped outside of their house dressed in Army fatigues and holding a pair of binoculars. In my experience, trust seems to be something that just suddenly shows up in its true form unexpected, like Shrek’s girlfriend. You really don’t know where exactly that it came from (and it startles you), but you wind up falling in love with it.
Communication is a painful necessity in the family of body waxing and paying your taxes. You hate doing it, it’s painful and expensive, but you really have no choice. These days, what exactly constitutes communication is as abstract as a Picasso. If you don’t hear from someone for a week, yet they commented on a photo of you on Facebook, does that meet communication requirements? Are emails and text messages considered communicating? The wonderful thing about communication in 2009 is that there are dozens of avenues towards staying in touch with people that you already know and care about, but finding that perfect forum to get to know someone better can be a real pain in the ass. Plus, communication in itself can be something that you thought you wanted with an individual that you’re just getting to know, but that granted wish can turn on you like a pit bull. While communicating, they can inform you that they’re an ex-convict, a Mormon, or that they have no interest in monogamy.
Not a blessing in disguise, but a curse in disguise, dating is tough. For most single people, life is divided between wondering why you’re not dating anyone and then trying to decipher the code of that person that you just started dating. With a little luck and patience, trust and communication might suddenly appear like the Publishing Clearing House people. Hang in there. Be honest about what you want. And don’t get caught outside of his place wearing night vision goggles.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Saturday, May 30, 2009
This just in: Other states besides Caifornia have banned gay marriage!
(First published at mikealvear.com)
I logged onto Facebook today and was bombarded with invitations by friends to hit the streets in protest of California’s not overturning Proposition 8, their law that bans same-sex marriage. Noble protests, in my opinion, but misdirected, considering that neither myself nor anyone inviting me actually lives in California. This sort of logic escapes me, like storming a McDonald’s demanding a refund because Burger King got your order wrong.
I am pro-gay marriage. I don’t think it runs the risk of devaluing marriage in American society. Straight people have devalued it enough (Michael Jackson and Lisa Marie Presley, for example). I think gay marriage would be an enormous boost to a struggling economy, extremely benefiting the entertainment, real estate, and legal communities. More importantly, I think gay marriage would dramatically improve the lives of thousands of overlooked children trapped inside the broken foster care system in this country.
That being said, why aren’t gay rights activists focusing more on states where the struggle is far more complicated and unfair than it is in California? In the most populated areas of California, gay people can congregate safely and reap the benefits of basic equality granted by living in a forward-thinking state. The majority of Californians can be out at work without fear of losing their jobs. They can purchase property with no fear of discrimination. They can report hate crimes and harassment to their local police departments with full confidence that the law is on their side.
I live in what is strongly considered to be the gayest neighborhood in America. Per capita, there are supposedly more gay people in my neighborhood than even in any neighborhoods of New York City or San Francisco. We even have our own Wikipedia page outlining just how gay we are here! So every time this California gay marriage ban news hits the airwaves, the protests here in Boystown, Chicago begin. In a neighborhood where a heterosexual couple holding hands in the street catches your eye quicker than an 8 foot tall drag queen in a bedazzled onesie, is a gay rights protest really necessary? My pro-protest friends tell me that it’s merely to give the issue visibility.
There are 29 other states in the Union where gay marriage bans are written into their constitutions. That’s more than half! And the majority of these are states that arguably not even heterosexual African Americans are yet given full equality. I wonder every time I get these protest invitations not only why I’m being asked to protest a law in California when I live in Illinois, but also where the protesters were when the GLBT communities of states like Kentucky, Wisconsin, and Oregon needed them? When a law was passed in Arkansas in 2008 to ban gay adoption, which to me is a far worse crime than banning gay marriage, I didn’t receive a single email asking me for money from the Human Rights Campaign. No one in my neighborhood, for “visibility” purposes, marched from the gay bar past the gay gym, rallying together outside of the gay coffee shop.
During the Civil Rights Movement, it was decided that the fight for equality would begin at ground zero, even though most states still had laws restricting the rights of African Americans (yes, even the northern states!). The south would be where the battle would be more visible and more effective. Why aren’t gay rights activists using that proven method? It turned out to be quite effective, in case you hadn’t heard, because not even fifty years later we have an African American President.
California will come around. Californians are quite progressive. It’s a state that tolerates 60 year old women with pulled back faces and the store-bought boobs of a teenager. The gay community in San Francisco alone has more political pull than John McCain. How long do you think they’ll actually stand for prejudice? Why not focus more on rallying around the gay people of Utah, Oklahoma, or Mississippi, for example? Those are some protests that I’d get up off of the couch for.
I logged onto Facebook today and was bombarded with invitations by friends to hit the streets in protest of California’s not overturning Proposition 8, their law that bans same-sex marriage. Noble protests, in my opinion, but misdirected, considering that neither myself nor anyone inviting me actually lives in California. This sort of logic escapes me, like storming a McDonald’s demanding a refund because Burger King got your order wrong.
I am pro-gay marriage. I don’t think it runs the risk of devaluing marriage in American society. Straight people have devalued it enough (Michael Jackson and Lisa Marie Presley, for example). I think gay marriage would be an enormous boost to a struggling economy, extremely benefiting the entertainment, real estate, and legal communities. More importantly, I think gay marriage would dramatically improve the lives of thousands of overlooked children trapped inside the broken foster care system in this country.
That being said, why aren’t gay rights activists focusing more on states where the struggle is far more complicated and unfair than it is in California? In the most populated areas of California, gay people can congregate safely and reap the benefits of basic equality granted by living in a forward-thinking state. The majority of Californians can be out at work without fear of losing their jobs. They can purchase property with no fear of discrimination. They can report hate crimes and harassment to their local police departments with full confidence that the law is on their side.
I live in what is strongly considered to be the gayest neighborhood in America. Per capita, there are supposedly more gay people in my neighborhood than even in any neighborhoods of New York City or San Francisco. We even have our own Wikipedia page outlining just how gay we are here! So every time this California gay marriage ban news hits the airwaves, the protests here in Boystown, Chicago begin. In a neighborhood where a heterosexual couple holding hands in the street catches your eye quicker than an 8 foot tall drag queen in a bedazzled onesie, is a gay rights protest really necessary? My pro-protest friends tell me that it’s merely to give the issue visibility.
There are 29 other states in the Union where gay marriage bans are written into their constitutions. That’s more than half! And the majority of these are states that arguably not even heterosexual African Americans are yet given full equality. I wonder every time I get these protest invitations not only why I’m being asked to protest a law in California when I live in Illinois, but also where the protesters were when the GLBT communities of states like Kentucky, Wisconsin, and Oregon needed them? When a law was passed in Arkansas in 2008 to ban gay adoption, which to me is a far worse crime than banning gay marriage, I didn’t receive a single email asking me for money from the Human Rights Campaign. No one in my neighborhood, for “visibility” purposes, marched from the gay bar past the gay gym, rallying together outside of the gay coffee shop.
During the Civil Rights Movement, it was decided that the fight for equality would begin at ground zero, even though most states still had laws restricting the rights of African Americans (yes, even the northern states!). The south would be where the battle would be more visible and more effective. Why aren’t gay rights activists using that proven method? It turned out to be quite effective, in case you hadn’t heard, because not even fifty years later we have an African American President.
California will come around. Californians are quite progressive. It’s a state that tolerates 60 year old women with pulled back faces and the store-bought boobs of a teenager. The gay community in San Francisco alone has more political pull than John McCain. How long do you think they’ll actually stand for prejudice? Why not focus more on rallying around the gay people of Utah, Oklahoma, or Mississippi, for example? Those are some protests that I’d get up off of the couch for.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Am I an alcoholic or am I just single?
(First published at mikealvear.com)
Gay men by nature are more judgmental than Christian Fundamentalists and the Taliban combined. Having spent over half of my life immersed within the culture, like an abused spouse with no real intentions of walking away, I’ve simply gotten used to it. You quickly adapt to what is acceptable dress and music choices. But the one aspect of gay life that still eludes me, leaving me as mesmerized as Jane Goodall observing a pack of wild monkeys, is the appropriateness of how often one goes to the gay bar.
It would appear that a line has been drawn in the sand. On one side are the gays that would rather vacation in liberal, free-thinking West Virginia before they’d step foot into a gay bar. On the other side are the gays that can tell you the drink specials at any bar on any night and which drag queen is hosting what and where. The two rarely cross paths, obviously, but when they do, who exactly has the upper hand in judging the other?
Recently a friend of mine went out on a date with someone whom he’d met at the gym. Being that he is a friend of mine, he happens to be one of the gays that goes out, like a lot. During the unavoidable round of questions and answers, his date asked him how often he goes to the gay bars. Not knowing what sort of response was in order, he stumbled. He didn’t want to come across as a drunk, but he also didn’t want to withhold critical information that would inevitably resurface if the relationship moved forward.
I’ve had similar experiences. I’ve met up for drinks with guys I met online, at “this little place I know of,” only to have them recoil in horror when they realize that I’m on a first-name basis with the door guy and that my paycheck is directly deposited there. I’ve chatted up guys in bars who “hate going out, but my friends drug me here,” only to watch their interest vanish when they overhear the bartender invite me to the staff Christmas party.
I think that most of the judgment comes from the assumption that going out equates to sleeping around, which is an extremely weak argument. Stepping foot into a gay bar doesn’t necessarily mean that you’re open and ready for a one-night stand. Some of the most sexually adventurous of my friends never go out. You shouldn’t judge someone as being a slut for going to the gay bar. But if you haven’t logged off of Manhunt since 2006 and get frequent-customer discounts at the local bath house, that’s another story.
Given, I have been known to enjoy a cocktail or ten on occasion, but going out to me is more than getting tanked and getting laid. Not only is it something that my friends and I enjoy doing, but it’s also a very handy avenue for meeting single men. I’m a horrible online dater. I have the attention span of a gnat and photograph worse than Britney Spear’s crotch, so I rarely have success meeting guys through that medium. I participate in very few extra-curricular activities that might expose me to a mate (read: zero), so I don’t have many options for meeting someone. I actually prefer to meet men the old fashioned way: drunk in a bar.
Going out should be looked upon with the same type of respect that we use in judging any behavior that doesn’t mirror our own. It may not be for you, but live and let live.
Let’s drink!
Gay men by nature are more judgmental than Christian Fundamentalists and the Taliban combined. Having spent over half of my life immersed within the culture, like an abused spouse with no real intentions of walking away, I’ve simply gotten used to it. You quickly adapt to what is acceptable dress and music choices. But the one aspect of gay life that still eludes me, leaving me as mesmerized as Jane Goodall observing a pack of wild monkeys, is the appropriateness of how often one goes to the gay bar.
It would appear that a line has been drawn in the sand. On one side are the gays that would rather vacation in liberal, free-thinking West Virginia before they’d step foot into a gay bar. On the other side are the gays that can tell you the drink specials at any bar on any night and which drag queen is hosting what and where. The two rarely cross paths, obviously, but when they do, who exactly has the upper hand in judging the other?
Recently a friend of mine went out on a date with someone whom he’d met at the gym. Being that he is a friend of mine, he happens to be one of the gays that goes out, like a lot. During the unavoidable round of questions and answers, his date asked him how often he goes to the gay bars. Not knowing what sort of response was in order, he stumbled. He didn’t want to come across as a drunk, but he also didn’t want to withhold critical information that would inevitably resurface if the relationship moved forward.
I’ve had similar experiences. I’ve met up for drinks with guys I met online, at “this little place I know of,” only to have them recoil in horror when they realize that I’m on a first-name basis with the door guy and that my paycheck is directly deposited there. I’ve chatted up guys in bars who “hate going out, but my friends drug me here,” only to watch their interest vanish when they overhear the bartender invite me to the staff Christmas party.
I think that most of the judgment comes from the assumption that going out equates to sleeping around, which is an extremely weak argument. Stepping foot into a gay bar doesn’t necessarily mean that you’re open and ready for a one-night stand. Some of the most sexually adventurous of my friends never go out. You shouldn’t judge someone as being a slut for going to the gay bar. But if you haven’t logged off of Manhunt since 2006 and get frequent-customer discounts at the local bath house, that’s another story.
Given, I have been known to enjoy a cocktail or ten on occasion, but going out to me is more than getting tanked and getting laid. Not only is it something that my friends and I enjoy doing, but it’s also a very handy avenue for meeting single men. I’m a horrible online dater. I have the attention span of a gnat and photograph worse than Britney Spear’s crotch, so I rarely have success meeting guys through that medium. I participate in very few extra-curricular activities that might expose me to a mate (read: zero), so I don’t have many options for meeting someone. I actually prefer to meet men the old fashioned way: drunk in a bar.
Going out should be looked upon with the same type of respect that we use in judging any behavior that doesn’t mirror our own. It may not be for you, but live and let live.
Let’s drink!
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monster.com and Match.com. 1 in the same.
(First published at mikealvear.com)
Like way too many people in this ravished economy, I have recently found myself unemployed and looking for a job. My resume sits patiently on dozens of online job boards, waiting for any part of it to catch someone’s eye. Daily I scour employment sites, trying to find the perfect marriage of a job and my skill level. The entire process seems oddly familiar to me, the constant hope that with the click of a mouse I’ll stumble upon a suitable match. I check my email dozens of times a day, hoping to have heard back from a company I’ve contacted. Empty mailboxes are sober reminders of rejection. I’m openly advertising that I want something, with very little promise of reward. It occurred to me recently after reviewing my employment profile for the seventh time in one day, trying to see my work history through the eyes of a stranger, that I’m not only looking for a job, I’m online dating.
It’s rough putting yourself out there. Gone are the days when to avoid rejection we simply didn’t strike up a conversation with the gorgeous underwear model standing next to us in a bar. Now we willfully put up pictures of ourselves, slave over our online bios, and launch our dignity off into cyberspace for all the world to see. With the internet, even the most timid of us becomes a titan of ego. With what basically breaks down to be a billboard of ourselves, we submit our dating profiles to a cruel and judgmental public. We become marketing geniuses. We find just the right picture from just the right angle with just the right lighting. Then we sit back and wait for the customers to come to us. And just like with any failed business plan, if the strategy doesn’t generate any foot traffic, we rework our efforts.
As if combing over our products with a fine tooth comb wasn’t trouble enough, along came Facebook. Facebook has a feature to which your friends can tag you in photos, meaning that if someone snaps a picture of you drunk out of your mind, topless, moments before you vomit all over the coffee table, without your consent that Kodak moment can wind up on your online profile. In one instant, Facebook can destroy your brand. You are able to remove the unwanted photo, but you have to be logged in to do so. You can be innocently away from your computer, grocery shopping, giving the dog a bath, and return to discover that your life’s work has been destroyed by a bad picture. Suddenly your Match.com boyfriend whom you’ve yet to meet and have befriended on Facebook falls off the map.
Another striking comparison between the online job search and the online dating scene is that of the half-hearted attempt at contact. When you first begin either of the two, you shoot for the stars! No one is out of your league! The Italian plastic surgeon millionaire with a full head of gorgeous hair? Sure! I’ll send him a wink! CEO for a Fortune 500 company? Sure I only have a Journalism degree and manage money worse than Enron, but why not? But as your email inbox sits barren, over time you change course. Divorced, overweight, and unemployed BUT he also likes music? I’ll give it a shot! The local bathhouse is hiring guys to hose down the spooge on the floor? Why not? It’ll get me out the house.
Obama has promised to fix the current employment crisis, but what exactly does he have planned to fix the dating crisis?
Like way too many people in this ravished economy, I have recently found myself unemployed and looking for a job. My resume sits patiently on dozens of online job boards, waiting for any part of it to catch someone’s eye. Daily I scour employment sites, trying to find the perfect marriage of a job and my skill level. The entire process seems oddly familiar to me, the constant hope that with the click of a mouse I’ll stumble upon a suitable match. I check my email dozens of times a day, hoping to have heard back from a company I’ve contacted. Empty mailboxes are sober reminders of rejection. I’m openly advertising that I want something, with very little promise of reward. It occurred to me recently after reviewing my employment profile for the seventh time in one day, trying to see my work history through the eyes of a stranger, that I’m not only looking for a job, I’m online dating.
It’s rough putting yourself out there. Gone are the days when to avoid rejection we simply didn’t strike up a conversation with the gorgeous underwear model standing next to us in a bar. Now we willfully put up pictures of ourselves, slave over our online bios, and launch our dignity off into cyberspace for all the world to see. With the internet, even the most timid of us becomes a titan of ego. With what basically breaks down to be a billboard of ourselves, we submit our dating profiles to a cruel and judgmental public. We become marketing geniuses. We find just the right picture from just the right angle with just the right lighting. Then we sit back and wait for the customers to come to us. And just like with any failed business plan, if the strategy doesn’t generate any foot traffic, we rework our efforts.
As if combing over our products with a fine tooth comb wasn’t trouble enough, along came Facebook. Facebook has a feature to which your friends can tag you in photos, meaning that if someone snaps a picture of you drunk out of your mind, topless, moments before you vomit all over the coffee table, without your consent that Kodak moment can wind up on your online profile. In one instant, Facebook can destroy your brand. You are able to remove the unwanted photo, but you have to be logged in to do so. You can be innocently away from your computer, grocery shopping, giving the dog a bath, and return to discover that your life’s work has been destroyed by a bad picture. Suddenly your Match.com boyfriend whom you’ve yet to meet and have befriended on Facebook falls off the map.
Another striking comparison between the online job search and the online dating scene is that of the half-hearted attempt at contact. When you first begin either of the two, you shoot for the stars! No one is out of your league! The Italian plastic surgeon millionaire with a full head of gorgeous hair? Sure! I’ll send him a wink! CEO for a Fortune 500 company? Sure I only have a Journalism degree and manage money worse than Enron, but why not? But as your email inbox sits barren, over time you change course. Divorced, overweight, and unemployed BUT he also likes music? I’ll give it a shot! The local bathhouse is hiring guys to hose down the spooge on the floor? Why not? It’ll get me out the house.
Obama has promised to fix the current employment crisis, but what exactly does he have planned to fix the dating crisis?
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Married Marys.
(First published at mikealvear.com)
Despite having been out and proud for almost fifteen years, I am at constant odds with my fellow gays and bleeding-heart liberals over holy homo matrimony. I understand that gay couples are denied the financial and legal perks that come with the legalized sanctity of marriage. However, these perks come at a cost. I’m still not convinced that most gay people actually get what gay marriage would mean not only to our community, but to their relationships. I’ve compiled a short list of activities that will no longer be acceptable once the gays are able to start filing joint tax returns.
A. No more three ways. Ever! Not even when you’re both really drunk, out of town, and the hot bartender asks where your hotel is. Remember growing up, how your parents never came back after a night out with some random person? Exactly.
B. No more moving at the speed of light. If you connect with someone that you’ve met at a softball game or sex party, you cannot make copies of your house keys for them within the week. Think about all of the straight weddings you’ve been to, how the couples knew each other since high school or college. Just because someone swallowed on the first date or can make your ex jealous does not necessarily make them marriage material. Clearly, when the Iowa Supreme Court deliberated on gay marriage, they did not take that into account.
C. No more of this open relationship crap. Sure, you and your partner may have a “Don’t ask, don’t tell” policy, but once gay marriage is legal, that policy will be known by two new names: “adultery” and “goodbye, half of my shit.” Even if you two have an understanding, that agreement won’t mean squat when they start planning to divorce you and hire a private investigator to follow you around. Judges in divorce cases don’t care about open relationships. They care about granting people alimony.
D. No more internet trolling. I was once working on a Saturday when the cops came in and confiscated a straight male co-worker’s computer. Apparently, he’d been using his work computer to meet women on Match.com. Needless to say, his wife, the mother of his children, did not approve and procured herself a court order proving that her husband was cheating. This means no more faceless body shots splattered all over Manhunt. Actually, if gay marriage is legalized, Manhunt should remove the “Open Relationship” option from their profiles for liability purposes.
I realize that many heterosexual couples also have less than traditional relationships (Hollywood actors, polygamist cult members, the Clintons). But I’d venture to say that in a random sampling of gay couples and straight couples the gay couples will outshine the straight ones in dysfunction 2 to 1. We homosexuals should think long and hard about what we are willing to sacrifice for marriage equality. Monogamy is not easy. And failure at monogamy, within the boundaries of marriage, is punishable by law!
(The author must disclose that he hasn’t had a boyfriend in over a year and is admittedly jealous of gay couples)
Despite having been out and proud for almost fifteen years, I am at constant odds with my fellow gays and bleeding-heart liberals over holy homo matrimony. I understand that gay couples are denied the financial and legal perks that come with the legalized sanctity of marriage. However, these perks come at a cost. I’m still not convinced that most gay people actually get what gay marriage would mean not only to our community, but to their relationships. I’ve compiled a short list of activities that will no longer be acceptable once the gays are able to start filing joint tax returns.
A. No more three ways. Ever! Not even when you’re both really drunk, out of town, and the hot bartender asks where your hotel is. Remember growing up, how your parents never came back after a night out with some random person? Exactly.
B. No more moving at the speed of light. If you connect with someone that you’ve met at a softball game or sex party, you cannot make copies of your house keys for them within the week. Think about all of the straight weddings you’ve been to, how the couples knew each other since high school or college. Just because someone swallowed on the first date or can make your ex jealous does not necessarily make them marriage material. Clearly, when the Iowa Supreme Court deliberated on gay marriage, they did not take that into account.
C. No more of this open relationship crap. Sure, you and your partner may have a “Don’t ask, don’t tell” policy, but once gay marriage is legal, that policy will be known by two new names: “adultery” and “goodbye, half of my shit.” Even if you two have an understanding, that agreement won’t mean squat when they start planning to divorce you and hire a private investigator to follow you around. Judges in divorce cases don’t care about open relationships. They care about granting people alimony.
D. No more internet trolling. I was once working on a Saturday when the cops came in and confiscated a straight male co-worker’s computer. Apparently, he’d been using his work computer to meet women on Match.com. Needless to say, his wife, the mother of his children, did not approve and procured herself a court order proving that her husband was cheating. This means no more faceless body shots splattered all over Manhunt. Actually, if gay marriage is legalized, Manhunt should remove the “Open Relationship” option from their profiles for liability purposes.
I realize that many heterosexual couples also have less than traditional relationships (Hollywood actors, polygamist cult members, the Clintons). But I’d venture to say that in a random sampling of gay couples and straight couples the gay couples will outshine the straight ones in dysfunction 2 to 1. We homosexuals should think long and hard about what we are willing to sacrifice for marriage equality. Monogamy is not easy. And failure at monogamy, within the boundaries of marriage, is punishable by law!
(The author must disclose that he hasn’t had a boyfriend in over a year and is admittedly jealous of gay couples)
Friday, April 3, 2009
'Tis the season.
(First published at mikealvear.com)
Growing up we always had dachshunds. My mother was partial to the females because they wouldn’t hike their legs and mark all the furniture. They were such cute, fun, caring animals, playful and dedicated to us. Until they went into heat.
Overnight, our dogs would lose interest in playing fetch or chasing us around the yard. They had one thing on their minds as they walked around in a daze. They wanted to get laid. And they wanted it bad.
Everything made them horny. There was no avoiding it. Even pats on their backs would send them into a frenzy, whining and grinding their butts against your leg. No stuffed toy was safe in our house when the dogs were “in season.” Any unattended dolls or teddy bears would be violated like Jodie Foster in “The Accused.” Care Bears, ALF dolls, and Cabbage Patch Kids were used up and thrown out like street whores. Our adorable and loving pets transformed from Mother Theresas into man-eating Paris Hiltons right before our eyes.
That always stuck with me, how at just the thought of sex some creatures will completely change. Knowing this better prepared me for life as a man, particularly for life as a gay man.
I am famous for thinking up ridiculous pick-up lines and using them on men in bars, anticipating nothing from the effort except big laughs from my friends. For example:
- “Congratulations,” you tell a guy. “For what?” he asks. “Because,” you coolly respond, “I am attracted to you.”
- “Hey, handsome. I recorded tonight’s all-new ‘Ghost Whisperer.’ What do you say you and I get out of here and go watch it?”
Recently, on a random Sunday afternoon, a champagne brunch turned into a pub crawl and by 4:30 in the afternoon I was drunker than the time I fell into the Christmas tree at a holiday party. I was in the throws of a long sex drought and found myself behaving like my randy pets from yesteryear. Given my fondness for awkward pick-up lines, to every guy that I’d rub against I’d say, “Pardon me. I’m in heat. Don’t mind me. I’m just in season.”
I went home alone that day.
Men can also be in relationship heat. This is when a guy craves a boyfriend more than he craves banging hot bartenders, his trainer at the gym, booty calls, etc… Here in Chicago, many gays go into relationship season just as summer starts to fade. As the temperature drops, so does attendance at the boy bars. Packing on winter weight and wanting to stay inside when the wind chill falls below zero, wild nights out hitting on out-of-towners become romantic evenings curled up with that special someone watching movies under warm blankets. As the seasons change in weather, so do the seasons of men. No longer in relationship heat, they move on. Always be cautious when entering into a relationship that starts on the outskirts of summer. You could merely be an avoidance from their trying to look cute while cruising for guys in ill-fitting winter sweaters. A man who loves you in a crowd of 500,000 half-naked gay guys during a summer Pride Parade is a man who will love you forever.
Everyone’s at nature’s mercy. Whether it’s wild monkey sex or a boyfriend, when we need it, we need it. We can only hope to stay one step ahead of our instincts. Do you like them because you like them? Or do you just want to hibernate for the winter? Or do you just need to get laid really, really bad? You know, like my dachshunds.
Growing up we always had dachshunds. My mother was partial to the females because they wouldn’t hike their legs and mark all the furniture. They were such cute, fun, caring animals, playful and dedicated to us. Until they went into heat.
Overnight, our dogs would lose interest in playing fetch or chasing us around the yard. They had one thing on their minds as they walked around in a daze. They wanted to get laid. And they wanted it bad.
Everything made them horny. There was no avoiding it. Even pats on their backs would send them into a frenzy, whining and grinding their butts against your leg. No stuffed toy was safe in our house when the dogs were “in season.” Any unattended dolls or teddy bears would be violated like Jodie Foster in “The Accused.” Care Bears, ALF dolls, and Cabbage Patch Kids were used up and thrown out like street whores. Our adorable and loving pets transformed from Mother Theresas into man-eating Paris Hiltons right before our eyes.
That always stuck with me, how at just the thought of sex some creatures will completely change. Knowing this better prepared me for life as a man, particularly for life as a gay man.
I am famous for thinking up ridiculous pick-up lines and using them on men in bars, anticipating nothing from the effort except big laughs from my friends. For example:
- “Congratulations,” you tell a guy. “For what?” he asks. “Because,” you coolly respond, “I am attracted to you.”
- “Hey, handsome. I recorded tonight’s all-new ‘Ghost Whisperer.’ What do you say you and I get out of here and go watch it?”
Recently, on a random Sunday afternoon, a champagne brunch turned into a pub crawl and by 4:30 in the afternoon I was drunker than the time I fell into the Christmas tree at a holiday party. I was in the throws of a long sex drought and found myself behaving like my randy pets from yesteryear. Given my fondness for awkward pick-up lines, to every guy that I’d rub against I’d say, “Pardon me. I’m in heat. Don’t mind me. I’m just in season.”
I went home alone that day.
Men can also be in relationship heat. This is when a guy craves a boyfriend more than he craves banging hot bartenders, his trainer at the gym, booty calls, etc… Here in Chicago, many gays go into relationship season just as summer starts to fade. As the temperature drops, so does attendance at the boy bars. Packing on winter weight and wanting to stay inside when the wind chill falls below zero, wild nights out hitting on out-of-towners become romantic evenings curled up with that special someone watching movies under warm blankets. As the seasons change in weather, so do the seasons of men. No longer in relationship heat, they move on. Always be cautious when entering into a relationship that starts on the outskirts of summer. You could merely be an avoidance from their trying to look cute while cruising for guys in ill-fitting winter sweaters. A man who loves you in a crowd of 500,000 half-naked gay guys during a summer Pride Parade is a man who will love you forever.
Everyone’s at nature’s mercy. Whether it’s wild monkey sex or a boyfriend, when we need it, we need it. We can only hope to stay one step ahead of our instincts. Do you like them because you like them? Or do you just want to hibernate for the winter? Or do you just need to get laid really, really bad? You know, like my dachshunds.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
I don't recall.
(First published at mikealvear.com)
I’ve heard that the city in which I live, Chicago, has the most gay people per capita than any other city in America. Then why, I often wonder, despite my living in this vast gay wonderland, do I seemingly run into the same douche bag ex-boyfriend everywhere that I go?
I have never experienced a “good” break up. I have friends who are on speaking terms with their ex’s, and I observe these situations with the same curiosity I’d exhibit were I to stumble upon two aliens having sex. What the hell is going on? How do you do that? Generally, a break up is caused by someone wanting to rid their everyday lives of someone else. Break ups are rarely mutual decisions. What I have never understood is the level of maturity required to forgive someone who has decided that they would rather risk dying alone than contend with you on a daily basis.
I hope for a world that when a person wrongs you, they cease to exist. I don’t want to see their names pop up in my phone. I don’t want to read their Facebook updates. I don’t want to see them walking down the street. I want them to vanish into thin air, destroying all evidence of their having ever existed. This clearly has not happened to my aforementioned ex. I ran into him the day after Valentine’s Day and, in an experience that I can only assume was as comfortable as water boarding, listened to him talk about him and his new boyfriend’s romantic evening together. What did I do for Valentine’s Day? I got blind drunk at a lesbian bar.
Chicago may be big, but it clearly isn’t big enough.
Scientists in Amsterdam have begun experimenting with a common blood pressure medication that has exhibited signs of helping individuals forget trauma and fear, similar to the storyline in the movie “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.” Put me in a cage, feed me cheese, and call me a lab rat. I want in on this research.
Joy washes over me at the thought of living in a world where I have no recollections of this ex or how he ripped out my heart and self-esteem and fed them both to wild dogs. Gone would be the nights when, despite looking and feeling great, I suddenly find myself trying to escape through a bathroom window because he and his new boyfriend were spotted coming into the bar. I could face the world free from this constant fear of seeing him and going from confident and funny to beaten and broken in the blink of an eye.
“Better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.” I disagree with that. If I want to learn from my mistakes and grow as a person, I don’t need to be dumped. I can simply revisit some of my fashion choices from the mid 90s. When you’re able to look back on a relationship and realize that you didn’t do anything wrong except openly and honestly love someone, then there’s really not much else to be learned from the experience besides the fact that life is cruel, random, and out to destroy you. That’s not really the type of life lesson I care to learn.
So Chicago’s gay population either needs to get even bigger or I need to jet off to Amsterdam and get in on that study. I’m getting just about as sick of looking at this ex everywhere that I go as, well, he got sick of looking at me.
I’ve heard that the city in which I live, Chicago, has the most gay people per capita than any other city in America. Then why, I often wonder, despite my living in this vast gay wonderland, do I seemingly run into the same douche bag ex-boyfriend everywhere that I go?
I have never experienced a “good” break up. I have friends who are on speaking terms with their ex’s, and I observe these situations with the same curiosity I’d exhibit were I to stumble upon two aliens having sex. What the hell is going on? How do you do that? Generally, a break up is caused by someone wanting to rid their everyday lives of someone else. Break ups are rarely mutual decisions. What I have never understood is the level of maturity required to forgive someone who has decided that they would rather risk dying alone than contend with you on a daily basis.
I hope for a world that when a person wrongs you, they cease to exist. I don’t want to see their names pop up in my phone. I don’t want to read their Facebook updates. I don’t want to see them walking down the street. I want them to vanish into thin air, destroying all evidence of their having ever existed. This clearly has not happened to my aforementioned ex. I ran into him the day after Valentine’s Day and, in an experience that I can only assume was as comfortable as water boarding, listened to him talk about him and his new boyfriend’s romantic evening together. What did I do for Valentine’s Day? I got blind drunk at a lesbian bar.
Chicago may be big, but it clearly isn’t big enough.
Scientists in Amsterdam have begun experimenting with a common blood pressure medication that has exhibited signs of helping individuals forget trauma and fear, similar to the storyline in the movie “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.” Put me in a cage, feed me cheese, and call me a lab rat. I want in on this research.
Joy washes over me at the thought of living in a world where I have no recollections of this ex or how he ripped out my heart and self-esteem and fed them both to wild dogs. Gone would be the nights when, despite looking and feeling great, I suddenly find myself trying to escape through a bathroom window because he and his new boyfriend were spotted coming into the bar. I could face the world free from this constant fear of seeing him and going from confident and funny to beaten and broken in the blink of an eye.
“Better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.” I disagree with that. If I want to learn from my mistakes and grow as a person, I don’t need to be dumped. I can simply revisit some of my fashion choices from the mid 90s. When you’re able to look back on a relationship and realize that you didn’t do anything wrong except openly and honestly love someone, then there’s really not much else to be learned from the experience besides the fact that life is cruel, random, and out to destroy you. That’s not really the type of life lesson I care to learn.
So Chicago’s gay population either needs to get even bigger or I need to jet off to Amsterdam and get in on that study. I’m getting just about as sick of looking at this ex everywhere that I go as, well, he got sick of looking at me.
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