Month: March 2015

Sunday, October 27th, 2013 (Part 2)

On the day of the party, I had volunteered to help Amber set up her apartment beforehand. So I headed down early on the bus. As I rode the bus down I thought about Andy, the guy I’d hooked up with a couple of years ago and who I had run into randomly the weekend before. I wanted to see him again but had waited all week to ask him out.

Anxiously, I typed a message to him, asking him if he wanted to get drinks sometime, and sent it off into the ether, stowing my phone so I wouldn’t have to see his response (or lack thereof).

I’m so bad about this. I always get so anxious when I text boys. And I refuse to look at my phone, turning it on silent so that I won’t know if a message has come or not. It’s gives me a reason to stay hopeful, even though I’m super pessimistic when it comes to guys and them liking me back.  Like if the phone has its ringer on, I’ll know that there hasn’t been a response. But with it on silent, I can stay optimistic and check after an hour or so. It’s silly, I know. But it helps somehow. (I’ve always been this way. It’s not something new since you broke up with me, so don’t worry that you’ve broken my self-confidence.)

When I got to Amber’s, I hadn’t gotten a reply from Andy. I figured that I’d give it some time. I was really anxious about it. (Like when was the last time that I’d asked someone out for drinks? You? more than a year and a half ago?) I had plenty to do to keep myself occupied, though.

Amber has this amazing (and expensive) carpet that she wasn’t about to have people spilling on, so that was our first order of business. We rolled it up and stowed it in Scott’s room. Scott was out of town, so we were just going to let his room be a closet of sorts for the evening. We threw the rug in there and then positioned a coat rack in front of his closed door, hoping that would dissuade anyone from going in there.

Amber, the super crafty and design-y girl that she is, had bought a bunch of Halloween decorations and we started hanging those up. She’d also decided to put up a photo backdrop for all of us to take pictures in front of. She had this heavy purple curtain that we covered with fake cobwebs and a plush spider. It ended up looking great, another of Amber’s brilliant decorating ideas.  We took turns posing in front of it to make sure that it turned out alright.

After about an hour, the apartment was set up and looked amazing. Amber and I started putting on our costumes. She was an amazing Carmen Miranda and I looked pretty sickening in my Robyn get-up. We took pictures and started drinking and shortly after people began arriving.

It was all of our friends, and some of Amber’s friends who I didn’t know. But that didn’t matter. It was probably the best Halloween party I’ve ever been to.

At some point after the party had started, I checked my phone again. Still no response from Andy. This was hours after I had sent the initial text. I was starting to realize that Andy was a lost cause. I poured myself another drink and tried to put my disappointment behind me.

At about that time David arrived with a friend of his and Amber’s who I hadn’t met. I saw him out of the corner of my eye and got a little jolt of excitement. I was in the middle of a conversation, though, and figured that I’d talk to him later in the night.

As the party continued, it all kind of blurred together — a whirlwind of colors and lights and costumes. It got to be hot as hell in Amber’s apartment, all of those bodies creating this unbearable heat. I camped out in the kitchen where there was an open window and tried my best to stay cool as I drank and drank and drank. The liquor was really starting to go to my head. There was a haziness around everything. The dim lighting, the heat, my drunken self, everyone in costumes…there was an unreality to it all. I kept coming in and out of memory, remembering faces but never conversations.

And then, as if it had happened in the blink of an eye, the party began winding down. People were starting to head out. I still hadn’t heard back from Andy, and I hadn’t spoken to David. He’d disappeared shortly after arriving, and I figured that he must have left for another party without me noticing. But then, he and the friend he’d come with emerged from Scott’s closed off room. Apparently they’d been camped out in there for most of the night talking about God knows what.

At this point in the night, though, I was ready to go home. Everyone was going out to a bar, but I knew that I was too drunk and tired to do that. I needed about a gallon of water and my bed. Tonight was not the night to talk to David. I had missed another opportunity.

As I headed home in a cab, I checked my phone one last time — no response — and  felt disappointed. It had been an amazingly fun night, just not what I had expected on the boy front. It’s funny how you can be so excited about something and then feel so disappointed so quickly after.

That’s Halloween 2013, though. It was a great party, great costume, spent with great friends…and yet it still had it’s disappointing moments. Why do boys (or the lack of them) have so much pull over my life?


Sunday, October 27th, 2013 (Part 1)

Remember how I told you about how I was feeling so hopeful earlier this week? Well, forget about all that. Today I’m feeling nothing but hungover disappointment and hopelessness. Funny how things can change so quickly. Let me back up for you.

Last night was Halloween. Well, not actually Halloween. But the 31st is in the middle of the week this year, so everyone celebrated last night. We’ll probably all celebrate again come Thursday. Which is nice. More chances to wear that costume I spent so much time working on this week.

I’ve never really done Halloween big in the past. You know that I’m not a fan of going out on these drinking holiday nights (like St Patrick’s Day, New Year’s Eve, Fourth of July, etc). Bars are always overpriced and super crowded. You can’t stand anywhere without having ten people pressing in on you and breathing their hot, stinky drunk fumes down your neck. And getting to the bar to order a drink is nearly impossible. Then the nightmare of getting home is just unbearable…

But my friend Amber was having a house party and inviting all of our friends over. House parties I can do. Especially when I’m not the one hosting. I got right to work coming up with a costume. (I was not going to have a repeat of our Halloween a couple of years ago. We had waited until the last minute to decide to go out and had gone as Thing 1 and Thing 2, costumes we made day-of that were half-assed if anything and not very cute, especially since we’re both pretty creative gays.) This year I was going to do it right. I was going to plan ahead and go as Robin, boy wonder. Not a super original costume, especially for the gays, but I already owned a green Speedo, and my legs were looking fierce. That was like half the costume right there.

My idea changed, though, a week before the party. I was talking with Amber one day, telling her about my costume idea and she got confused, thinking I was going as Robyn, the Swedish pop singer and gay spirit animal.

You’ll agree, that’s a WAY better idea. So now I was going to be Robyn. It would take a little more time. Require a few more supplies and a trip to Michaels. Also some actual crafting skills. But I certainly had the free time to work on it and I was excited about it. A little DIY never hurt anybody.

I actually figured out the construction of the costume pretty quickly. I decided to re-create her look from the Call Your Girlfriend Video. I ordered some white running tights online and painted them all these different bright colors. I bought a blonde bob wig and had my roommate cut it down for me. (There was fake hair everywhere!) I found this really amazing yarn that had a hairlike texture to it and got a hot glue gun and went to town on a T-shirt, draping and gluing the yarn over every bit of the shirt. I spent days with that glue gun, burning my fingers over and over again. Ruining my lower back as I leaned over and glued on the floor for hours at a time.

But when it was all said and done, I looked pretty amazing. There’s nothing like a DIY project done right.

Wednesday, October 23rd, 2013

Ever since you broke up with me I’ve felt super down about my prospects. At least in the male department. You’re with someone for a year and a half and you think things are going well and you get comfortable with the idea of dating just one person, of being with him for the rest of your life.

This wasn’t how I felt at first. I certainly wasn’t looking for a future husband when I met you. I was only twenty-five at the time. I had come out late and dated two boys seriously. I had only been single and living in New York City for like eight months when we went on our first date. That hadn’t left me with much time to experience all that I wanted to of dating and sex. I was like a kid who loved Baskin-Robbins but had only gotten to try eight of the thirty-one possible flavors. Did I really want to settle for having chocolate chip cookie dough the rest of my life when I still hadn’t gotten a chance to try rum raisin or jamocha or chocolate fudge or pistachio?

I didn’t really start thinking about this until we got to month three or four of us dating. That’s when things started to get serious. That’s around the time you said that you loved me.

Boys always fall fast for me. I don’t know why. Of the two I’ve loved in my life so far, the first said he loved me casually over the phone after we’d been dating for two months, and you said you loved me after about three months of dating.

Or rather, you hinted at it.

You were wasted that night as we crawled into your bed at like four in the morning. We’d been out drinking all night, but I was more sober than you. As we laid in bed, you were mumbling drunkenly to me. You told me that you had something you wanted to tell me, but that you thought it might be too soon. I could read between those words and knew exactly what you wanted to say. But it really was too early in our relationship. At least that’s what I thought. And drunk at 4AM was not the time or state of mind to be in to tell someone you loved them for the first time. So I persuaded you that you shouldn’t say anything just yet. And you listened, thankfully, though it was a struggle to get you to sleep after.

Even though you didn’t actually say the words, I knew that you loved me and it made me start to think about whether I loved you or not. I did.

I don’t know if you even remember that night. Or if I ever told you about it after. It doesn’t really matter. A few weeks later we exchanged the actual words and that was that. Being in love didn’t mean that we were going to get married. After dating you for three months I wasn’t exactly ready to commit to you for life. But the longer we dated, the more real that possibility became. Eventually love sets in and you forget about all the potential men out there who you haven’t met yet and haven’t gotten a chance to experience…and never will because you’ve decided to settle down with someone. And as much as that idea scares you, there’s also a comfort in it – not having to go back into that terribly flaky world of New York City dating, having someone you care deeply about to spend your free nights and weekends with, no longer having to worry about the awfulness that will be single life at forty.

But then just as you’ve gotten comfortable with the idea of settling down, your dreams of an amazing one-bedroom apartment and beautiful wedding ceremony come crashing down over your head and you’re thrust back into the single world, forced to recalibrate your senses, made to start from scratch. And it only gets harder as you get older.

It’s been a hard couple of months for me. Trying to get over you has not been easy. Moving on and finding someone else to date has seemed like an insurmountable task. Being single is a lot harder than I remember. Going up to strangers at bars and trying to make conversations, having the confidence in your gaydar when you’re not at a particularly gay spot to go up to and hit on someone you find attractive, putting yourself out there every time you go out…it’s exhausting. And so rarely pays off.

This is all to say that I feel hopeful for the first time since you broke up with me. I’m optimistic and excited about a couple of guys. Not that that means very much. Nothing’s happened with either of them. Nor do I have any signs that anything will. It’s just exciting to have guys to be excited about.

First, there’s Andy. He’s the friend of a friend who I hooked up with when I was dating my second boyfriend. Back then he lived in Chicago and was only in town visiting. But since, he’s moved here to the City. I have never seen him out, but on Friday night, there he was at Phoenix Bar. Luckily, I was just drunk enough to have the courage to talk to him. And then to text him later in the night after he’d left the bar. I want to ask him out. We’ll see what he says.

The second boy I’m excited about seeing is David, my friend Amber’s friend who I met when I was at her house for Sukkot. I haven’t spoken to him or seen him in weeks. Since Amber’s party, in fact. But Amber’s hosting a Halloween party this weekend and David is going to be there. It’s my chance to talk to him again. Maybe to make a move. Who knows?

Neither of these guys are concrete things, but it’s the excitement of the potential that’s giving me life this week. It’s the first time I’ve really felt this way since we ended. Hopefully this optimism is here to stay.