I Weep For Straight Women

October 4, 2012

I consider myself very lucky to have found BF when I did. Although I did have one pretty negative relationship experience (see Facebook and Ex Boyfriends), I think I came out ahead. It seems that the older one gets, the harder it is to find a partner. Maybe it’s because the dating pool gets smaller; maybe it’s because as we get older we become more set in our ways, or maybe it’s because as time goes on, the only people left to date are the ones that nobody else wanted.

Whatever the reason, it seems to me that there are a lot of amazing single women and very few single men worth their time. As a gay man, I surround myself with fabulous women (I hang out only with Homo Honeys and a Fruit Fly every now and then to keep things interesting) who, for reasons that seem to escape me and them, can’t seem to find a good guy. Time after time they are forced to run through the dating gauntlet.

I have a friend up north who had been dating a guy for about six months; the appropriate amount of time to introduce him to her parents. She arranged the time, made sure he had a clean shirt and pressed trousers and even programmed her parent’s address into his navigation system to ensure the night would go off without a hitch. Unfortunately, things did not work out according to plan. After sitting in embarrassed silence for an hour with her mother huffing over the uneaten meal she prepared and her father planning her boyfriend’s death for standing her up, she received a text. What did it say? “Can’t make it. Don’t have enough change to pay the toll. Sorry.”

Another friend of mine, a dear sweet girl I met in college was seriously dating a seemingly great guy last year. They were out on their six month anniversary, when he excused himself to the restroom. My friend sat at the table, eagerly waiting for him to return so she could deliver her anniversary present: saying the “L” word for the first time. She was rehearsing what she wanted to say in her head when she heard the ubiquitous ding of an iPhone receiving a text message. A faint blue light illuminated from beneath the boyfriend’s side of the table. She leaned over and noticed that, in his hurried scurry to the men’s room, boyfriend’s iPhone had slipped out of his pocket. She picked it up and placed it on the table. Like any human being would do, she looked at the message (and don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing). It was from a hooker named Heather (total hooker name, right?) and all it said was “Hurry up. I’m horny.” My friend, being the meek, charming woman that she is, didn’t make a scene, she didn’t cry running out the restaurant or even bat an eyelash. All she did was drop the iphone in her boyfriend’s glass of wine and walk out the restaurant, her head held high.

I have another friend from graduate school who is totally amazing, super cute, wicked smart and stylish to the nines. Because she’s so awesome, she started dating a really great guy a few years ago…or so she thought. About three months into their relationship, she was spending the night at his house. She went into the bathroom to wash her face, brush her teeth and get ready for bed when she heard a knock at the door. The boy assured her it was nothing and she went about her bedtime ritual. About five minutes later she returned to the living room to find the boy and some unkempt hipster bent over the table sniffing cocaine through a rolled up dollar bill.  Totally cliché, right?

This same friend also dated a guy for about nine months who, at first, seemed really great. He owned his own business, had never been arrested and had a head of hair that could rival any Hollywood leading man, past or present. But like all great romances, things weren’t perfect? The chink in his armor was that he had horrible smelling feet. And I’m not just talking about your typical, run of the mill smelly feet; I’m talking about hot wet garbage on a humid day smelly feet. Like Pepe LePew smelly feet. It was too much for my friend to handle and she eventually had to break up with him. We all told her she was crazy and I was convinced that she had made a mistake until a few weeks ago.

She and I were at a street festival in town when she saw the smelly-footed ex sitting at a henna/face painting booth. Not sure what he was doing there, we abandoned our place in the funnel cake line and went over to investigate. Come to find out that about a year ago, the ex sold his business, purchased a small tract of land in the woods and, according to him, was building an “earth ship.” And then he introduced us to his granola-encrusted girlfriend who looked like she hadn’t eaten real food in years and hadn’t showered since the Summer Solstice. He introduced her (I forget her name) and the only accolade he could bestow on her was “She’s a really amazing face painter.”

I bought my friend a funnel cake after that as an apology for scolding her when she broke up with Mr. Smelly Feet. She had actually really dodged a bullet with that one.

Maybe it’s because there are more women in the world than men, but it seems to me that straight girls really get the short end of the dating stick.

My advice to single straight men: Get jobs, keep money for tolls in your car and don’t sniff coke in front of your girlfriends…they’re kinda turn offs.

My advice to straight women: It’s going to be a long, rocky road, but you’ll find someone out there. You’re all too amazing not to.

My advice to everyone else: Keep on the lookout for quality men for your hetero female friends. Unfortunately, they need all the help they can get.


Grow A Pair

June 13, 2010

So, I have this friend, let’s call her Shannyn. I call her that because, if a movie was made about her life, I believe Shannyn Sossaman would play her. We met in grad school. One semester our drafting tables were next to one another. We introduced ourselves, became instant bffs and have spent a considerable amount of time together in the last seven years. On top of the hundreds of late nights we shared in studio swapping mom stories (both our moms are Martha Stewart disciples) we spent two months together trekking through Europe and have a standing monthly date at our favorite restaurant in town. It’s a Thai place with tasty sushi and the best martinis in town. Shannyn is like the sister I never had but always prayed for. We could have French braided each other’s hair and configured her Ken dolls in morally compromising situations. As an honorary sister, I’m very protective of her and, as an extension of me, so is bf.

Recently, Shannyn broke up with her boyfriend of two years. I won’t go into the specifics of why she dumped him because, on top of it not being any of my, or your business, it’s not the topic of this post. What is the topic? How her now ex-boyfriend is handling the situation and one of bf’s favorite expressions.

As you know, bf is pretty spectacular. (for more information on exactly how close to perfection he is, read “My Superhero Boyfriend and His One Weakness”). On top of laugh clappers, there is one thing that gets under his skin: emotional whimps. I’m not talking about emotional people. If he didn’t like them he would have dumped me years ago. He just doesn’t like it when people let rogue emotions negatively guide their lives and/or feelings. For example, when we went to see the third and final Matrix movie I started crying when Trinity died. I knew it was stupid, but I couldn’t help it…those movies were a big part of my life for a long time. Instead of offering me a Kleenex, bf leaned over and offered some unsolicited advice of his own. “Grow a pair.” He whispered in my ear. Quickly, realizing the bafoon I was making out of myself in a situation that didn’t call for it, I wiped my eyes, closed my tear ducts and went back to watching the movie. Since then, when my emotions are out of control, I simply take a deep breath and repeat his words of wisdom, “Grow a pair.”, and I’m fine.

I want to say the same thing to Shannyn’s newly ex-boyfriend.

Last week bf and I were meeting Shannyn for our monthly two-martini Thai dinner date when we realized we were almost out of gas. We took a slight detour to a gas station and ended up at a stop light adjacent to Shannyn’s condo building. Waiting for the light to turn green, who did we see crossing the street? None other than Shannyn’s newly ex-boyfriend.  Both of our inner Mrs. Kravitz’s came out and, after our light turned green and we were turning into the gas station, we looked back, saw him pause in front of Shannyn’s building’s main entrance, then continue down the street.

Knowing this would make delicious dinner conversation, we hurried and pumped our gas and sped to the restaurant, not wanting to forget any detail of what we had just witnessed. It hadn’t been five minutes since we had seen the ex in front of her building when Shannyn texted me “Running late. Just ran into my f-ing ex.”I sat there, stared blankly at the word on my phone, remembering that creepy scene in “Fatal Attraction” where Glenn Close is sitting on the floor of her apartment, listening to classical music and turning the lamp on and off again, and again, and again. We walked into the restaurant, sat down and ordered Shannyn a martini. We knew she’d need it when we told her that she was being stalked. That was the only explanation. How else could we have seen him walk in front of her building five minutes before he ambushed Shannyn outside her front door?  Obviously, he was just walking up and down the street, hoping to run into her.

To our shock, Shannyn wasn’t surprised when we told her about what we saw while waiting at the red light. Apparently, stalking was just the next step in her ex-boyfriend’s coping process since being dumped. She rehashed some e-mails he sent her explaining that, even though he’d moved his belongings out of her condo, his heart was still there. And how he’d been trying to coax her into meeting up with him under the guise of wanting to give her a care package. He’d even gone as far as using Shannyn’s dog as an excuse to get back together, saying how he missed walking the dog together and taking her to the dog park.

Luckily, from what she was saying, everything he was doing and saying to get back with her was only reinforcing Shannyn’s resolve to never see him again. By the end of our meal and after two martinis each, we had moved away from breakups and were discussing upcoming summer vacations. But, even though the conversation had ended, each of us periodically glanced toward the front door, half expecting the ex-boyfriend to be standing outside the restaurant in a dark trench coat, blaring “In Your Eyes” from a boom box held high over his head.

My advice to Shannyn’s ex-boyfriend: Grow a pair. Women don’t like whimpy men, especially ones that are stalkers.

My advice to Shannyn: Next month, for our dinner date, let us pick you up. That way, there’s less of a chance of a “surprise” encounter with your ex.

My advice to everyone else: If someone breaks up with you, take the high road and respect their feelings. Why would you want to date someone that doesn’t want to date you anyway?

I love Facebook.

It allows me to stalk my friends, check in on which of the bullies who teased me in high school are now gay and keep in touch with blasts from the past. Even though I never found my first love (see Man Whores and First Loves for more information) I was able to connect with the two other people I ever dated seriously besides my bf.

One of them I met while living in New Jersey with Homo Honey. His name was Charlie and, even though he was a great guy and we liked one another, the timing was all wrong and we broke up after only dating around six months. He lives in Washington DC now, manages an IKEA and, from his Facebook posts and pictures, is in a happy relationship with a very sweet-looking guy named Tony.

The other was my very first serious boyfriend. We met while I was living in Miami Beach, working at a video store. We went out on a date and within two weeks we were living together. We dated for about a year and, until a few weeks ago I had mostly fond memories of the time we were together.

What happened to change my mind?

He deleted his profile as a fan of my “Michael’s Unsolicited Advice” page on Facebook. As I do whenever anyone de-friends me or removes their profile from something that means anything to me, I’ve decided to wage an all out online war with him. My first move? To let everyone reading this know exactly what a piece of manure he was as a boyfriend and why I eventually came to my senses and dumped him.

First reason: He was a total mooch.

About three months into our relationship he convinced me that, if I loved him as much as I always told him, I would put his name on my American Express account. Being a stupid twenty-two year old and not yet grasping the idea of what a credit score was and how it would impact my entire life, I called up the operator and added him. About a week later I received a call from my mom.

You see, even though the card was in my name, my parents paid the bill. It was meant as an “in case of emergency only” card that my parents issued to me when I started college. With only a two minor bumps to buy Birkenstocks and tickets to a They Might Be Giants Concert, I had, up until that point, been relatively responsible with the card.

“Who is “Balboa?” (not his real name) my mom asked after she received the notification that someone had been added to my card. I fumbled for a minute and then just said “He’s a good friend of mine and someone I care about.” Even though I didn’t officially tell her and we’ve never talked about it since, I’m pretty sure that’s when I came out to my mom. “Well, if he charges anything, he has to pay for it.” she said. I agreed and, after the phone conversation, I urged Balboa to put his new AmEx card in the back of his wallet, far from eye sight. That worked until he went away for the summer to Europe for a study abroad program.

I arrived home one day from work to find a letter from my mother. I opened it only to find an American Express bill for $2,000.00 and a hand written note from her that read “Good luck!” After I picked myself up off the floor from fainting I looked at the itemization of the statement. One hundred dollars for a shirt is Barcelona, three hundred dollars for a pair of handmade shoes in Italy, and the list continued. It was like he shopped his entire way through Europe. Surviving on minimum wage, I certainly didn’t have the money to pay the bill.

I went to my uncle and his boyfriend (UJR) and, out of the goodness of their hearts, they paid the bill for me. The only stipulation was that I had to cut up the card and never apply for another credit card EVER AGAIN!!!

Seond reason:

All my friends hated him.

Actually, not all my friends, but the one who counted, and still counts, the most totally did. Even though they never met and, most assuredly, never will, every time Balboa’s name is mentioned in Homo Honey’s presence she scoffs, makes a puking noise and retells the following story.

When Balboa arrived home from his European shopping spree we had our first big fight. I questioned why he spent so much money. He told me that they were all gifts for me, even though the shirts were one size to big and the shoes were totally not my size. I left him and went to spend the night at UJR’s.

After my departure, Balboa crafted a lengthy and somewhat heated e-mail to Homo Honey, even though he really knew nothing about her. It said things like how I wasn’t ready for a serious relationship, how he loved me so much and never thought I loved him as much in return and it ended with something like “I guess you won. He’s yours.”

Like a real friend, Homo Honey did not relay the e-mail to me until after I had dumped Balboa. When I asked her why, she said that she wanted me to learn what a piece of crap dirt bag he was on my own. Thanks HH.

Last reason (and most important):

He has a really small penis. Like really small. I’m not just talking about a slight negative divergence from the typical penis size…it was embarrassing…for him.

It actually surprised me that we stayed together so long, but I chalk it up to being twenty-two, stupid and desperate for a boyfriend. Although Balboa was a creep as a boyfriend, he did teach me one thing: what not to look for in future relationships.

My advice to Balboa: Pay UJR the $2,000.00 dollars you owe them for the American Express bill, apologize to Homo Honey and get a penis pump.

My advice to everyone else: The next time you’re about to de-friend someone on facebook or remove your profile from their fan page, ask yourself “How much does this person know about me?” and “Are they as evil and vindictive as Michael?”