New York, One Gay Date At A Time

Happy Fourth Of July People

Happy holiday weekend, may you all enjoy the beach, happiness and naked boys, I don't know what I'll do but some sunbathing and ogling cute boys will be in order. Now if anyone wants to invite me to a summer share on Fire Island, I'll be there will bells on :-)

May Prez Bush Hilton celebrate the day with truthiness and new ways to shred the Constitution. There I said it. 

(don't mind the woman)

Now I ask you this, as the Senate debates, I ask you to ponder the paradox, are these two fine lads desecrating the American Flag or do they simply need to be shot for bad fashion sense.

Below, tell me what you're doing for this holiday, weather it's real or not, leave a comment bellow.

Regular posting will begin July 5th, that should be a good amount of time to cure my hang over.

A Relationship at the Speed of TV

It takes time to trust. There I said it. I must be smitten and struck down and cursed by the gay gods. I know I’ll be limp like a wet noodle for the rest of this post. Yet it’s the truth. Once trust is broken once trust is lost, there, it goes, poof. It’s so difficult to build back up.

That said a relationship takes time. I know it seems like movie stars have their public relations people get through the muck of starting a relationship. I mean TomKat didn’t date; they just, well, hit the tabloids. They didn’t have to deal with the awkwardness of getting to know each other because their publicists put together talking point memos.

We, the normal folk who only pretend to have publicists, must endure the building of a relationship, the many steps to getting to know someone. The awkward stages and silences that ensue in real life, like the moment one finds out that your soon to be lover likes Japanese pickles. I don’t know why, but I’ve heard that it’s a turn off to some men. Then again there is the confession that the datee is a dog lover, while the dater is a cat lover. There can of course be no compromise in this situation so a quick and painful brake up is best for both parties.

The big moments, such as meeting the parents for the first time and thinking that an ill placed joke will end the relationship forever. Now those are the moments that build trust, because frankly if my lover could put up with my parents, he would be a keeper.

In any case, my publicist is on vacation and I don’t have the talking points memo in front of me. I’m flying blind and bombing quickly. If only I had Tom Cruise to rescue me, much like the way he rescued that chick from that flying thingy or sword throwing guy.

Now that’s a real relationship, built instantly like Seneca Coffee, meant to sort of taste like coffee, yet isn’t. So that said, instant relationships are the way to go, until I get a publicist and get a better brand of Coffee.

I mean I won’t have to trust that it’s real because I’ll know it is, the TV told me.

It’s a Date, not Marriage

I want to scream that every once in a while. Because all my straight co-workers are talking about getting hitched and the magazine sends out flowers when there’s a birth, because frankly, I haven’t been on a date in ages, and when I do, the boy wants to propose, or simply thinks I will. I don’t know which is worse. So there I ranted.

I used to be that way, equate dating and boyfriends automatically (like a Pez dispenser) turning into marriage and 2.1 children. That I would put too much into the moment. Now I’m the opposite. I sigh and simply move on, having dated my fare share of losers and dimwits i.e. actors/models/dancers. I’m not too excited about trying too hard, even though I do get excited when someone shows interest. Then they don’t call and I shrug it off instantly. Moving on to Mr. Next.

Every once in a while I’ll ask a boy out, most of the time they’ll turn me down or/worse try to latch onto me. I never find that balance. This all happens on one date, or not even on the date, on the pre-date. We put too much stock into that one moment, that anticipation of the moment. It’s like watching that Angelina Jolie interview on CNN a while back, so much anticipation, yet once seen a total let down.

Compared to my straight co-workers who are commiserating marriage and children and a "suburban", I don’t know any gay men in my age range that are in a real relationship that even considers marriage. They are in fake relationships, mimicking that of a faux fur coat at best, it might look like Mink or Chinchilla, yet it just doesn’t feel right.

They cheat on each other and go to the same bars and I’m left wondering, when the hell did gay men become so insecure, then I realize, in the same moment, always. Because frankly between New York (the city itself is forever young) and the fact that we can’t actually get married we are a society of vibrant young things.

So I just want to say for posterities sake, just to have it in the universe, If we go on a first date, I have no desire to marry you, just then and there, in that moment. First we need to get through the first date and maybe a few others. Serial monogamy would be nice even. Serial dating might be a step up from a one night stands.

So yes, a first date is not marriage. Just thought I’d share that memo with the gay world. 

The Puppy Dog Boyfriend

I’ve seen this gorgeous guy around; he’s always waiting, waiting for a friend, waiting for someone to talk to him. He’s tall, unusually so. About six foot four which makes him a hunk in my book, I’ve seen him pass through many relationships, because that’s what I do, watch. I always notice the cute guys. I’ve seen him on a few dates even. His body doesn’t move too much, it’s quite submissive; his head is always hunched down a bit. For a man so tall, it’s cute, yet endearing, yet turns him into a cuddly Labrador Retriever.

I tired talking to him, yet I seem to catch him at all the wrong times, when he’s waiting for a friend or lover, or trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. He has a great smile so I’ve always wanted to have a real conversation with him, yet I don’t seem to hold his attention.

I know friends that have called their boyfriends or significant others puppy. This endearing term, seems quite telling. I don’t know if it’s for me.

During my dark days of Celexa crashing, I found myself wanting to follow and be lead and to stay close to someone, yet now, for various reasons, I don’t want that anymore. I like the equality of a partner. I don’t mind someone that has strong opinions, if not, I relish them.

I’ve seen hunky puppy boyfriend (for lack of a better name) bounce around HK from boy to boy, I’ve seen the looks on their faces as they’ve become board. I wonder what holds him back. I wonder what keeps him from showing himself; I wonder what keeps him from experiencing and asserting his masculinity.

I’ll probably never know.

The Day After Pride

As I minced around the Village yesterday, trying to get into the Duplex, Pieces and the Monster. Bouncing from one bar to the next I marveled at the cover charge and the fact that some drinks at some bars miraculously shrank.

I missed the parade, I know, I’m a bad gay man, I was at home trying to rest after my Saturday and I thought I would go ahead and miss the rain soaked men on the Rent Boy float. Yet I would have loved to see Hillary Clinton waving at the boys with her perfect hair.

So when I went to hit the bar, I sort of screamed, “Where have all the New Yorkers gone.” I even texted some friends who all agreed that the New Yorkers had ditched Pride, probably at the Pier Dance or in private parties, I could only wonder because I was simply meeting men from Ohio all weekend. Not that there’s something wrong with being from Ohio I just wanted New York men.

It feels like Pride has turned into gay Christmas, or Easter, mostly a one day holiday, we flutter our Rainbow Flags, then search for sex on Craigslist.

I agree with Hunter James, that our roots are from Drag Queens. I love them, after all, they help make the world a better place and I owe much of my freedom to them. Yet Pride needs to happen daily. I admire the gay blogosphere that constantly informs everyone on gay issues, daily. It’s small moments that move gay rights forward.

Now I wonder how gay rights will be affected in the future as we must show a more responsible face to the world. I don’t know how this can be accomplished, yet needless to say; it’s not going to happen through bar hopping and the Pier Dance, yet it will happen through a daily change in our core values.

Happy Birthday to Me

It's my Birthday, I'm turning 27. Oh my I'm old. To honor the day, I'm bouncing around, bar hoping, trying to hang out, be low key, all at the same time. I'm not going to honor my B-Day tradition of hiding. I'm insisting on having a somewhat fun day.

So that said, God Save The Queen.

Not that I'm a Queen but sometimes I need saving.

I’ve Seen You Around

I’m a bar fly from way back, when I first stepped foot on Manhattan island, simply put, over the years, I’ve watched people come to New York, rise, burn out and resurface, I’ve done my own share of transforming. I’ve watched people turn fabulous then run to Nebraska tail between their legs.

Yet one thing is for sure, the more years I add to my New York experience the more I see the same people around. The ones that have stuck through the thin and thick of New York, it’s sort of become a club without a real membership, yet everyone who’s hung in there. Who’ve survived New York cities bitching temper, we sort of recognize each other accomplishments.

As new bars open I see the same folks, so hot, some not, some with a little thinning hair, I don’t have lots of peoples phone numbers, “I’ve seen them around” we know each other by face, not by name. We know each other by drunken reputation and faux labels, we’ve been drinking once, we’ve slept together once, we know each other, we are connected in that strange way. In the strange way that only this town, this town can connect.

After all I call New York, the biggest small town in America for a reason.

The Art of Waiting

Weather I’m waiting for drinks at a bar, waiting for friends, for news, for anything. I’ve recently found out and finally started to understand how much waiting goes on in our instant lives. It strings together all the moments in life, there is much dead time, weather waiting for the elevator or waiting for life to unfold.

It’s often these moments that define us, how we choose to wait helps shape us. I did a lot of waiting in bars, waiting for friends to show up, for lovers and dates. Biding my time and trying to figure out the next step of the day.

I wait gracefully sometimes, sometimes in a sloppy mess. Some people wait in different ways. They take drugs to make life go by faster. Cocaine does this, with its cheap euphoria and I liken it to a remote control for the evening.

I like waiting in coffee shops, then again, I don’t. I like to have fun. It’s a balance I think. Judging by the moment, I know many people that need to be with someone, no matter what. That they will do anything to be surrounded by people they don’t know, and meaningless moments. This is also part of waiting. Because waiting I’ve come to understand makes you stronger, yet how you wait if vital.

Having meaningless relationship after meaningless relationship is also a form of waiting, because someone can learn very little from a single hook-up. Sure it’s fun, yet a hook up is like a gallon of Ben & Jerry’s or Sale at Barneys often fun, with little substance and very often unmemorable. Yet it is part of the human experience.

Screwing up and recovering from mistakes is also part of that experience. So we wait for the moments, the big moments, the watershed moments and the things that will make us grow up. Yet I’ve found it’s the small moments that really matter.

The Insecure Man

One of the things about being stressed out all the time, is that I succumb to my carnal need to satisfy indiscretion … i.e. I get horny. There I said it. I mentioned the H word.

I actually get taken over by a pretty face. Which has been happening less and less (as I become smarter about boys), so I get myself into odd situations, especially with blond men that are dumb as a brick, now if these blond “dumb as a brick” men have Eastern European accents, I’m putty in the knees.

So I invited a boy over that I shouldn’t have. He ended up exposing himself to one of my roommates and following him back to his room. Making unwanted advances and trying to seduce him with his hotness.

When I heard about this the next day, I was totally mortified. I’ve never been in this position before. I’ve always controlled my tricks, some have asked about my roommates. The most inexperienced ones have asked. “So do you fuck your roommates?” I politely say “no”. In my head I’m thinking, “hell no, how revolting”. This question is always leading. I understand immediately that the guy is trying to figure out what’s going on within himself. I remember how tough it was, the process of coming out and how much self confidence it took. How many questions I had.

The night before, because he spent the night, for some reason he decided to expose himself to my roommate at about six am, an odd hour for an odd person I guess, (not my roommate, he had a paper due).

Yet making that choice, well it was before the choice, because he couldn’t put words together, he couldn’t tell me what he wanted. All those questions that gay men ask each other, he couldn’t bring himself to verbalize his need and want. Instead he lay silent and let me do all the work in a very tender self concourse almost infantile way (he was 26 people).

In case he left, never to be seen again, to the island of lost men and tricks and place of memories long had. (Yes I took some of that from sex in the city). In any case, I’ve come to realize that the person I want, the man I will eventually call my partner, needs to be a person that can clearing tell me what he wants. I’m not a mind reader; I’m simply, unequivocally me.

The Black Amex

I’ve recently found out that the Black Amex, that uber-prestigious spending spree card that people pay lots and lots of money for is now being made in Titanium, yes it actually weighs down your wallet and can now set off metal detectors from afar. I found this lovely information in a straight bar, the card itself was casually being shown off - totted by an egger female bartender that knew the regular and wanted to show of his wealth and prowess.

Actually it was a restaurant, I was sitting at the bar sucking down oysters, cheap vodka and enjoying my status as youngest person in the joint, but man this place has damn good oysters. I was mingling with a contractor from Westchester that imported marble from Turkey, he was sucking down Little Necks and telling me his business woes, I was jokingly guessing that he was a Republican (and was right). We talked a bit about Hillary Clinton and her impending bid for the presidency.

Then it happened, the conversation changed as we felt up a Black American Express card, no longer decked out in plastic, I guess it wears better in titanium, I guess for a thousand bucks a card, they can afford to issue the card in titanium. Isn’t titanium what makes up the hull of the space shuttle? In any case, marble-importer-from-Westchester is bitching that his business partner won’t let him have one.

He asks me rhetorically if I know how you get one? A few years ago when I worked at the Essex House, I heard it was $3,000 a pop, by invitation only and a person needed to spend at least $150,000 a year on travel expenses alone. I guess they’ve since lowered their standards.  Again at the Essex House, the condo director told me that one of these puppies purchased a condo. I could never imagine buying a condo on a charge card.

I guess I’m not up on my showy and ostentatious credit cards, after all I’m just trying to pay down my boring lack luster Capital One. Yet the girls seemed to be into it, I’m sure if he wiped out the card in a gay bar, he would get a reaction, maybe not the show of tits he got in the straight bar, yet I’m sure he would arouse interest. I guess the thousand dollars was well spent.