Advice From Some Gay Guy: Breaking Up Is Hard to Do…No, Really. Sunday, Aug 31 2008

Today I’d like to talk about the absolutely lovely idea of breaking up.  It’s not fun.  Breaking up with a guy is perhaps the most painful thing that I do.  Why? Well, I have this weird little phobia of wasting time, and I feel that every other guy on the planet has this phobia because–surprise!–I’m prone to mental distortions of the world around me.  Hurray for high anxiety! In all seriousness, though, I always think that a guy I’ve broken up with will resent me because I’ve been wasting his time while we were dating.  But I don’t want to be resented at all.

So the question is, how do you break up with a guy who’s perfectly…well…perfect in terms of what you need right now without hurting his feelings? Hell, how do you do it at all?

I have no problem breaking up with a guy I hate.  I learned to do that with my first ex.  Basically, you say, “I’m not very sorry for saying this, but I hate you.  The end. There will be no ‘to be continued.’” And if you’re just not feeling a guy, you say, “I’m sorry, but I’m just not feeling it.  We have major incompatibility issues.”  But if the guy is nice, handsome, and oh-so-sweet, what the hell are you supposed to do about that?  You can’t say, “Hey, you are everything Hugh Grant wishes he could be in his movies, but it’s just not working for me because I have a martyr complex.”  Or can you?

Seriously, the only rational approach is to be honest in these sorts of situations, but what if the honest truth is that the only reason you need to break up is because…well, because you’re a neurotic with high anxiety who’s developed major trust issues due to all sorts of guys lying to you in your past?  That seems like you’re throwing all your baggage at him right before you head out the door to catch your flight.  And you know he’s only going to say, “It’s okay that you have trust issues.  We’ll work them out together.”

No…no…no, it’s really not okay that I have trust issues.  And unless you’re a trained therapist, I don’t think you can help me work them out.

In this case, the only thing to do is to lie by omission.  I don’t condone lying in general, but if the only way to get out of a quickly developing relationship that you’re not ready for due to said neuroticism is to lie, then I suggest you go for it.  For instance, I will provide a break-up conversation with translated notes to indicate the extent to which you’re omitting certain details:

Break-upper: I’d really like to talk about something.  I’ve been thinking. (Translation – I’d really like to talk about something.  I’ve been playing scenarios of what could happen between us over and over again for the past few weeks, but I’ve suppressed my agonizing over this by forcing myself to face a phobia of swimming every other morning.)

Break-uppee: What’s on your mind?

Break-upper: I don’t like the kind of relationship that this is turning out to be, and I think we should end it. (Translation – I’m a psychotic freak suffering from lapses of depression regarding how my first ex-boyfriend emotionally abused me.  You’re fantastic and all, but, as emo as it sounds, scarring like this lasts a long time.)

Break-uppee: This seems rather sudden.

Break-upper: Well, I haven’t had time to think about it until recently. (I’ve been considering how damaged I am since we got together, and I feel extraordinarily guilty that I haven’t brought anything up until now because I was happy and all.  But now I’m about to explode if I have to cause any friction between us at a later date when we’ve gotten closer.)

Break-uppee: It’s okay.  Don’t worry about it.

Break-upper: I’m really sorry.  (Translation – Wow, I’m such a fucked up idiot, and I want to shoot myself in the head for subjecting you to this drama.  How can I be any more of a tool?)

Break-uppee: Like I said, it’s okay.

Break-upper: Umm…I have to go. (Translation – Oh, that’s how.)

So, in the event of a break-up that you really have no reason to undergo besides your own crazy anxiety, there’s your guide to how to put it.  Good luck.

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Over the hill…the gay hill. Wednesday, Aug 27 2008

My 21st birthday took place last Sunday. Yes, I am 21. I can imbibe in public. But that’s not what’s important here. What is important is to address the issue of ageism in gay culture. We all know it’s there. Hell, the 24-year-old gay guys I talk to act like they’re decrepit. Nothing to look forward to but lonely nights in a seedy bar while Olivia Newton-John plays some blues a la “Sordid Lives.”

It’s a shame that, as a part of gay culture, we’re encouraged to remain young forever. I must admit, I cry a little bit inside when I find myself one crow’s foot closer to gay oblivion (aka 30). Once I hit that age, my options are limited to becoming a bitter queen or a dirty, dirty ‘ho. I believe it was Kramer who said that the old and unloved revert to such practices as fisting and leather fun. Yikes.

Ideally, my age progression would look a little bit like this:

Realistically, it’ll be a little bit more like this:

But, hey. If memory serves correctly, I’ll be shacked up with six other guys ostensibly having the time of my life. And there’s some bastardization for your childhood memories.

In all seriousness, though, how do we combat this? American culture in general needs to get over this obsession with being younger because regardless of how much botulism you pump into those wrinkles, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re fifty (two millennia in gay years). Just get past it and accept it. That’s the first step to toppling this youth-centric society. Bleh, I’m so lazy.

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My legs hurt! Wednesday, Aug 20 2008

No, this is not an attempt at a witty title.  My legs actually hurt.  And I’m exhausted.  For all of my regular readers (ha!  yeah, right), I’ll be back online later this week maybe.  Peace!

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Wall-E: Homo-Robo and Harbinger of Second Sodom Monday, Aug 18 2008

Just to clarify, I saw “Wall-E” recently close to its release date a few weeks ago. I went into the theater with an open mind despite the fact that I was cruised immediately prior to the film while my date was getting drinks. I should have take the (unsuccessful, of course) cruising as an omen of the dirty, dirty homosexuality that I would be subjected to for the next two hours.

Now, when “Wall-E” and “controversy” are mentioned within the same sentence, it’s typically in reference to fat hatred or the movie’s anti-consumerism message. Nobody, however, has addressed the issue of the aforementioned dirty, dirty homosexuality (hereafter to be referred to as DDH, for my convenience; this is not to be confused with DDR, the dancing game that latent homosexual teens pick up in lieu of actually visiting gay dance clubs) that runs rampant throughout the film.

I will demonstrate the DDH through two…three…seven…no, two key aspects of Wall-E’s character.

First, there are his blatantly gay mannerisms. What else but a gay robot would watch musicals while dancing around his living space? I mean, I do, but I am a DDH! And I’m not setting an example to the doe-eyed lambs of our great nation. Therein lies your corruption, Disney! You are upholding the values of crimes against nature, just like your talking fish in “Finding Nemo” and your songstresses who bewitch God’s forest creations. Don’t think that that owl prince won’t impregnate Aurora with some sort of demon-seed.

Secondly, there is Wall-E’s affair with equally sinful (and somewhat phallic) robot Eve. And we all know that this is definitely a homosexual love affair. How? There are quite a few pieces of evidence for this. First, Wall-E is a robot. Eve is a robot. Robot + robot = homosexual = robosexual. And look out, Catholics, because we all know that these two sinful robots are going to be doing the horizontal machine mambo without the intent of procreation. When the chassis’s a-rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’. Finally, we all know through the wonders of pokemon breeding that breeding a neuter pokemon with another neuter pokemon will not result in a child. The same holds with attempted male-male and female-female breeding. It doesn’t work because it’s a crime even against pokemon nature!

Eve, iPod wannabe or GAY GO-GO ROBO?

In closing, I recommend that every last homophobe boycott this movie so that it will not bring you the joy that it has brought me. Peace!

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What gay means… Sunday, Aug 17 2008

For me, personally, GAY stands for:

Glamorous lady,

Audrey Hepburn,

Y can’t I be more like her?

My first love.

What does it mean for you?

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Gay marriage…gay-rriage…marriagay…damn, I can’t make a clever title. Saturday, Aug 16 2008

***************THIS IS NOT A WORKSAFE POST!  18 AND OLDER ONLY! ********************

I’ve been reading a good bit about gay marriage for the past…oh, I don’t know…five years, and I’ve finally come to the conclusion that I don’t know if I’d want to be married.  Not because I’m a slut.  I’m not.  In fact, I’m not entirely sure why I’ve come to this conclusion because when I first came out, my goals were basically the trinity of the good, playing-to-the-conservatives gay:

1. Lead a “normal” life with a husband and a kid (or a dog).

2. Don’t protest or take place in marches. Stay away from Pride.

3. Umm…never wear a dress?

Okay, I lied.  There’s not a trinity, just a dyad.  But I’m pretty sure that conservatives would find some kind of “legitimate” problem with my wearing a dress if I chose to.  Something to do with me possibly morphing into a squid-like uterus monster and defying the laws of nature, no doubt.   I mean, that’s what’s going to happen to the pregnant man, right?

Anyways, back to the whole marriage thing.  If I do have a wedding, which is also assuming that I meet Mr. Right, I do know that I’m too much of a wuss to go full-on camp and wear an actual wedding dress.  But I would like to present my own line of “ScrewU Conservatives” wedding planner dolls (copyright pending), so that you can figure out whether or not your love handles will be popping the seams before you even put on your marriage suit and simultaneously offend the sensibilities of your oppressors.

This is GAY MARRIAGE!

To explain, I’ve chosen the most obvious and typical of all gay wedding apparel.  Just a review: These include the rainbow kilt, the rainbow kilt with bare chest, the bare chest with jeans and tattoos combo, the leather harness (for use with or without bare chest), and the Britney outfit, because as all stereotypists know, gay men worship Brit so much that they have to base their weddings around her.  Also included is a “novelty item” that would of course be endemic to any gay wedding (that’s the reason for the whole over-18 stuff; I don’t want to get in trouble!).

A couple of directions for use: Simply print out your Faggot Adam paper doll, and his various accouterments, and go to town.  If something doesn’t fit right, you can easily slim up F.A. with a pair of scissors (much more easily than he can get rid of the weight himself). Unless you have a Shiva fetish, you may have to remove the arms, but you can always print out another F.A. doll.

Suggestions for use:

1. Mount your F.A. doll(s) on magnets, and use them in your cubicle at work to…be awesome!

2. Print out two F.A. dolls, and let them consummate their wedding vows!

3. Print out (3-77) F.A. dolls, and have an orgy! Oh wait, no that’s incompatible with gay marriage.  Strike that one.

In any case, enjoy your new playthings, and don’t forget to incite rebellion with them!

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Gather ’round me, gay little children. Friday, Aug 15 2008

I realized yesterday, in the middle of an abbreviated session of binge eating — two fitness models were watching me from a magazine, okay? — that I have been targeting the social structure of masculinity without really explaining why I find that concept to be culturally problematic. For conciseness’s sake, I believe that masculinity breeds inequality. I don’t mean that masculinity simply demeans women and keeps them in a disadvantageous position; it also contributes to homophobia, xenophobia, and ethnocentrism. Although I love “Legally Blonde: The Musical,” one song can sum up what I’m trying to explain here. Done? Okay, so now you realize that different cultures have different conceptions of masculinity. Unfortunately, good old ‘Merica is the most hypermasculine of all cultures (look around), and Bush isn’t exactly the poster child for multiculturalism.

And then, I thought, American masculinity leaves so little room for diversity. So I decided to demonstrate this by assembling a few of the traditional masculine influences I had growing up.

Popeye

First, there’s Popeye. From watching his early morning cartoons, I learned that it’s okay to take steroids…uh, spinach…in order to slap down a more overtly ‘roid raging dude. Maybe Popeye could try resolving his problems with words. But his jaw’s so swollen from being sucker punched so often that he’d probably need a few speech therapy classes first.

I'm thinking that his posture indicates a big, shriveled "YES," Olive.

Then there’s…

Yosemite Sam!

Yosemite Sam, the rootin’-est, tootin’-est cowboy learned me some important stuff. Like, if you ever have a problem, the quickest resolution is to shoot someone. Sadly, I didn’t learn to pistol whip a bitch until…

Race Bannon! Nothing says "big penis" like holding a big gun!

Race Bannon! That’s right, screw all those scientific ninnies and girly boys on Johnny Quest. They pale in manliness (and general effectiveness) when compared to Race. Especially that Hadji kid…what is that, a terrorist dress?

Look out behind you, little Aryan boy! Hadji has darker skin...and a turban!

And last but not least is…

This is definitely NOT a blowjob face. Fred's way too manly for that.

Fred Flintstone, who taught me that it’s okay to yell at women because all they do is laze about the house and force animal labor. A housewife who doesn’t even clean up on her own? For shame, Wilma. Oh, and I also learned to cope with the early onset of kidney stones after imitating Fred’s pattern of red meat ingestion. Manly? I should say so.

So you see, I have a history of finding traditional pillars of masculinity to be just a bit unsavory. To today’s generation of growing young men, I would like to offer an alternative to antiquated masculinities in the form of…

Spongebob Defiant-of-outdated-norms-pants!

Spongebob Squarepants. Seriously.

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Eureka! Heterosexuality might just be a choice! Thursday, Aug 14 2008

Yesterday, thanks to a sports utility vehicle filled with three twenty-somethings leaving the local strip joint, I discovered that heterosexuality might actually be a viable choice for us, the sinful and socially miscreant homos of the world! With just a little thug attitude, which is what these breeders claimed led to their confusion for my “straightness,” all of the gay men of the world can achieve just what we’ve always wanted: Normalized masculinity! Soon, we’ll be clubbing women over the head and dragging them back to our caves…I mean, apartments.

In order to make it completely clear how to have that thug attitude, I’ve supplied a few guide pictures. Follow them, and you’re sure to pass for a straighty! All you need are a few accessories. And, unlike being gay, there are more than one way to be straight, so here’s a variety of different straight guys that you can be.

You may think this is Australian in origin, but manliness is rooted deeper than some sissy former colony.

Nothing is more manly than Pimpemon...I mean, Pokemon!

Not just for your truck anymore. Real straight men have loooow-hangers.

And the most manly look of all!

Okay, gay men, now go forth and be straight! My blessings be upon you.

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You’re So Gay…Because You Like Boys Wednesday, Aug 13 2008

In honor of Katy Perry’s song, “Ur So Gay,” I decided to dedicate today’s post to her. In case you haven’t heard the song, you can listen to it below:

As a few of my good friends know, I regularly campaign against using the term “gay” as anything besides liking boys. Hell, reading through a few earlier posts ought to give you that impression. However, thanks to Katy Perry’s newfound popularity (who knew she wouldn’t make it as a Christian singer?), it seems that I will forever be cursed with hearing people say, “You like gelato? Ohmigod, that’s, like, soooo gay.” So instead of trying to stop people from using “gay” to describe certain behaviors, I’ve decided that my time would be better served ascribing other terms to stereotypical behaviors.  How does that work?  Let’s watch:

Speaker 1: I can’t take it anymore!  My pants are so tight, they’re cutting off my circulation.  Speaking of cutting, I think I’d like to write a poem about how much bleeding angst I have because I’m misunderstood by my upper class parents who can afford to buy me clothes from Hot Topic!

Speaker 2: Ohmigod, you’re, like, soooo emo.

Speaker 1: Dude, how much is our tab? I forgot how to add.  Daddy usually just buys me shit, so I can spend my money on getting plastered and good lawyers to get me out of those rape scares.

Speaker 2: Ohmigod, you’re, like, soooo frat.

Speaker 1: Mexicans ‘re stealin’ our jobs!

Speaker 2: Ohmigod, you’re, like, soooo ignorant and white.

Speaker 1: So…gay dudes must get a lot of sex, huh?  I mean, that’s nasty, but I know I’m horny all the time.  And my only measure of how the world works around me is myself.  So…yeah, lots of sex. And lesbians are hot.

Speaker 2: Ohmigod, you’re, like, soooo heteronormative.

And, of course, there’s my special favorite for today.

Speaker 1: Hey, do you think it’d be cool to use, like, l33tspeak for the name of a song?  I mean, I know Avril did the whole Complic8ed thing, but it’s really trendy right now.  Ooo, and we should use some really controversial lyrics, just so I can actually sell a record. I hope everyone loves my new myspace page!

Speaker 2: Ohmigod, you’re, like, soooo Katy Perry.

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Advice from Some Gay Guy: The Perils of Online Dating Tuesday, Aug 12 2008

Okay, so there’s a lot of stigma surrounding guys who use the internet for online dating.  I do.  And, unlike most guys online, I use it for actual dating, meaning dinner, a movie, wine…well, not wine because I’m only twenty.  So grape juice.  However, when you get onto most gay dating sites you’ll most likely encounter one of two problems:

1.  The site is a premium pay site if you want to message people.  This includes places like true.com, passion.com, chemistry.com, etc.

2. The site is actually a hookup site.  Tricked again (Hey!  That’s a pun!).

Oh, and then there’s just eharmony.com which doesn’t have a gay section because apparently gays are an abomination to the straight online dating scene.

Alright, so there’s also this great site called okcupid.com, but in my area, there are no gay guys around my age who I’d like to date.  The best find I had from there was living in Clemson, SC, which is about an hour and a half drive away…if I speed.  So, needless to say, my online dating forays have not been entirely successful.

Out of the problem of hookup sites, I’d have to say that the two top contenders are Manhunt and Gay.com.  Manhunt, however, has a more than competent person running the advice section at their site, so I’m inclined to give them a big thumbs up.  Seriously, if you are gay, and you have not read the advice column there, you have to join manhunt simply to read it.  He’s funny and articulate, and he *gasp* discusses relevant gay issues.  Which brings me to its opposite, Gay.com.   Now, I’ll admit that I love my two Gay.com shirts I got at ATL Pride.  I do.  And my keychain.  But the website itself is not only a thinly veiled hookup site;  it also gives perhaps the WORST gay-related advice ever.  Interspersed with veritable scads of photos of shirtless Olympic athletes.   Way to go, guys.  Seriously, though, I expected it to be the other way around.  At least on Manhunt, I’ve found a friend to work out with, and I’ve had conversations with civil-minded guys.  Unlike Gay.com, where I was offered the “great milking” by that one guy a few posts ago.

But the detractors of Gay.com are not what I’d like to discuss today.  What I would like to talk about is the penis picture.  That’s right, the omnipresent dick pic, intended to show that you’re packing more heat than Shaft on a particularly hooker-ridden evening.  And let me tell you, I’ve seen a good bit of them.  Practically every other profile on Manhunt has a dick pic, while the poster has simultaneously written in his profile, “Please have a face pic or do not bother.”  Seriously?  I see no face in your pictures.  Unless you are the literal incarnation of a dickhead, cockface, you-are-what-you-eat, etc.

I really don’t need to see your penis as compared to…well, the list goes on.  Let’s just put a few:

1. A can of Red Bull.  Honestly, I won’t get off thinking, Gee, this guy has so much time on his hands that he can afford to take a break in the middle of his Red Bull rush in order to contemplate the largeness of his pee-pee.

2.  Your forearm.  First of all, it’s usually a trick of perspective.  Secondly, why don’t you just say you can triple-”fist” with your two arms, and your gargantuan penis? That’d save the time of uploading a photo.  And of my clicking on your profile.

3.  A magic wand.  Umm…let’s not reenact Harry Potter fantasies that I had when I was sixteen.  And, no, they were not about Harry.  They were about Sirius.  So there.

4.  A candy cane.  No, no, and a big, heapin’ Santa-sized helping of NO.

5.  Another dude’s penis.  That just makes you look skanky.

Now I’m not saying I don’t like the penaynay.  I do.  But I’m not going to talk to someone who rouses images in me of talking to the singing hot dog from the opening of movies.  I’d rather picture you as the infamous ice cream-pooping taco from South Park.  Seriously.  At least tacos and ice cream taste good.

So if you want to make an actual profile for dating, I have a suggestion:  Have a clean and realistic photo of you as you normally are from (maybe) the waist up, though the shoulders up is really preferable.  For instance, the pictures I post here are only about a few months old, and I haven’t changed much at all in the span of those months.  In fact, the only thing that really changes about me is my hair.  Oh, and this sad little farmer’s tan I’m rocking at the moment.  Sexay.

Brought to you by a complete breakfast.

The demon eyes don’t go away… However, if I were to post a picture from, say, two years ago, my hair is no longer a foot long, so that’d be an unwise and inaccurate portrayal of myself.  Just be honest.

In essence, and what I’m trying to get at here, is that if you want to try a dating site, why don’t you try…dating?  Make conversation with a few emails.  Wine and dine me.  I mean…grape juice and dine me.   And, no, that’s not a fetish.  You wouldn’t just approach me on the street and ask if I wanted to fuck, would you?  At least, not when I don’t have my certified hooker badge on, right?  After a few dates, we can see if we click.  Your killer kielbasa and how to accommodate it are both issues that can be addressed after we’ve been boyfriends for a while.

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