Dating can be scary. Let’s just put that out there and admit it. If you’re not looking for a hook-up, but actually want someone to spend your life with, then going on a first date might prove rather daunting. After all; you could be meeting Mr. Right, the one you’re going to be with forever. So, it’s no surprise that we get ourselves worked up into a frenzy of nerves before meeting someone for the first time. The problem is, these nerves can make grown men trip on their words, can cause the most talkative of people to become mute, and seemingly disconnect the mouth from the brain so that you start saying things without thinking first. Then, after that first mistake, the anxiety becomes even worse and things begin to unravel. How do I know this happens? Because I’ve been there many times. […]
I'm always amazed in this day and age when I encounter women who choose to postpone sex with a man they think has relationship potential, either because they think they won't be taken seriously if they sleep with a man on the first date, or out of some antiquated notion that unless you make us work for it, we won't appreciate it. I'm here to call bullshit on both.
I grew up during the peak of the Star Wars fad and had I not been genetically predisposed to favor my He-Man toys over my Chewbacca action figure, I might’ve paid more attention to space. I only knew of it what they said about it at the beginning of Star Trek, that it was “the final frontier.” Space was something confusing, big, and daunting. Who needed it? Well, as it turns out, most of us do. Actual space, the space above us where the sun burns and galaxies collide, is a complicated mass of mathematics and physics. I have spent most of this year studying a microcosm of space, the space that exists between humans. Although not quite as overwhelming and endlessly possible as actual space, the space that human beings require can be just as complicated and is equally affected by numbers and science. They say that actual space is relative, like time, and so indeed is human space. People need space, although at varying degrees. I spent two months living out of a suitcase in two of my friends’ living room. One of them needed little space at all and the sight of my unemployed ass sitting idly on the sofa when he got home from work was a welcome one. The other friend required much more space, actually the specific space in which I’d been sleeping, and he jumped for joy when I finally moved on and he was able to reclaim the couch as his. […]
Lisa Brower on the lesbian thing: “Having had at least a decade of dick behind me (sometimes literally), I wanted to know if the pasture was any greener than the straight side of the field. It wasn’t.” Raise your hand if you’ve ever survived a difficult relationship with a man and decided life surely must be better on the opposite side of the fence. I don’t know if gay men go through that thought process, but everyone of my girlfriends has said it at least once jokingly after a horrendous breakup. Being a literal sort of girl, I decided to go see if that pasture was any greener than the straight side of the field. I decide to pole vault into girl-on-girl world in the summer of 1988. Having had at least a decade of dick behind me (sometimes literally), I noticed my lesbian friends seemed to be having a hell of a lot more fun than I was. I had already slept with women in college, so that so called taboo was out of the way. Luckily I had my own personal guide to lesbian Atlanta to help ease the transition. She would show up at work on Mondays with blackened eyes and enormous hickeys from her weekend romps, sharing her adventures with our co-workers during smoke breaks. Her pickups showered her with attention; sending flowers, taking her to lunch, giving her rent money. There was an endless line up of older gay women in expensive cars spoiling her rotten and that looked like exactly what I needed too. At that point in my life I had financially and emotionally supported an ever changing line up of would be rock stars, so a sugar mama sounded like a dream come true. I started hitting up the gay bars with her on weekends. I chopped off my hair into a cute, shaggy little cut and found freedom in a cosmetic free face. I added some polo shirts and flat shoes to my wardrobe. I danced my Doc Martin shod feet off to “I Just Want To Be Your Lover Girl” at the Sports Page and Talluleh’s. I discovered that picking up women is a lot more difficult than picking up men. […]
The majority of relationships begin with the most unromantic thing that two adults can do together: Having a one night stand. I’ve never been big on romance in the traditional sense. I find the notion of a candlelit dinner or a romantic stroll on the beach to be trite and too structured. My idea of romance has always been along the lines of someone buying me a beer, letting me eat the last piece of pizza, or keeping their mouth shut during my favorite television show. Contrary to normal consensus, my distaste for romance has little to do with my elevated levels of jadedness. Even when I was younger and much more naïve than I am now, someone buying me flowers or writing me a poem seemed awkward, forced, and cheesy. But now, at 33 and still single, people assume that I hate romance because I’ve been dating for 15 years and I’m simply exhausted. This mis-perception often pops up when discussing my views with less experienced friends, friends who still think that the odds of them meeting someone casually at a coffee shop aren’t actually less than the odds of them getting mauled by a pack of wild dogs. […]
Tony Thompson on the pluses and minuses of dating somebody new. Since the dawn of time, all of mankind has been plagued with questions that distract and taunt us. 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. […]
So I get this email from a guy who met somebody he spent the weekend with. Apparently, the clouds broke, the birds chirped, and the sun shone through. He had met The One. But The One barely returned his calls or texts. So he wanted to know if he should keep calling and texting. Which brings me to that Ostrich look. The one we all get when hope, longing and desire makes us deaf, dumb and blind. It’s hard to avoid it when The One sends a text for every three you send. Doesn’t that mean he’s interested and just needs a little push? Think back to the last time you responded once or twice to somebody who blew up your phone with calls and texts. Why didn’t you respond? Was it because you were too busy? Because you never got any of his messages? Because you were stuck in a dead zone for a month and couldn’t call out? Because you weren’t “ready for a relationship?” Because you had intimacy issues? Or because you weren’t interested? You can avoid this kind of heartbreak with the next Mr. I Know He Loves Me So Why Isn’t He Calling Back? Here’s how: […]
No, I thought. I suck. I suck for getting myself in this position in the first place. This was my fault (well, his, too but you know what I mean.) If I had only been strong enough to just be alone. If only I had been able to give to myself what I thought a man could give me. If only I could have owned up to my flaws and mistakes and tried to fix them, then I would have never been there in the first place.
When you forget to flush, according to guest blogger Tony Thompson. 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? […]
I'm guessing the sex is so hot when the Obamas are done, the Bidens light a cigarette. Barack and Michelle are doing for fidelity what Clinton did with infidelity--make us cover our eyes and peek through our fingers. Of course, monogamy's always been sexy--for the first year or two of a relationship. But [...]