You're Not One of Those Lying Fags...

...but you don't have a problem stretching the truth to spare somebody else's feelings. You're just a nice guy in that lying sort of way. Although you tend to be a bit naive when it comes to other people lying to you for similar reasons. However, when you're left feeling confused by something a boy told you, you're usually pretty confident that the truth has been stretched to accommodate your volatile emotions. This is what you're thinking about as you make your way over to meet the Massssculine Man for a date. Why on earth did he just disappear after a bathroom break when you were having such a good conversation? You're a bit wary that he'll dole out some bullshit when you ask him this question, but the fact that he invited you out to dinner after his post-bathroom Houdini act at Low Tea leaves you feeling more than a bit confused. However, you decided that drinks would be a bit more casual, so you joked about how you'd somehow break out of Betty Ford to come meet him at Eastern Bloc for a cocktail. And now, surprise-surprise, you're running late and your iPhone is ringing and even though you're 99% positive that it's the Massssculine Man calling, you have a strict policy of not answering numbers that you don't recognize, so instead of picking up the call, you just pick up the pace and ban the foreign number to voicemail.

You, of course, immediately check the message and a massive sense of relief takes over when you realize that the message is, indeed, not from the Massssculine Man, yet from the hairy Chia Pet you met on Fire Island. Although you feel like you've dodged a bullet that was doused in Rogaine, his message is actually extremely sweet and complimentary and exactly the kind of message that you'd love to receive from the right guy. The Chia Pet was definitely the wrong guy. And not because he was too hairy. There are lasers to deal with hairy. However, not feeling any passion at all? Not so much. That particular laser has yet to be invented.

When you finally get to Eastern Bloc the place is completely dead. The Massssculine Man is sitting at the bar chatting it up with the bartender and when you walk inside they both turn toward you and a big toothy smile takes over the Massssculine Man's face. Which is really nice. You walk over and say hello, and since he's already drinking a Jack & Ginger you turn to the bartender to order yourself a cocktail to catch up. Only the bartender is way too busy yapping to the Massssculine Man. Actually the two of them are all wrapped up in some conversation that seems to be so engaging that you begin to wonder if you're intruding? They obviously know each other, really, really well, and you begin to wonder how often the Massssculine Man hangs out at Eastern Bloc? Eventually during a lull in their conversation and you finally get your order in which, thankfully, has the fringe benefit of sending the bartender away to make your drink.

When your conversation eventually segues into Fire Guyland, you immediately begin to tease him about disappearing after he went to the bathroom during Low Tea. You even go as far as to tell him how you waited and waited in the same exact spot for his return. But ultimately you assumed that he wasn't interested. And then you brace yourself for a big fat lie. The Massssculine Man is actually very confused. He informs you that when he did return that you were surrounded by a group of friends and he didn't want to interrupt. You are actually shocked by his excuse. If he is telling the truth (and you're pretty sure that he is), then he must be so insanely timid that he'd rather ditch you than risk a moment of minimal awkwardness? Images of Blonde Beard start shyly dancing through your head (in the shadows of course). You begin to wonder how a man can live on this earth for over thirty years and yet still somehow be so uncomfortable in his own skin that he's scared to interrupt some dumb drunken conversation? And this, my friend, is your first red flag.

Your second red flag is actually a deep Soviet red, complete with a hammer and sickle. It arrives in the form of the Eastern Bloc bartender who plows you with so much free vodka that you get hammered and begin to worry that you might actually feel a little bit sick(le). Ordinarily this would be a good thing, but things are beginning to get a bit messy. And somehow, given all the free drinks, the Massssculine Man still doesn't seem the least bit intoxicated. When you slur about how you haven't had dinner yet, the Massssculine Man actually informs you that he never has dinner! Ever! Which definitely explains his 8-pack abs, yet does nothing but leave you wondering if this boy might have a bit of a drinking problem? And you, my friend, don't want to get mixed up in that kind of a situation. The last thing you want to be is someone else's sober driver!

Suddenly a boy who went to school with the Massssculine Man interrupts your conversation to say hi. They start talking about a recent evening on Fire Guyland where the friend was all "cracked out" and waited an hour and a half in the rain for a Water Taxi to the Grove. Not just a shy alcoholic, you think to yourself. But a crackhead to boot. But you're jumping ahead of yourself. It's not like you have to marry this boy, but it might be nice to get a kiss before he disappears into the bathroom, never to be heard from again. And somehow when you look at your watch it is now 1am so you inform the Massssculine Man that you really must get going. You walk to the corner of First & 1st together, but it ends up being one of those lingering goodbyes where eventually you get so frustrated that you wind up pushing him up against the brick building to make-out with him. The kisses are actually verrrry nice, and you're extremely turned on until your front teeth end up clinking and ruin the mood. For some reason it's the sexual equivalent of fingernails down the chalkboard and you absolutely hate it. So you readjust your boys and say goodnight before heading home.

However, before you go to bed you notice the Chia Pet's business card on your nightstand and, since you know that you don't want to go out with him again, you decide to send him a quick email instead of suffering through a phone call. "glad you survived the pines. i am always so exhausted after spending the weekend out there that i feel like i need a vacation! anyway, although i really enjoyed hanging out with you i'm actually just coming out of a mini-relationship thing (okay, fine, i was dumped...) and am kind of steering clear of the whole dating scene for a while until i get my head clear. i hope you understand. and honestly, that's why i didn't want to spend the night." And although there ain't nothing all that honest about it, it somehow seems nicer than responding to his super sweet phone call with something as blunt as, "Sorry, I'm just not that into you." Anyway...

You're Not One of Those Jealous Fags...

...but you do find yourself green with envy when your Straight Boyfriend starts doing the "we" thing. Sometime during the last few months he progressed from being a sad and lonely "I" to being a happily-ever-after "We." You haven't seen much of your Straight Boyfriend since he moved over to the Darkside and became a "We," but tonight you both left work early in order to catch up over some cheap drinks and free happy hour food at Spain. Although you want to smack him each time he talks about himself plurally, you end up being the one who needs to be smacked out of your state of shock when your Straight Boyfriend informs you, "We're actually moving in together." Although you're happy for your Straight Boyfriend (after all, it's Mrs. Oui who you're jealous of!), you find yourself wondering if you'll ever meet someone who you can have a relationship that actually lasts longer than your monthly Metrocard? Is this really too much to ask for out of life? Time seems to be tick-tick-ticking away and somehow you're still kick-kick-kicking yourself because you seem to be just about as far away from your "We" goal as ever.

Luckily your jealous moment of silence is interrupted by an older gent sitting next to your Straight Boyfriend as he literally falls from his bar stool and does a Long Island Iced-Tea plunge onto the bar floor. Although your chivalrous Straight Boyfriend hops to the gent's rescue, you can't help but break into hysterics because you had been watching the drunk gent talk to an imaginary pink elephant for the past twenty minutes before reaching his tipping point. The Gin & Tonic Gent dusts himself off and goes right back to his G & T, which, somehow, never spilt a drop.

That's when Mrs. Oui shows up with a friend of hers, and you force a grimaced smile as you say, "Congratulations, I just heard the big news." Mrs. Oui thanks you and then begins doing the "We" thing while you begin to wonder how your Boys Night Out suddenly turned into a We Night Out? Had you known you probably would have stayed at home alone and played your Hobosexual Roommate's Nintendo Wii instead. Things get worse when, out of nowhere, Mrs. Oui's annoying friend starts to fondle your chest. She's drunk as a skunk and starts saying things like, "It's such a shame that you have to be gay. What a waste." Even though you know that nothing good will come from any response at all, you can't help but say, "Actually, it's not a shame at all. In fact, I'm pretty fucking ecstatic about it." And then, for some unknown, yet completely irritating reason, Drunk Girl begins to hurl bar peanuts at you. One by one they irritatingly hit your chest and you just stare at Hurl Girl with disgust as she continues to toss free salty bar snacks at you. When you realize that Hurl Girl is never going to stop you decide to go to the one place where you can escape her Chick Fit and you announce, "I'm going to the men's room," even though you don't even have to pee.

In the bathroom you, of course, send out an email blast to all your Blackberry Boys in search of a rescue ring! Then you kill some more time by checking your email. Luckily there's actually a Connexion message so you log on to see if perhaps your future "We" has just contacted you. You are in absolute shock when you realize that the boy who has just written you is the same boy who dissed you last weekend on Fire Guyland! The Massssculine Man says, "how's it going? nice meeting you over the weekend, hope you had a good one. i'm back to civilization and i think my liver is happy about it. hit me up sometime if you feel like grabbing a bite to eat in the neighborhood (before you move). in the meantime, i'm prepping a list of hard-hitting questions. hope all is well and that you enjoyed the rest of you weekend." You're in shock because you were sure that the Massssculine Man had absolutely no interest in you! It's definitely another big gay conundrum, but you and your A.D.D. are quickly sidetracked when you receive a text from Rice Queen telling you to meet him and the San Francisco Treat at Beige. When you return to the bar, you tell the "We's" that you've got to go but not before you tell Hurl Girl, "You know, I've been thinking and I don't think it's at all a shame that you're straight." And then you throw a few peanuts that quickly disappear into her heaving cleavage before you race out the door and hail a cab.

Beige is packed with boys who don't think it's a shame that you're gay, and you grab a cocktail and start chatting with your Gay Posse and their friends. Everything is going swimmingly (mostly because nobody is throwing anything) until one of the Rice Queen's friends suddenly flings a completely shocking, "I love your blog" at you. You stammer before finally saying a simple, "Thanks," and then you sneak Rice Queen a dirty look but he just shrugs in a confused manner which makes you wonder who told this boy about your Blah-Blah-Blog?

Your paranoia takes you on a Fruit Loop of the busy boy bar and you wind up chatting with some awesome-looking Aussies. It quickly becomes apparent that they are much younger than you, but you stumble through the conversation with a few key phrases that you've learned in order to make you presentable to the Flip-Flop generation. For a while it actually seems like the Awesome Aussie is interested in you. You're completely flabbergasted and flattered, until he asks the dreaded question, "How old are you?" You can't help but notice his shock at the number you dole out, and his surprise is quickly replaced with disinterest. Suddenly you're insanely jealous of the Awesome Aussie and his youth. Obviously he has no interest in being your "We." So you cut your losses and end up running into a Ski Fag from your Chamonix trip and his long, beautiful blonde hair. Sampson gives you a big hug and the two of you start yapping about the ski trip last February. You're actually a bit surprised when Sampson tells you that it was the best trip that he had ever taken. You prompt him to qualify his statement by asking, "You mean because of the amazing skiing?" To which he responds, "What skiing? I was having too much fun getting to know everybody!" Now you're not usually someone who holds his cards close to his chest, but you find yourself feeling a bit cautious as you admit, "I dunno. I kind of thought some boys were a bit cold or something." And Sampson informs you, "That's because you won the trip and isolated yourselves." Isolated yourself? Is Sampson kidding? It's kind of hard to isolate yourself when everybody's busy doing it for you! But you continue to probe, "What does winning the trip have to do with anything?" And everything clicks when Sampson says, "Everybody who paid thought that they were subsidizing your free trip." Although you know that the trip was paid for by corporate sponsors, suddenly you realize why everybody was so cold. They were just jealous!

You say your goodbyes and continue along your Fruit Loop until you finally complete a full lap and return to your Gay Posse. Rice Queen quickly pulls you over to him and informs you that your blog fan actually had no idea who you were because he mistook you for Andy Towle, who, of course, you are insanely jealous of both him and his wildly successful blog. Anyway...

You're Not One of Those California Fags...

...but you used to be. Which is why you are so surprised at how bizarrely un-gay your vacation turns out to be. Not only do you miss The Abbey's LA Gay Pride Party by a day (which is hosted by everybody's favorite Dirty Sexy Honey, Candis Cayne), you actually end up getting into a fight with an Abbey bartender over the trials and tribulations of closing your tab. Not to mention the fact that you don't meet anybody! And let's face it, you're the kind of fag that usually winds up meeting everyone! But you're happy because you get to catch up with your WeHo friends. Palm Springs turns out to be more of the same, but you do have a hoot at Wang's, but that probably has more to do with their $2 Happy Hour than with their clientele. The spotty liver-spotted crowd makes of Silver Foxes actually makes you feel like a spring chicken, and you can't help but smile when you pass by a man who says, "Hello, Gorgeous!" as you pass by. When you turn to smile at the adorable senior citizen (who retired long before you were born) you notice that he has one purple hair swirled around his head so many times that you begin to wonder if he got it styled a soft-serve specialist at Carvel? Anyway. San Francisco is more of the same, but that has more to do with the fact that you are there for your best friend's birthday who happens to be *gasp* straight. It's a big one for Blondie so you sacrifice your one gay night in the City by the Bay to celebrate with all of her straight mommy friends and let them have Pity for the Gay. You don't mind though, because the liquor flows and you have an excellent time, or at least that's what Blondie informs you when you wake up the next morning before flying back with a massive vodka-stained hangover.

Luckily with a quick swipe of your Visa, Jet Blue offers you some Hair of the Dog and by the time you land in New York you are more than ready to get your gay on, so you head directly to Fire Guyland from JFK. Before you can say Planter's Punch, you're actually sipping away at one during Low Tea. Which, Dear Reader, is where your story really begins. You become instantly aware that you certainly didn't leave your heart in San Francisco as you feel it drop onto the dance floor and get trampled upon during an Absolutely (Not) predictable Deborah Cox song. After catching your breath, just like Deborah, you decide not to compromise your point of view and race over to the boy who you've had bookmarked on Connexion since April Fools Day, 2007. You're definitely not going to let this opportunity pass, because, honey, you ain't no fool!

Your voice quivers as you ask the Most Masculine Man you've ever seen, "You were at Room and Board about a month or so ago, right? Furniture shopping with your parents?" However, when he laughs and confirms you suspicion with a snake-like "Yesssssss," you are in a bit of shock when his fabulous Fendi Bag practically falls out of his mouth. Although you are initially a bit shocked, you decide to ignore his lingering "s" and decide to give Massssculine Man another chance, because, after all, why the hell shouldn't you? This turns out to be a great decision because the two of you have a great time chugging drinks and chatting away during Low Tea. He's, surprise-surprise, an interior decorator, who grew up in Connecticut just like you. And like any good WASP, this boy likes to drink! His drinks are actually disappearing even faster than yours! You wind up having a lot in common, but most importantly, the Massssculine Man actually makes you crack a smile. Although he's not knee-slappingly funny, he is definitely ass-slappingly good looking enough to dig deeper for a sense of humor. So when he tells you that he has to go to the bathroom, you definitely decide to stay put and wait for the Massssculine Man to return. You wind up running into a few friends while you wait. And wait. And wait. However when the music stops abruptly, signaling that it is time for all Fire Island Fags to funnel their way from Low to High Tea, you suddenly find yourself feeling sssstood-up. The place empties almost instantaneously and there is nary a boy in the bathroom line, so you have no choice but to abandon ship and you follow your friends over to High Tea with your head Hung Low. You can't help but wonder whether your disappointment has more to do with the fact that you really did like this guy, or perhaps you just being a big baby about being rejected by the Massssculine Man?

You head upstairs with Rice Queen and Half-Share and wander through the mess of messy men at High Tea, looking for the rest of your Kinsey 8 housemates to inquire about your dinnertime. However, you instantly lose your appetite when you look up and notice the Massssculine Man taking his last ssssip from a cocktail that he must've ordered long ago while you were busy waiting patiently for him to return from the bathroom. Although you are completely embarrassed when you catch eyes, you decide confront the situation and you walk right up to him and ask (borderline) politely, "What happened to you?" When the Massssculine Man informs you that, "I looked for you..." you hear nothing but his blah-blah-blah about his famous dissssappearing act since you never left the sssspot where the two of you sssstood and yapped for over an hour. The same spot which happened to be less than ten feet from the bathroom. Since you have no interest in wasting more of anybody's time, you tell the Massssculine Man that you've got to find your housemates and quickly move on, albeit only physically, as emotionally you feel rather sssstuck.

That, of course, is when you notice the Endohottie who you met about a month ago on an irritatingly sober coffee date, and although you weren't sure if you were really all that into him, you decide that you might have more fun chatting over a Gay Cocktail. So you make your way over and give the Endohottie a big smile as you ask him what he's been up to. Luckily the Endohottie doesn't waste an hour of your time, because in about 3.2 sentences he informs you that he's got to head home to cook dinner for his house. And you just stand there for a moment of pity, where you suddenly find yourself wishing you were still in California where nobody bothered to talk to you. Anyway...