You're Not One of Those Fags Who Has Professional Headshots Taken for his Online Dating Profile...

...as if! Facebook-Schmacebook! When it comes to your blog, you don't even have a Face! But when Half-Share sends you a cute group photo from last weekend on Fire Guyland, you quickly crop out the entire group and post it on Connexion. You've found, for some unknown reason, that posting new photos seems to renew interest in your profile and attract new boys. And now that you've said, "Buh-Bye, Swedie Pi!" you could definitely use a new Milkshake to Bring All the Boys to the Yard. Even though you've got your fingers crossed for a New York Super Fudge Hunk, in the warming weather your Mojo definitely seems to be melting to the point where you'd happily take the Rocky Road and settle for something Half Baked. Moments after you post the cropped photo there's a knock on your bedroom door and you are surprised when your Hobosexual Roommate is standing there with an unidentified perky young girl who you've never even seen before. "I'm sorry," he lies. "I didn't know you'd be home so I scheduled a few potential roommates to come see your room." Although you want to say, If you wanted to know my schedule then maybe you could have... Oh I don't know? Asked? But you are moving out of the Home Sweet Hovel next month and the Hobosexual's next victim is smiling perkily and, although you know you should be screaming for her to, "Run Forrest! Ruuuuuuuuuun!!" you are also ruuuuuning late for an Out Magazine party to preview the Marc Ecko Summer Collection (yawn) but, more importantly, you are late for some free Three Olives Vodka!

While you're in the bathroom doing some vitally important last minute nose hair trimming, you can't help yourself from listening to the inane conversation going on in the living room of your Home Sweet Hovel. The trimmer buzzes away while buzz words like Fung Shui and Generational Discourse grab your attention to the point where you burst out laughing. Shouldn't the Perky Girl be asking more probing questions like, "Do you ever do your dishes?" or "What do you wipe yourself with during the weeks when you run out of toilet paper?" or possibly even a simple, "Do you ever use soap when you bathe?" But no! Instead these twentysomethings are yapping about the Fung Shui of a lumpy futon that was recently plagued by the Hobosexual's imaginary Bedbugs.

You escape and head over to Eighth Avenue & 17th Street in Chelsea to meet a bunch of your friends who have absolutely no idea why you told them to meet you at Marc Ecko, yet instantly dropped their interrogation when you said, "Free Vodka." Actually, you don't even know what this party is for! One of your Blah-Blah-Blog friends, the Non-Party-Boy Party-Boy (aka NPBPB) was nice enough to forward you the invitation because he knows how partial you are to anything free and gay. You walk in off the avenue and when you find your friend Half-Share and you instantly know that something must be gravely wrong when you notice the grimace on his face. When he notices your deep concern, Half-Share shakes his head as he gives you the terrible news, "The vodka is either grape or cherry flavored." That's when Jet Blew takes a big gulp, finishing his glass before informing you expressionlessly, "It's absolutely vile."

Your friends, of course, ask you to pick them up some refills as race to the back of the store to get in the bar line so you can do your own taste test. That's when you recognize someone you know from the Ski Fags, and you quickly realize, now that it's warm and sunny outside, the two of you have absolutely nothing in common. So you wind up in one of those deep, "You look great! -- No, you look great!" Chelsea conversations until you feel an ominous tap on your shoulder. All the Ghosts of Your Dating Past start flashing through your head as you take a big breath of the grape and cherry scented air. However, when you turn around and see the Shoulder Tapper, you have absolutely no idea who the hell he is. Now, although you are terrible with names, you are pretty damn good with faces (unless of course you meet the Faces when you are drunk, which is mostly when you meet the Faces. Okay, okay. So you're terrible with names and faces.) But the Shoulder Tapper just stares at you for a loooooong moment with a big, shit eating grin on his Face. You, of course, don't say anything. You're pretty sure that you've never slept with him. Well, okay, possibly there's a slim fifty-fifty chance. So you smile, just in case. And that's when the Shoulder Tapper tells you his name (which does sound vaguely familiar, yet doesn't quite ring your Tinkerbell) and that's when he says, "You told me to say hi if I figured out who you were. So I'm saying hi this time." All you can do is gulp when he says, "I love your Blah-Blah-Blog."

You are absolutely stunned! You've been so diligent about remaining anonymous and are completely floored that the Non-Party-Boy Party-Boy has somehow easily identified you from at least a hundred Chelsea Boys in what now feels like a Gay Police Line-Up (for the vodka bar, of course). Arrested doesn't even begin to describe the way you feel. Frozen is more like it. You are like a Deer caught in NPBPB's extremely natural-looking Highlights. And that's when he says, "Well, I've got to go now." And this twist in the conversation actually helps you untie the one in your tongue, "That's it? You're not even going to talk to me or ask me anything?" This is when NPBPB informs you exactly where you fall in his gay pecking order, "I've got tickets to see Patti Lupone in Gypsy tonight. Sorry." And with that, the Non-Party-Boy Party-Boy disappears into the crowd, just as quickly as he appeared, and races off to his next Non-Party. Luckily, you have finally reached the bar and it is now your turn to order. And since you are a bit shaken from the Tap-and-Run outing, you tell the bartender (who you somehow recognize from G even though he has his shirt on) that you'd like one Cherry Soda and one Grape Soda, and you complete your own impartial taste test on your way back to your friends.

Half-Share and Jet Blew instantly see the look of horror on your face and they shake their heads in agreement while continuously sipping their flavored vodkas, "Isn't it absolutely vile?" But you explain that you've just been Outed! Half-Share quickly quips back, "Honey, did you really think people would think you were straight in that outfit?" "What?" you ask, "Is my T-shirt too tight?" To which Half-Share responds with a silent, yet dramatic eye-roll. You say, "Oh come on! It's more Straight-Tight than Gay-Tight." And then Half-Share says, "What do you expect when you shop from the Baby Gap clearance rack? But don't worry," he says. "It looks good on you." You laugh as Half-Share rolls his eyes again.

After a couple more trips to the bar, even though you have actually grown partial to the Welch's Wodka, your friends, who obviously have more mature palates (combined with more mature wallets), decide to go around the corner and head over to XES to pay for the privilege of not having to drink Cherry and Grape flavored Vodka. XES is absolutely packed to the gills with Sauced Sardines because they are apparently having a Genre Magazine party. You look around aimlessly for the Genre Gent you met over the winter (yet lost touch with), hoping you can, once again, hit him up for some freelance work. But the bar is way too crowded and you quickly give up your search when you run into your BFF and his co-worker, Pussy Galore, as they're ordering drinks at the bar.

At 8:30 Half-Share and Jet Blew decide to go grab a bite to eat at a restaurant you can't afford, so you all kiss goodbye and the next thing you know you are dancing on a platform, singing passionately along to the new Madonna vs. Justin Timberlake song as if you were the one who only had Four Minutes to save the world. That's when a Columbia Photographer from Colombia starts snapping his flash all around you. You, of course, camp it up for him as if he's your personal strobe light, and you are the Last Model Standing. Afterwards the Columbia Colombian actually says with a completely straight face, "I want to do a session with you." You instinctively roll your eyes and he says, "No, seriously! I need new shots for my website and I think you'd be perfect." You stare at him for a long time, waiting for Alan Funt to emerge from behind the wall and say, "You're on Candid Camera!" but he doesn't. After a beat or two you realize that the Columbia Colombian is being serious and not just feeding you a, for lack of a better word, line. You actually believe him when he says, "I just like your energy." And that's when you are immediately embarrassed by the situation which is simultaneously flattering yet equally objectifying to the point where you have no choice but to giggle and cover your mouth like a Japanese school girl wearing too much Hello Kitty. Although the Columbia Colombian is not typically your type, you find yourself drawn to his unexpected compliments in the form of a kiss. And it's absolutely amazing.

After what feels like a half hour, you look at your watch and feel like someone is playing a practical joke on you when you realize that it is now midnight and you have that awful realization that you still haven't had dinner. Although the Columbia Colombian asks you to come back to Astoria with him, you are feeling unsure. You tell him (and you actually believe yourself in the moment) that one night stands are no longer your thing. That's when the Columbia Colombian gives you his business card and says, with all seriousness, "I'm really serious about doing a photo shoot." You kiss him good night and put his card in your pocket. And when you wake up the next morning and find yourself thinking about the Columbia Colombian in some of your earliest hungover thoughts, you end up Facebooking him a message which says, "All right Mr. De Mille. Facebook is ready for my new close-up." Anyway...

You Can't Be One of Those Alcoholic Fags...

...if you're in denial. Anyway...

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

...although the smell of brewing coffee makes you a little bit ill, you definitely get a bit surly if you haven't had your two liter daily quota of Diet Pepsi. So after a lost weekend on Fire Guyland (where there was nary a Pepsi product to be found), it's probably not the wisest idea to email your Swedie Pi about getting together. You had a few back and forth emails over the weekend, but any information he offered up seemed a bit unnecessarily vague, especially since he never suggested getting together. However Swedie Pi definitely did mention the fact that he was leaving town for Mallorca in a few days. Although his signals are definitely mixed, you did have a fantastic first date so you decide it's worth sending a casual email to test the waters: "hey, i've returned from the gayer island to the merely gay island. i'm exhausted and need a vacation! how was your weekend? got any time for a libra before you jet away to mallorca?"

While you wait for Swedie Pi's response, the Libra in you begins to weigh all the different scenarios of how this Dating Don't email will come back to haunt you. You decided long ago that Mixed Signals were just as irritating as Mixed Bars. You don't take it personally anymore, because you know that even if Swedie Pi is unsure of the way he feels about you, Mr. Right, on the other hand, will be very clear. The reason you know this is true because, after years of dating, you've learned, first and foremost, to always trust your own feelings. When you feel ambivalent about a boy, you tend to act ambivalent. And when you're really into a boy, you are always willing to prioritize and clear your busy dating schedule around spending time together. But Swedie Pi seems to be playing his Tarot Cards ridiculously close to his smooth Nordic chest. If He's Just Not That Into You, then why does he keep sending emails? Or on the off chance that he is into you, then why wouldn't he suggest getting together before he leaves for Spain? And you're even more confused when you receive his reply, "Want to meet up for lunch or coffee early afternoon? I can come to your hood."

Lunch or coffee? For a second date? Before he leaves the country for two weeks? Not to mention the fact that you receive the lunch offer at 12:51pm... Now you may be wrong (even though you're not), but you really don't see the possibility of having sex arise after lunch or *gasp* coffee. You don't even want to think about kissing Swedie Pi's Coffee Breath. Ugh. And although you don't (typically) mind playing it a bit Gay Slow and waiting for the third date to have sex, the fact that Swedie Pi is leaving the country on Wednesday seems to make the possibility of a third date seem as remote and foreign as Mallorca itself. But here's what really confuses you: Why does Swedie Pi want to get together at all? Why doesn't he just tell you he's too busy? Does he just want to be friends? Ugh. Honey, you have too many friends as it is! Anyway. You reply a bit tentatively, while passive-aggressively fishing for a date that could involve a cocktail or possibly bottle of wine over dinner: "just got your email. not sure if you meant today, or if there's just a delay in your email? regardless, today won't work for me. tues or wed would be okay though. not sure when you leave." There is no delay in his next response, however, and you are shocked to receive this: "Yeah today. Tomorrow I work all day and evening, wednesday it's Chelsea gallery day with a friend. But why don't we get a nice breakfast somewhere wednesday morning? You up for that?"

A nice breakfast?! How do you go from having one of the best, most romantic first dates you've ever had, to some lousy breakfast date? Ewwww! No thank you! Unless, of course, you're being served breakfast in bed, you have absolutely no interest in going on that date! How could two people have such a completely different take on each other? You begin to feel like you may finally be losing your mind until you remember the adorable waitress at Cafe Gitane who thought that you and Swedie Pi had been dating for months! Even she noticed the chemistry! But you are actually more intrigued than ever by Swedie Pi's bizarre retreat and you are curious to see how this one plays out, so you decide to make yourself a bit more available: "i've got a doctor's appointment at 11am on wednesday, so breakfast might be cutting it too close. maybe i could make tonight could work. i've got an event at 6:30 on west 48th but maybe i could meet you beforehand? i know a few bars in that area but, since i don't drink coffee, i never know any coffee places. do you know of any place nearby?"

Swedie Pi slowly returns your emails throughout the afternoon and eventually he suggests you meet him at Coffee Pot on Ninth Ave & 49th Street at 5pm. He is waiting for you when, of course, you arrive five minutes late. The place is a dump. Zero atmosphere. And when you get there, something seems a bit off. There's no enthusiastic hello. At all. And you're not sure why, maybe it's because of the harsh florescent lighting combined with the bright sunlight streaming through the window, or possibly it's because you are drinking plain Iced Tea instead of your preferred brand, Long Island, but Swedie Pi looks older. Much older. The lines around his eyes seem to scream "I lied on my profile!" But regardless of this unexpected wrinkle, there is one thing that is absolutely for sure: All of the magic from the first date is missing. Without a Trace. The whole time you are annoyed because it just seems like Swedie Pi has agreed to meet you to throw you a fucking bone! Without throwing you his bone! As if you don't have better things to do than to fill an hour and a half of your day with conversation about his retired mother! But honestly, at this ridiculous point in the date you realize that you will never see this boy again so you just go through the motions. Suppressing yawns and irritation and substituting them with more and more questions, mostly to evade having to answer anything probing that he might ask, because, honestly, you have shut down. How can you go on more and more of these ridiculous dates? You'd love to ask Mr. Owl "How many dates does it take to get to the center of a Charm(less) 'Mo Top?"

When you look at your watch you are shocked to see that it's only 6pm! You already told Swedie Pi that your next party began at 6:30, and since your BFF isn't going to show up until then, you pull some more questions out of your ass just to keep the conversation going for another half hour. At this point you can't help but be shocked by the fact that your last date lasted five hours and you were actually bummed when it ended! But after an hour and a half of Swedie Pi's monologue you remind him that you must get going, and just as you begin to put on your jacket he throws you a doosey that you weren't expecting. You are practically heading out the door when Swedie Pi asks, "So what's the title of your novel? And what's it about?" You feel like the Meryl Streep character from Death Becomes Her after she gulps down the anti-aging potion and her Voodoo doctor says, "And now for a warning..." You almost scream out, "Now a question?!" but you don't even have any interest in being funny at this point so you just tell him, "It's called The Convertible Life." And, although you are annoyed by the immense question that Swedie Pi has casually asked just you as you are literally walking out the door, you give him a brief synopsis about how it's about an adoption search that completely changes the protagonist's life. But you are absolutely shocked when Swedie Pi has the gall to say, "That sounds too serious." You really can't believe the inane direction that the conversation has turned, but you are on the street so you just smirk and roll your eyes as you say, "Well I'm a very serious guy." Swedie Pi gives you a double euro kiss goodbye and you head over to Wired Magazine's 15th Anniversary Party with your BFF at Highbar and get wired on anything but coffee while you peer over the roof deck and wave Buh-Bye to your Swedie Pi. Anyway...

FAG POLE: What will you be running out to buy for the 2008 Summer Swimsuit Competition?

45% of You said, "Four inch Board Shorts! I'm a Sensible Shopper and I can wear these on Fire Island or at my Cousin's Pool Party in Greenwich."

32% of You said, "Eight inch Board Shorts! I like to let my boys Hang Loose!"

12% of You said, "Snap Shorts! I'm all about the Easy Access, baby!"

9% of You said, "A Speedo! I worked all winter for this ass, and now I'm gonna let it work for me!"

Number of Fags Who Voted: 31

Check out all these cute suits and more at the Gay Bathing Suit Mecca better known as Parke & Ronen! Or leave a comment with a link to your favorite nylon place to hang your boys this summer!

HEY YOU! You're Not One of Those Closeted Football Fags...

...anymore. But you're still in training and need a lots and lots of Gay Practice before you graduate from Bench Warmer to Bun Warmer.

Hey You!

Although I'm more of a Football Fan, a couple of weeks ago I met this Soccer Player who I thought was really cute.

Since I was just beginning to break into the gay community (I've been out for only a couple of months), I was just kind of desperate for a connection. With every new day of flirting with him via text message, I realize I could do so much better than this guy. We've even gone on a few dates, but after going to a club with him I realized he's really not my style, and I'm not even attracted to him anymore.

Unfortunately, I've been leading him on for two weeks now. A simple friendship would be nice, because I'm likely to see him around at various parties and gay events around town.

So I'm wondering, "What's the best way to put a stop to this avant-relationship that has gone on for two weeks too long, when I've been shining the green light for two weeks?"

Yours,
Football Fanatic

Fagnote #1, to be played while reading Your response...


Dear Football Fanatic,

I have two words for you. David Beckham! But that, my friend, is the extent of all my sports knowledge. Thank God he married Posh Spice or I probably would never have even heard of him! Meanwhile, your Dating Dilemma reminds me of that scene in Risky Business where the Tranny Hooker shows up at Tom Cruise's house and tells him, "When you buy a TV, you don't buy Sony if you want RCA..." But honestly I don't think you should be buying anything at the moment. You should definitely be going down the Rent-To-Own route for quite some time before you decide which gayborhood you want to settle down in. The good news is that I think you already realize this!

Here's the other good news: the Soccer Player probably realizes this, too! Just like the Rebound Rule where everybody knows to steer clear of someone freshly out of a relationship, it's kind of an unwritten gay law to stay far away from boys when they first come out of the closet. The Breeders have it easy since they are actually bred to be straight and encouraged to learn the Ins and Outs of dating as early as Middle School! But us fags have it a bit harder. We pretty much pretend we're straight until we come out of the closet, and then, when we finally do admit to ourselves and the rest of the world that we're gay, we don't have a clue about what it really means! Although we somehow innately always know which grooming products to use, which designer jeans to buy, and which Carbs to avoid so that we don't end up becoming Straight Fat, most of us have not had parents who sat us down during puberty to tell us all about the Birds and the Birds. And instead of encouraging our compulsive need to dress and accessorize our little sister's naked Barbie Dolls, our parents forbade us from setting foot in Malibu Barbie's Dream House (even to give Gay Ken some redecorating tips)!

The good news is that, now that you've come out of the closet, you get to do all of this, and more! How are you gonna know if you're a good kisser if you settle down with the first Soccer Player you make-out with? Remember, practice makes perfect (see fagnote #1, above). Meanwhile, you've just learned a valuable lesson. If you're just not that into a boy, then don't send out all those signals (or texts). Your change of heart might be confusing for him initially, but you have the best excuse and it's not even a lie! You just came out of the closet and you're not ready to get serious with anybody. Think about it. How many of your seventh grade Gal Pals settled down with the first boy that asked them to hold hands during the Couples Skate at Rollerama? I'm guessing NONE! And if on the off chance I'm wrong, then I'm guessing the poor Gal Pal in question has a really shitty sex life.

Okay, so here's my advice. And it's really, really good advice that took me at least thirtysomething years to figure out. If you don't want to make a big deal out of an issue, then don't make it a big deal! If you don't like the boy, then don't lead him on with smiley faced texts! If he gives you a booty call, then call him back, the next day! If you just want a simple friendship, then treat him like a simple friend! Make sure your actions send out the correct signals (that you just want to be friends), and you may not even need to have the awkward conversation at all. Gay Boys are vapid, not stupid! However, if you really do want to be friends and keep him in your life (and I think it would be really smart for you to start making a Gay Posse of Friends Without Benefits), then you should really just tell him how you feel. But do it simply! If he has a big crush on you then, as Elton John would say to Kiki Dee, Don't Go Breaking His Heart. Tell him you like him, but you see him as more of a friend. You don't need to make a big deal out of it either. I think it's something that would be best said in person, but I'd only enter that scrimmage game if the Soccer Player in question has passed you the ball. Think of yourself as the Goalie who has to Cock-Block his big Soccer Balls without letting him score any more points, because, after all, this game is definitely over. Now it's time to start playing the field, but always remember, just as with Football, Soccer or Rollerskating, when it comes to Gay Dating, Practice Makes Purrfect!

xoxo You!

PS-Think I'm full of shit? Got some better advice for the Football Fanatic? Leave it for him in the form of a comment (see link below)!

Are you one of those Fags with a hairy gay dating problem that manscaping alone will not solve? Want to know how You would handle it? Send an email to: Hey_You [at] 2ndPerson [dot] net

You’re Not One of Those Fags Who Publishes His Cell Number…

...but you are always happy to stumble upon some quality reading material to keep you occupied while you’re on the can. Even on the Long Island Rail Road. You are actually a bit skeptical, however, about John’s outlandish claims that he will, ironically, meet you in this particular John on the 5:09 pm train to Babylon (Monday through Friday no less) for some “Hot Man on Man Action!” Although you are pretty sure that John-John would probably not be your type, you are a little bummed that you are, unfortunately, on the 3:21pm to Sayville, because it would certainly be entertaining to watch some suburban commuter hovering around his personal little Meatrack on his way home to his wife and kids. You, of course, rush back to tell your own little Fire Island Fag Family all about John-John, mostly so you can enlist them for help to remember which exact train to take in June when you have your next Quarter Cher week on Fire Guyland. Luckily, one of your more prompt Housemates arrived to Penn Station early enough to secure a spacious six-person banquette, so you and five of the Kinsey 8's you share a beach house with can all sit together and shield yourselves from the unsettling number of Kinsey Zeros who could really benefit from an episode or seven of Queer Eye for the Long Island Guy.

Since this is your first weekend of the Fire Guyland season, you are initially a bit confused by the 22 year old Columbia Student from Hong Kong who, although much too young, seems way gay enough to be part of the Kinsey 8. For some reason, although it appears that his hair consultant is Christian from Project Runway, this gay boy does not seem at all interested in participating in any of your convergaytion. Eventually, when you can’t stand the suspense anymore, you decide to ask one of the three Rice Queens about their not-so-Ancient Chinese Secret? You aren’t at all surprised to learn that Hong Kong Boy Toy is Rice Queen #1 and Rice Queen #2’s Exchange Student for the weekend. You immediately feel like Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles as her grandparents introduce her to the “Weird Chinese guy in Mike's room,” a.k.a. Long Duk Dong. Even though The Donger is nowhere near as social as the one played by Gedde Watanabe, he certainly is young enough to make you feel old enough to be Grandma & Grandpa. Which, in and of itself, is enough reason to instantly hate The Donger.

Luckily, this is when Rice Queen #2 pulls his weekend bag from the luggage rack, which clanks like a noisy wind chime and confuses you until he opens it up and reveals a nice travel sized unopened bottle of Knob Creek. Although you prefer clear alcohols for the same caloric reason you prefer Diet Pepsi, you quickly decide that beggar alcoholic buggers can’t be choosy, and you happily accept a big swig which instantly fills your esophagus with warmth and good cheer, almost as if it was a well endowed good queer. Since Rice Queen #1, Rice Queen #2 and Rice Queen #3 are all busy fawning over The Donger, you start chatting with Rice Queen #3’s Boyfriend who is a lovely Vietnamese boy from California. And since this San Francisco Treat has been in a relationship for several years, he seems to be quite interested in hearing all about your recent date with the Swedish Engineer that you've been fancying, Swedie Pi.

Although the Knob Creek is long gone by the time the Fairy Ferry docks at Fire Guyland, all of the usual Harbor Hob Nobbers start jumping impromptu Creeks that have formed along Fire Island Boulevard thanks to the monsoon that developed during your Escape From New York. You race to the Real Estate Office with the rest of the Kinsey 8 because you need to pick up the House Key before heading over to your house on Beach Hill Walk. The Donger walks along the path, umbrella-less, but Rice Queen #1 and Rice Queen #2 both sacrifice their own dryness, while selflessly choosing to shelter the Hong Kong Donger with their umbrellas as if not only his feet are bound, but his hands are too. Meanwhile, you wish that The Donger’s mouth was bound because everything that comes out of it just makes you feel as old as The Last Emperor.

Considering the downpour, your first night on Fire Guyland is a total washout, but luckily you wake up to a Sunshine Day that’s so gorgeous it’s worthy of a Brady Bunch song. After a leisurely breakfast you and the Kinsey 8 are surprised by an impromptu visit from a few Gentlemen Callers, who turn out to be some boys that share a beach house with your friend Half-Share (who upgraded to a Full-Share this season, only in a less glamorous house). It’s not long before you and all the rest of The Marys are sipping some Bloodies by the pool, however the real bloodbath begins when you all begin to crucify all of the poor gay boys unfortunate enough to be out of earshot. But you digress. The sky is blue and the vodka is Skyy and when the latter ends up being as clear as the former, you all decide to head over to Half Shares house for $90 worth of Tuna Fish sandwiches (purchased from the Grossly Overpriced Grocery) and you wash them down with a few Coronas (Light, of course, as Speedo season has officially begun), and sit by Half Share’s pool, boozing away the afternoon until Cocktail Hour finally arrives.

You race home and change into a scandalous pair of New Religions and decide to top them off with a politically correct, yet inappropriately tight, “Marriage is so Gay” T-shirt. After all your Gay Cocktailing, the fit is a bit too Gay-Tight, even for Low Tea on Fire Guyland, but black is always slimming, and considering everything going on in New York and California you decide that it’s an excellent conversation starter to begin your annual summer Husband Hunt. Low Tea at the Blue Whale is absolutely overflowing, and although you are just beginning your Senior Year of Camp Camp, some liver spots on certain Senior Citizens’ bald heads make your overworked liver feel as if it were the liver formerly known as Prince. So you, of course, decide to Party Like it’s 1999. You and the San Francisco Treat ditch The Donger and the Three Rice Queens and head over to the outdoor bar to order some drinks. Since the San Francisco Treat has never been to Low Tea before, you give him a quick education about the best value on the Island and revise his drink order with a round of Planters Punch that are so strong they seem to put more hair on your recently manscaped chest.

Once you have your drink in hand, you quickly ditch the San Francisco Treat so you can do an unencumbered Fruit Loop around Low Tea, as it's time to play your favorite game that you like to call,“Who Would You Sleep With?” Although the pickins’ are a bit slim (and not so slim in many cases), you eventually decide to talk to a boy who’s t-shirt begs you to “Take the Pepsi Challenge!” Although you are a Die-Hard Diet Pepsi fanatic, you definitely lose the Pepsi Challenge so miserably that you may actually have to wake up and nurse your hangover with a *gasp* Diet Coke tomorrow. But all you really want is a kiss. It feels like forever since your lips have been graced with all the possibility that a boy’s lying lips seem to promise, and tonight you feel like a Lip Syncing Missile as you mouth the words to some Disco song that’s even older than you.

Low Tea ends just when the sunset turns the western sky a lovely shade of Planter’s Punch, and you and the Kinsey 8 drag the San Francisco Treat down the dock and up the stairs for his first High Tea at the Glow Lounge. Luckily the music is a little more M People than Village People and you and your Planters Punch quickly Hustle yourselves over to the DJ booth where people are actually dancing without the aid of a ‘70s line formation. You are Mercifully drawn to the one Real Girl who is shaking her Fake Tits to Duffy and the two of you start to tear up the Pergo. There’s nothing you love more than dancing, and there’s nothing that Real Girl loves more than shaking her Fake Tits, so the two of you make a fantastic pair, flitting around without ever spilling a precious drop of your respective cocktails. It’s almost like an episode of Dancing With the Bars. But that’s when you see him. Leaning against the wall. Staring at you. Smiling at you. You flash him some dimple and abandon your Real Girl for the promise of a Real Kiss from a Real(ly) Cute Boy.

You quickly ingratiate yourself and are quite surprised when the whiskered boy puts down his Scotch Whiskey and introduces himself with a thick handshake and an even thicker Scottish accent. The talking quickly disintegrates into kissing, and you find yourself mashing against the wall between the DJ booth and the dark harbor sky which pours in from the open window. It’s really, really nice. You try to convince yourself that Hairy is the new Smooth as your clean-shaven face scrapes up against his unshaven one, but even you can see through your drunken denial as you can’t help but compare Scotch Whisker’s kiss to Blonde Beard’s. But he’s tall. And foreign. And available. God knows how many songs or how many kisses go by before The San Francisco Treat taps you politely on the shoulder to remind you about dinner, even though your intense appetite is no longer hungry for food. Scotch Whisky informs you that he, too, must head home for dinner and the two of you share one of those awkward “Where do we go from here?” moments. You assess the situation, and then decide, instead of asking for his number, to find out if he’ll be going out afterwards. When he says, “Indeed,” you smile and tell him, “Good. Then I’ll see you at Sip N’ Twirl later on.”

You get one last taste of the Dewar's on Scotch Whisker’s sweet breath before he leaves you standing alone on the dance floor. Although, you should probably be racing home for chicken that The San Francisco Treat has soaking in Red Wine for at least as long as you’ve been soaking in your own Vodka marinade, instead you find yourself pleading along with Rihanna for the DJ to “Please Don’t Stop the Music.” This moment is yours and you are floating with the evening’s new potential. You could give a shit that you are the only boy in the whole bar dancing. After all, it’s not the first time and it definitely won’t be the last. And you just Keep on Keepin’ On even when Half Share yells from across the bar, “Come on, Elaine!” as he throws his thumbs out, mimicking both you and Elaine Benes’ disturbing dance moves as he leaves the bar for another $90 Tuna Fish dinner. You just smile and wave goodbye, thumbs and all, until a small statured acquaintance who’s (allegedly) into fisting, locks arms with you and begins to drag you (fist first) and your good mood off the dance floor. You try to imagine a man’s hand rammed up your little friend’s bum as The Muppet pulls you away, showering you with patronizing tidbits like, “Come on honey, it’s really time to go home.” And you are instantly annoyed because, although you are, of course, drunk, you’re not that drunk. You’re just happy. Or at least you were until The Muppet had to go shackle your buzz. So you send The Muppet back to Sesame Street for a three way fist fuck with Burt & Ernie as you make your way back to dinner.

Dinner is on the table when you finally get home and the San Francisco Treat has really outdone himself tonight. Everything is made from scratch and there are no empty Rice A Roni boxes to be found anywhere. Even though it’s absolutely delicious, you find yourself racing through dinner so you can get over to Sip N’ Twirl and meet your Scotch Whiskers for another reassuring round of razor burn. You even, *gasp*, pass on the wine because you don't want to be too sloppy when you meet up with Scotch Whiskers. By the time you get to Sip N' Twirl you are relatively sober, especially for a person who started drinking twelve hours ago. Although you are tired, you are a man on a mission, specifically to be in the missionary position before the night ends. So you circle around Sip N' Twirl, over and over. And over. Even though it's dark and packed with boys, you search that gaystack from Tops to Bottoms for your lost needle, but you never find your Scotch Whiskers. By 2am you are practically falling asleep so you decide to call it a night and head home, alone, for a no-night stand with your right hand. But as you head out you notice The Muppet headed your way. Even though he's not dancing, per se, he is convulsing in such a disturbing way when he makes his way over, and his pupils are the size of frying pans as he traps you on the dance floor and shudders with a stutter, "Hey! Wanna dance?" You force a smile for the tweaking Muppet, and although you feel like you should probably call 911 and have him airlifted to a nearby hospital, you decide to let someone else lift him with their bare fist as you say, "No thanks," and head home.

The next morning you wake up bummed, wishing you had given Scotch Whiskers your phone number because now you fear you will never see him again. Eventually you pull it together and end up walking to town with Rice Queen #1 to pick up a dozen $8 eggs. Since #1 stayed in last night to Dingle the Donger, he's curious about what ultimately happened with Scotch Whiskers. And just as you're telling him your sob story of being stood up, guess who passes by on the boardwalk and calls out your name? Scotch Whiskers seems as genuinely excited to see you as you are to see him, even though he is walking with a boy who may or may not be his boyfriend. You decide to play it safe and introduce your friend first with the hope that Scotch Whiskers will introduce his friend sans moniker like, "This is my boyfriend." Which he does not. So then you say, "I looked for you at Sip N' Twirl last night, but couldn't find you." Scotch Whiskers explains that he was there, late, but he didn't see you either. You almost want to say, "I was the one running around all night looking for you," but then he says, "It was so crowded. We should have exchanged numbers." To which you find yourself responding in an unusual, yet appropriately pushy way, "Would you like my number?" Usually you never, ever offer up your number without being asked, but Scotch Whiskers, of course, says yes (what else is he going to say?) as he taps your number into his iPhone. You're kind of unsure about the impromptu interaction as you walk away, but Rice Queen #1 seems to think it went well and goes on and on about how lucky you are and "What are the odds of ever running into Scotch Whiskers again!?" You tend to think that the odds should have been higher for running into him last night at Sip N' Twirl, and you end up winning the bet (or perhaps losing it) when you never, ever receive a call from Scotch Whiskers. Anyway...

FAG POLE: Are You the One of those Fags Who Needs Closure When Your Relationship Ends?

53% of You said, "Yes! Breaking up is much easier when you understand exactly why that fucker cheated on you!"

31% of You said, "It depends on the circumstances of the breakup. Sometimes you like to torture your Ex-Boyfriends with the Silent Treatment."

12% of You said, "No! If a boy doesn't want to date you anymore then the only closure you need is from a slamming door on your way out for a night of Gay Cocktails."

2% of You said, "What is this thing you refer to as "closure"? Is it like that time when they plugged up the Glory Hole at the Rest Stop on I-95?"

Number of Fags Who Voted: 77

ASK YOURSELF: You're Not One of Those Fags Who Goes Back to Cali...

...and doesn't go out for Gay Cocktails! But you like your Gay Bars to be Cute, and your Gay Boys to be Cuter.

What's a Gay Boy to do...

...in Los Angeles on Wednesday & Thursday, June 4th & 5th?
...in Palm Springs on Friday, June 6th?
...in San Francisco on Sunday & Monday, June 8th & 9th?

If you get some good suggestions, then you will surely be writing about your Misadventures in the (310), the (760) and the (415)! Anyway...

HEY YOU! You're Not One of Those Flirty Frat Boy Fags...

...but after three long years in a college relationship, you suddenly feel more like one of those Homeschooled Homos.

Hey You!

How did you cope with the breakup with your ex for the following months? After a 3 year relationship, my boyfriend and I have decided to break up. I'm going to grad school in a different city and he's going to be working in a lab for awhile. He also sees us having radically different long term goals and that it wouldn't be a good idea for us to compromise either of our futures for the other. He's been the only boyfriend I've ever had, so I'm very nervous about being able to find a new relationship with where I'm going. I feel that he fills my every niche and that we have such a solid rapport that maybe this is someone that I want to try an open relationship with in case things don't work out for either of us in the future.

Anyways, I was just wondering if this relationship mirrors you and your ex at all. It looks like that you guys still have a very good relationship today and we plan to have that too. I was just wondering if you were also a fresh-faced newbie after that relationship and any tips you had to get over that first hurdle and start dating. For all I know, you may just have had the balls to go for it and mingle. Any advice would be helpful. Thanks! :)

Sincerely,
Homeschooled Homo

Fagnote #1, To be played while reading Your response...


Dear Homeschooled Homo,

I got chills reading your letter. Although my erect nipples probably have more to do with the the air conditioning, my goosebumps are definitely related to the déjà vu I feel when reading about your situation. Just like you, I, too, was a Homeschooled Homo. Soon after coming out, I was snatched up and hidden away in a Long Term Relationship that began sometime around the Dawn of Gay Man. I was twenty-two when we first met and after a decade or so I suddenly found myself in your position. Only I was thirtysomething and I had never ever been on a date!

But enough about me. As usual, I digress. Now who were we talking about again? Oh that's right. You! First of all, you should feel lucky. I know that might be hard to digest right about now, but you, my friend, are one of the fortunate boys who has experienced a wonderful, loving, long term relationship. Do you know how many boys I date who are hovering around forty and haven't ever dated a boy for more than three months? Hey, wait a minute. Why are we talking about me again? Obviously writing in the First Person does not suit me. Anyway. Trust me when I tell you that you have definitely learned some valuable life lessons from your three year relationship that boys twice your age still have yet to learn. Just like those socially retarded Homeschooled kids (see fagnote #1, above), you, my faggy friend, are a Three Year Old reading at the Seventh Grade Level.

Okay, now here's the bad news. Getting over a relationship will take as long as it takes. From what you said, it sounds like your breakup may be more of your Ex's choice than yours. That's hard to accept because you have no recourse in the matter. If one boy doesn't want to be in a relationship anymore, then from that exact moment there is no more relationship. I do worry that your Ex sees you two as having "radically different long term goals." That sentence slightly reeks of some good ol' Chelsea Boy Double Speak that might translate into "I want to be fucking someone radically different than you." Regardless, I am sure that he loves you and doesn't want to hurt your feelings because nobody wants to hurt anybody they love, even when he's dumping you. And this is always what makes it extra confusing to be the Dumpster.

But I am only concerned with you, so regardless of your Ex's intentions, here's what's jumping out at me about your letter. First of all you say, "He's been the only boyfriend I've ever had, so I'm very nervous about being able to find a new relationship." Whoa, boy! What's the rush? The Speed Limit is only 15 miles per hour in a Homeschooled Zone! The bad thing about being a Homeschooled Homo is that we haven't been properly socialized for this very complicated big gay world. After all, we've only had one teacher for all that time. In every subject no less! Now, I don't know your Ex, but, like the rest of us, I'm guessing he has his strengths as well as his weaknesses. However, being his only pupil you probably have no idea which qualities (or quantities) are strengths and which are not so strong (or long)! But now that you have graduated Homeschool and will soon be a Grad School Gay, you might find that there might be better teacher for some of the more advanced subjects. Maybe even a tenured Professor! My advice is when you're ready to start the new semester, you should fill your schedule with lots and lots of asses. Oops, I meant to write classes. Out, damn'd Typos! Out, I say!

Okay, Lady Macbeth, moving on. You go on to say, "I feel that he fills my every niche." Now I'm going to be so bold to say that, although you may be right, the good news is that you are probably wrong! But you won't know until that cute little niche of yours pulls itself into an unfamiliar Ass Station (again with the Typos! There should probably be a G in there somewhere...) and tell the Full Service Attendant to "Fill 'er up!" Be sure you try all the different Filling Stations around town, as well as all the various grades of Fuel ('87, '89, and even a '92 if he's legal). Gas is very expensive these days so it's definitely worth shopping around! Who knows? You might actually realize that you like the knocks and pings that you only get from the cheaper grades...

Lastly, you say that, "we have such a solid rapport that maybe this is someone that I want to try an open relationship with in case things don't work out for either of us in the future." Okay, now I can only talk from my own perspective but I think that this Open Relationship crap is bullshit. To me it's a really unfortunate way to put a dying relationship on Life Support. I have two words for you: Terri Schiavo! Pull the fucking plug already! Honestly, when I find out that some cute boy is in an Open Relationship I run screaming. I have absolutely no interest in being Wife #2. Since you two will be in different cities then why not just see what single life brings you? Does this mean that when you go to visit your Ex that you two can't rekindle the old flame(r)? Hell no! You know why? Because you'll be single! The beauty of being a Single Gay Boy is that you get to do whatever and whomever you want! You want to kiss that cute boy who bought you a Gay Cocktail? Go for it! Hell, kiss the damn bartender who's serving it to you! Basically I think being Single is a lot less complicated than being in an Open Relationship. And who wants to further complicate their gay lives? Isn't it already hard enough to find the latest. perfect fitting designer jeans on the clearance rack? Or the correct length to trim your chest hair this summer? (I've been hearing that Hairy is the new Smooth...) Trust me, if breaking up makes you both realize that you were meant to be together, then that's what will end up happening! A relationship is about two people who want the same thing. At the same time.

Okay, I feel like I may have come off as a bit harsh, but you do know that all my Blah-Blah-Blah is just my opinion and, unlike Dr. Phil, not only am I not even a fake Doctor, but I don't even have a name! So please, take what I say with a shaker of salt. When it comes to dating, only you will know when you are ready to post your Manhunt profile. Trust me, dating is not for the fey of heart. It's a big gay world out there and there are a lot of jaded gay boys who think they've got it all figured out. Whatever! Who cares about them! The good news is that you don't have it all figured out! So, when you decide you're ready, you get to start tasting all the different assorted chocolates in the big gay box of Godiva. Just remember never to spit out the ones you don't like. Always be sure to put them carefully back in the box, because someone else (possibly even me) will be very happy to find that particular flavor later on!

Meanwhile, in terms of coping with the breakup, there is nothing more important right now than to get some support from your friends and family. And a few Gay Cocktails never hurt either... But you might want to steer clear of hooking up for a while. Always use your friend's shoulders to cry on, so you can save Mr. Right Now's muscled shoulders for sighing upon later on.

xoxo You!

PS-Think I'm full of shit? Got some better advice for the Homeschooled Homo? Leave it for him in the form of a comment (see link below)!

Are you one of those Fags with a hairy gay dating problem that manscaping alone will not solve? Want to know how You would handle it? Send an email to: Hey_You [at] 2ndPerson [dot] net

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

...but the Boy Luck Club seems to feel differently after you relay the Blonde Beard "Best" email story to them over an impromptu sushi lunch at Kodama (45th Street near Eighth). You are in absolute shock as Rice Queen informs you that he gets desperate emails like the one you sent to Blonde Beard all the time. "But," you attempt to defend yourself, "I was just trying to be nice! I didn't want him to think that I was the one who gave him Herpes!" But Rice Queen isn't having it, "It doesn't matter," he says. "About six weeks after I check out of a relationship, I will inevitably get an email like yours and it's obvious the boy is wondering what happened and, I'm sorry, but it just comes off as totally desperate."

Desperate? As in des�per�ate (dspr-t) ADJECTIVE: 1. Having lost all hope; despairing? Could that possibly be how Blonde Beard perceived you? Perhaps that's why Blonde Beard wrote you back and used "Best" as his final closing word to you? Perhaps he thought you were just being desperate and didn't want to lead you on with an overly affecionate "Sincerely" or get really racy with an "XOXO"? Typically you would just look at this ridiculous Best situation and tell yourself that obviously Blonde Beard is scared to show any kind of true emotion. That Blonde Beard has obviously become so jaded and fucked up from years of gay dating in New York that he has decided that the Best way protect himself is by emotionally dibesting from a relationship instead of actually having a conversation that could actually expose a true feeling. And here you are actually expecting the Boy Luck Club to back you up on this issue while comforting you with enlightened mantras they learned on Oprah or Dr. Phil. That's when Half-Share chimes in with his two cents, and since he was the only White Boy ever to date Rice Queen, you are desperately sure that Half Share will come to your rescue. But he actually agrees with Rice Queen about your email coming off as some desperate need to find closure. You look to your anorexic friend, Fat Albert, but he is too busy shuffling his food around his plate to make it appear as if it were actually eaten, and obviously he doesn't notice your visual plea for emotional support when he, too, sides with Rice Queen and Half Share on this particular Gay Dating Conundrum. Fat Albert even goes as far as telling you that you obviously scared Blonde Beard away by prematurely expressing your love for him. You are in shock! "Even after dating someone for three months?" you ponder aloud as your friends all nod their heads in agreement that three months is much, much too soon to express love. They explain that exposing your love for a boy is the kiss of death. Someone even goes as far to describe the whole experience as, "A real dick deflator."

You leave lunch with all these new ideas floating around your head, haunting you. You actually give the situation some real thought since these are your good friends and you know in your heart that, unlike the emotionally unavailable Blonde Beard, these boys actually have your Best interest at heart and definitely have no agenda (besides, of course, finding you a boyfriend so you'll stop yapping about your endless gay dating dilemmas.) But it's all good. You live and you learn, and perhaps next time you will play your cards a little closer to your chest instead of letting all these silly gay boys play Slap Jack every time you reveal your (Jack of) Hearts. And these are the thoughts swirling around your head as you tear through various outfits in your closet in order to cuten yourself up for your date with the Swedish Engineer that you've been chatting with on Connexion.

That's when you remember a comment that Swedie Pi made about how he had a thing for men in suits. About how he liked to think of them as special gifts that he got to unwrap. And with that, your wardrobe woes are solved as you pull out a blazer to wear over a form fitting Lacoste shirt, which, although not a suit, is about as dressed up as you've ever gotten for one of these silly internet Meet n' Greets. You worry that his time you may have let your expectations get the best of you. Usually you like to meet these boys right away without putting a lot of time and energy into excessive emails and playful phone calls, however, Swedie Pi has been busy working in Sweden and so you've gotten yourself worked up to the point where you are definitely one Desperate Fag.

You're really looking forward to meeting your Swedie Pi, and the date seems promising and unique since he's invited you to an Gallery Opening in Little Italy for a Multimedia Artist named Bill Shannon. You really have no idea what to expect, but when you arrive at the Douz and Mille gallery you are rather surprised to find a Buxom Blonde with a clipboard, looming from the preferable side of her velvet rope, and you and your Brunette Blazer gulp as she searches her list for your name and then promptly removes the velvet barrier and grants you access to an elevator which whisks you quickly up to the fifth floor. When the door opens again, you are instantly blinded by a giant, blinking Motel-like sign, which upon closer inspection actual reads "MURDER," which is exactly what you plan to do to your heart if it finds itself desperately creeping down onto your sleeve during this date which you've been looking forward to for weeks. You promise yourself that you will play it cool tonight. You will not come off as desperate. You will not Deflate Dicks. You, my friend, are not desperate! And, luckily for you, your forearms are sleeved with a form fitting cotton American Eagle blazer that is way too tight for anything to slip out beyond your emotionally stable, yet somewhat limp wrist.

You make your way through the maze-like gallery, passing several video installations that make absolutely no sense to you, as you scan the various rooms for your Swedie Pi. Your eye quickly spots an open vodka bar, and although everything else in your focus begins to fade as your liver begins to salivate in a classic Pavlovian response. However, somehow during the ten steps that separate you from your sober sal(i)vation, somehow you take your eyes off of your 80 proof prize as 100% of your attention segues away from the dark blue lettering on the Svedka bottle and settles quickly upon the dark blue eyes of the Swede who is smiling at you. "Hello!" he says in an accent that is sexier in person than it was over the expensive international phone call, and your heart actually skips a beat as it begins its descent down your tight sleeve. Swedie Pi introduces you to the Gallery Owner and several other VIP's that irritate you mostly because you have to feign interest in them when you really want to be concentrating solely on your Swedie Pi. The whole experience is surreal because a documentary film crew quickly surrounds you as if you are Michael Moore's next docuventary victim. You stare directly into the camera as the Cameraman attempts to document your first few words with your Swedie Pi, however, everybody is surprised when your first words turn out to be the Cameraman's full name. The cameraman's full face emerges from his viewfinder as he says, "Oh my God," and gives you a warm, welcoming straight man hug which is more like a quick pat on the shoulder while his crotch seems to retreat so far across town that it may have actually have to pay a toll when it eventually decides to make its way back across the Hudson River.

You haven't seen the Cameraman since you shot the series finale of the sitcom you both used to work on and you are in shock. Partly because it's been years since you've seen him, but mostly because this handsome boy that you used to lust over has actually gotten a bit Straight Fat during these past few years of Reruns. You instantly ask your TV friend, Rerun, "What's Happening?" and Rerun explains that he has been shooting a documentary on Bill Shannon ever since the sitcom ended. You are happy to have a little bit of Artist Street Cred as you introduce your Swedie Pi to Rerun. But Rerun is busy working so he runs off to film something that is, surprisingly, somehow more interesting than your date with Swedie Pi (which is, surprisingly, even better than you expected.) You order a drink as you peruse the exhibit and attempt to fathom how on earth a video installation artist who films himself bopping around the city on makeshift crutches can actually make money? Or warrant a documentary film crew? You and your Swedie Pi discuss these and other issues as your first date goes along swimmingly until you make your way back to the bar. You, of course, order another Svedka, but are surprised when your Swede orders a Sveven-Up... "You're not drinking?" you ask, confused as to why anyone would order a Soft Drink at an Hard Bar? Swedie Pi explains that he is very Jet Lagged and that alcohol would just put him to sleep. You feel a little funny about drinking alone, and you worry that the liquor might act as your Emotional Truth Serum but you quickly get over it as the bartender hands you your free Svedka & Soda.

Afterwards you are both hungry, and although you live steadfast by the rule of No Food on a Meet n' Greet, you have already broken all your other Gay Dating Rules with Swedie Pi, so you are certainly not about to let this Jet Lagged Fag go to bed anytime soon. You wind up sitting at the counter at Café Gitane because the place is packed and the woman behind the counter takes a shine to you as she tries to plop a big basket of bread in front of you and you say, "We're Gay so we don't eat bread." In fact she likes you so much that she makes you forgo a table when it becomes available just so she can chat with you boys. The conversation just flows. The two of you have so much fun talking that the Waitress refuses to believe that you are actually on a first date. And to her credit, it doesn't feel at all like a first date. In fact, although you are sitting together for the very first time, somehow it feels like you two are an old established couple, bickering about directions as you drive through Stockholm in the Volvo that your Swedie Pi bought for you after you sold your first book.

Your desperate fantasy continues as Swedie Pi tells you all about a Bed and Breakfast in Madrid that he bought for his Mother to run. Then he goes on to explain how it's his dream to open a small hotel in New York one day. You instantly imagine yourself sitting beneath a rainbow flag at the Front Desk of the Hellsea-Clinton B&B in a beautiful Brownstone that the two of you renovated shortly after trading in the Volvo for a pair of matching Metrocards and abandoning The Netherlands for New Amsterdam. But as the clock strikes midnight, your Metrocards expire as your Cinderfella Fantasy quickly turns back into a delicious Pumpkin flavored dessert that is quickly turning you into a Gay Plumpkin.

So you split the check and walk your Swedie Pi up to Houston Street where you hail him a taxi because he is much too tired (and rich) to bother with the subway. You hold the cab's door open for him as you attempt to break your very last dating rule and lean in to give your Swedie Pi a goodnight kiss. You are practically patting yourself on the back at this point for somehow keeping all your desperate B&B redecorating fantasies all to yourself instead of pulling out an Ikea Catalog and exposing all your fabric swatches and color schemes to your Swedie Pi. However, even though your mouth somehow seems to cooperate this evening and doesn't reveal your innermost Dick Deflating Interior Decorative feelings to your Swedie Pi, you find yourself quite surprised when your welcoming lips receive nothing but a little peck. After such a great date the bizarre goodbye actually feels more like the Kiss of Death as Swedie Pi hops in the cab and leaves you and your Deflating Dick standing alone like Hand Solo on the sidewalk. You're actually so surprised by the quick turn of events that, instead of walking home, you find yourself hurrying back to Café Gitane because, although you have no intentions to bear your gay soul to your Swedie Pi, you decide that it is somehow okay to run your desperate gay ass back to ask the cute Waitress what she thought about your date. She's actually just as shocked as you are when she sees you return, alone. However the only thing she really tells you is that, surprise-surprise, she thought that Swedie Pi seemed a bit more reserved than you, but she does remind you that he was suffering from Jet Lag. As you walk home you begin to go over the entire five hour first date, replaying the whole thing in your head while desperately worrying whether or not the new and improved, non-desperate you may have been so desperate to not come off as desperate that you may have actually come off as aloof and uninterested? Anyway...

FAG POLE: Are you the type of Fag who would take Steroids to get bigger than all the other boys?

88% of You said, "No! I have no interest in Bitch Tits, Bacne, or Teeny Tiny Testes. I prefer au natural."

8% of You said, "Oh please! Would everybody please stop your whining! The food we eat is already so pumped with steroids! What's the damn difference?"

2% of You said, "Maybe. Now that everybody in the gym is a Roid'mo, I've been feeling a bit scrawny."

1% of You said, "Yes! It's a competitive gay world and a fag's gotta do what a fag's gotta do."

Number of Fags Who Voted: 87