#9 It's a Number Game

This past week I slowed myself down in terms of dating. I joined a new gym, had my last hypnotherapy appointment, and decided to focus on myself and the independence gleaned from being single. It was my final hypnotherapy session for two reasons. The first being that as I began my regular consultation beforehand, I realized that I was on my way to achieving the goals we had set out to accomplish when I first began. And I had been the one behind the transformation. She hadn't had anything to do with it for several months. This was empowering for me to realize just as I was about to be put under for another session. As I was feeling this empowerment take over, she made a big mistake that solidified my decision to go it alone. My hypnotist decided to install some triggers in my brain that we didn't discuss beforehand. Messing with my brain is bad enough, but messing with it to fundamentally change who I identified myself as was intolerable. My subconscious battled fiercely and responded in my skull with a resounding, "Oh, HELL no!" as she began to suggest that I start associating the taste of olives (which I detest) with some of my favorite foods such as french fries, chinese, and ice cream. She made me eat an entire imaginary plate of the 4 foods mixed together as one big mushy casserole. My subconscious was strong though and rejected the suggestion as I proved later in the week by eating all 3 foods, though not all at the same time. For a split second, I was nervous that the first bite of any of them would repulse my taste buds and immediately leave me gagging in the corner and thus meaning that she had won. Luckily though, that didn't happen. I left the session politely saying that I'd be back although I knew at that point that I wouldn't. I was on my way to being happy and strong and I had done that without her. It was liberating to figure that out and see what a different place I'm in now compared to months ago when I first started seeing her. I was an independent woman now. I can do it. "I am strong, I'm invincible, I am Woman." Ok, well, I'm not a woman, but there aren't really any songs that talk about male liberation besides old Viking ditties and I don't speak norwegian.
Friday was my day off and I had planned on going on a date with one of two guys. The first guy told me he couldn't make it and the other guy has yet to text me back as to whether he wants to do "friday wine night." Sure, it's been three days, but maybe he's really backed up on text messages. Since neither date night worked out, I decided to have wine night myself and relax at home trying out a new recipe from the pile of cookbooks that I never use. I compiled my list of ingredients and headed to the supermarket near my apartment. The moment I walked in, I noticed an attractive gay guy pushing a cart just ahead of me. My mind began racing. So this is where the cute unattached gay men spend their friday nights. Of course, the supermarket is a great place to meet somebody. You take one look in their cart or basket and can tell so much about them right away. For instance, if he has a lot of vegetables or spends time in the produce section, I assume that he's a good cook. Or if he has ice cream, I figure that we could share a pint together. However, the dark thoughts sometimes take control and before I knew it I was seeing other things like,
"You've been staring at the trail mix for 5 minutes. It's not a difficult decision."
or
"Gluten free aisle? Next!"
or
"That's a lot of Cucumbers....I hope they're only for eating..."

Pushing those images out of my head, I focused on what was in front of me. A handsome guy pushing a cart by himself shopping, like me, on a friday night. This was the place to be single on a friday. So much for clubs and bars. As I followed safely behind the unsuspecting gay, what magnificent sight appears before my eyes? Another attractive gay walking right towards me. How could I have missed this place for so long? The Handsome guy #2 approached with a smile on his face and put the few cans he was carrying into the cart of Handsome guy #1 before placing his hand on the small of #2's back as they meandered their way toward baking supplies. A little disheartened, I continued my trek collecting all of my ingredients for my first attempt at making chinese food. Just minutes into my trek, Handsome #3 rounded a corner directly followed by Handsome #4. Apparently 3 goes with 4 so I set out to find #5 in the poultry section where he had already taken up with #6. Sure that #7 would be in the cooking oils, I discovered him instead in the jams where he was joined by his wife discussing what peanut butter they wanted. Becoming more and more frustrated that everyone had a significant other appear out of nowhere and mildly concerned that the count from Sesame Street was fucking with me, I focused solely on collecting the rest of my groceries. Having crossed off the final item off my list, I walked right into Handsome #8. I feigned interest in strawberry jam for a few minutes waiting for his boyfriend to round the corner. When no boyfriend arrived, I began plotting my careful, "oh, excuse me....I just need to grab that can directly in front of where you're standing...haha, what a coincidence," when Handsome #9 dropped by to tell his "honey" that he found it. Whatever the "it" was he found, "it" was almost me hitting on his boyfriend that he found. Aborting my mission and heading to the checkout, I became really self-conscious. Yes, there were a lot of people at the store on a friday night shopping for dinner. But I seemed to be the only single one. Were they judging my dinner for one? Did they see something in my cart that made them immediately think, "Aha, that's why he's here by himself. Lay off the Cheddar Bunnies, loner!" The problem with spending so much of my time and energy on being alone, living alone, and going out alone is that in the end, I am alone. All of the feminism and independence talk is fantastic but only if you truly believe it. The grocery store incident makes me really wonder if I am truly empowered. If I were, why would I spend so much time waiting for a #?
the end, by sean

#8 Dating in the Bermuda Triangle

I recently celebrated my birthday and have decided to become more proactive in my life and in everything that I endeavor to do. Also, turning 28 has empowered me to become more audacious as did my drunken mantra for my birthday, which was, “I’m 28 now. What am I waiting for? Be bold.”  That was how I convinced myself to go to a gay bar alone the eve of my birthday. And that is how I am now sitting here contemplating 2 weeks worth of soured dates I’ve had with guys. Walking confidently into the bar alone on the eve of my birthday (already a few drinks behind me, I might add), I propped myself against a pillar and watched the drag show that was just wrapping up. A familiar face came up to me and, offering me a flashing yo-yo, asked to sign me up for an HIV vaccine study being done through Colombia University. Once he met my eyes, we both realized that we’d already spoken weeks before and I’d gotten the yo-yo, flirts, and coerced sign up then as well. Granted, the last time I ignored all of the calls from the study program trying to get me to volunteer as I had just drunkenly flirted with the sign-up guy and didn’t really remember the program. Confessing all of this, he said that he remembered me and signed me up all over again. After his “job” was done for the night, he stayed to chat with me. He bought me a drink after I proclaimed that I was independent and out alone as the clock struck midnight to announce my birthday had arrived. We talked for almost an hour and decided to meet up another time for a drink. I told him to call me since he already had my number. He was reluctant to use my number since he thought it would cross some “volunteer sign up” barrier. He made it seem like signature collector held as much clout as the Hippocratic oath. I pulled out my phone and told him to give me his and I’d text him right now. Instead, he pulled out a business card and handed it to me. We kissed briefly before he started to walk away. I looked at the in my hand and called after him, “There’s no number.“

“Email me, “ was his simple reply. If you’re interested in me, I deserve a number. You don’t give me a chapped lip kiss and an email address….Red flag. I looked up his website later and saw that he’s a therapist. The website is a link to the self-help book he wrote. I began to wonder whether he wanted a date or a client. I guess the “I’m alone on my birthday” proclamation was less independent and strong-willed as I intended and sounded more like a cry for help. Needless to say, I never emailed him.

This newfound flirtatiousness and confidence I was exuding was making it easier for me to meet and talk to guys. Just this past week brought about several interesting situations but with the same result I’ve come to expect oddly enough. At work I actually began flirting with a customer and gave him my number at the end of the night which never happens. I never got a text from him and although he came in every night the next week and spent hours chatting with me over the bar, I’ve never gotten a text or a call from him.

 On Monday, I had a date with a really nice guy whose profile suggested he was not interested in feminine guys. As I had just recently changed my hairstyle and hadn’t changed my pictures to reflect it, I think he was surprised to walk into the restaurant and instead of “wholesome boy next door guy” with a buzz cut, he got Adam Lambert stomping across the room with floppy boots and spiked hair. Regardless of my appearance, (and no, I was not wearing eye liner) I had a nice time with him and eventually he loosened up to enjoy our time together. He said that we should see each other again as he dropped me off at my apartment. We didn’t hug or kiss goodbye but instead my knee was the recipient of an awkward grope as I got out of his car (Yes, he had a car!). He seemed very sincere and genuine after our date as well. We texted a few times the next day but never he faded away by the following day.

Mid-week I was working the closing shift at the bar and had my eye on an attractive guy in the corner for most of the night. As circumstances would have it, I didn’t get to talk to him since a show was going on, but luckily he was a friend of my friends at the bar. They did the teenage girl work after he had left of getting us onto each other’s Facebook pages where I emailed him my number. We texted that night while I was on my way home from work. He kept edging the conversation to more sexually suggestive topics that I just wasn’t interested in before we went out for drinks. It became clear the next day that he was mostly looking for a hookup, which I’m not normally opposed to. But not a hookup via my friends, I’m going to avoid. We texted a bit during the next day and got to know a few things about each other.  By the time the next day had arrived and I texted him to see what his schedule was like, he’d already moved on. I’ve still received no response after asking if he’d be free to get something to drink so we could chat in person. I’m not beating myself up too much over him though since I recently have gone for pretty masculine and laid back guys and he didn’t really fit that bill. On our one day of texting, he was making a quiche while listening to opera with his dog named Muffin. Or maybe he was making muffins with his dog, Quiche....Red flag.

At this point, I don’t get upset anymore. I used to cry and whine and eat gallons of Ben & Jerry’s when a guy looked at me the wrong way, but now I simply throw my hands up in the air, sigh, and mutter under my breath, “Really?” I don’t have an explanation as to why I don’t hear from these guys again. I’m 99% positive that most of them didn’t go into witness protection or suffer a rare brain disorder thus striking all memory of me from their minds. So I am left wondering exactly what happened. These instances aren’t a new thing for me either. As of late, most of the guys I connect with meet with the same fate. They fall into the no contact zone. They disappear. They stop. They disconnect. Or maybe I give them a card with my email address on it.  What are my red flags? How many chapped lip kisses and quiches do I have?

the end, by sean

#7 Dating War Stories: Dancing on my own

I went out a couple of nights ago and hit the bars with my friends from work. I was having a great time and love going dancing with those guys. We bar hopped around and ended up finishing the night at a bar in the East Village called Urge. With as many Go-Go boys dancing on the bar, it’s probably one of the most aptly named bars in the city right after the bar next door who’s name is synonymous with a rooster. After many cocktails and two bars behind us already, I was ready to hit the dance floor. While I just started to get my “dance on,” a familiar face strode past me in the flashing light of the strobe. As he walked by just to turn around and walk past me again, I noticed it was the face of “Coffee Shop Joe.”

Coffee Shop Joe was a nickname he earned when I first developed a crush him almost 2 years ago. Charming and handsome, he frequented the coffee shop that I worked the closing shift for a few times a week. He would come in on Thursday nights and stay in the corner doing his work on our free wifi. We’d flirt and joke a lot but I always just assumed that he was straight. Lacking any telltale signs of the gay, I assumed that he was just another harmless crush that I have a habit of developing on straight boys. What got the wheels in my head spinning was when one night as he was walking out the door, he did an abrupt about-face and asked me what nights I worked. Puzzled as to what this could mean, the next day I was walking down the 6^th avenue street fair and suddenly met the gaze of the crush 20 yards ahead of me near the grilled corn stand. He smiled and walked over to me and we had a brief chat. After he walked away, my friend whispered to me, “I hope you slept with that guy,” to which I responded quite loudly and excitedly, “That was Coffee Shop Joe!” since we had just been talking about him moments before our eyes met on that busy street in spring. As a true best friend, he squealed too and declared that he liked me too. It was “obvious.” Two days later, CSJoe was back in the coffee shop for breakfast and wifi. I made him a free ice coffee concoction that I’d been working on and summoned up the courage to drop off my phone number to him as I left work that afternoon when my shift finished. I didn’t make it to the next corner before he texted me and thus began our friendly and witty texting banter. When we finally made plans for our first date, I decided on the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens since neither of us had been there before. I still wasn’t entirely sure if he was gay until halfway through the botanical gardens he started telling me about how “coming out” had been for him. Up until that point, I had this terrible fear that I was out on a date with a straight guy who just thought we were hanging out as buds. After a few drinks and dinner, I gave him a peck on the cheek, congratulating myself on a great first date and looking forward to a second.

The second date came a week later and was definitely more awkward. I could tell that something was wrong but he wasn’t saying anything different. It was just a general sense that the vibes I was sending out were being deflected off of a wall that he had put up. When I was dropping him at the train station, he told me that he was just looking for a “friends” thing and that he hoped I understood.

“Of course I understand. Yea, not a problem….Now, you should hurry and get in there before you miss your train,” I suggested, hoping for him to heed my advice as I felt a steel vice tighten around my sternum.

I’m not sure whether it was my deep v-necks or my impeccably straightened side swept bang that turned him off, or whether he really was just afraid of starting something new with somebody since he’d just gotten out of a relationship.

Two months later and just days before I was to leave for a contract I’d accepted in Hawaii for a few months, I got a text from him asking if I was going to be at the Coffee shop that day. I was there, doing my final inventory before I left in a few days. I didn’t want to see him. I had just begun to move on after nearly a month and a half of moping and ignoring my gym membership. Dashing about the shop, moments from counting my last wine bottle and escaping before I’d have to see him, CSJoe walked in the front door and smiled at me. Giving him a standard “hello” in front of his friends was apparently not enough as he cornered me in the stairwell alone to talk to me about what was going on to find out more about my trip to Hawaii. He wanted to keep in touch and told me to hit him up when I returned in two months. In hindsight I can’t help but wonder if he was just being nice and trying to be my friend or whether he was finally ready to date and was re-exploring me as an option. Of course I would like to believe that I was being re-explored since we’ve never kept in touch as friends since. Also, I think when a person is ready to be in a relationship, they aren’t looking for the right person, they are just looking for a person who’s ready as they are. Just weeks later, according to my Facebook stalker research, he found the guy that he’s currently been seeing for the last year and a half. I have had essentially no contact with him since Hawaii.

So here I am, faced with a guy who in a hazy strobe lit room can still have this overwhelming control over me.  I tapped his shoulder as he fished his way through the crowd and asked how he was doing. Without stopping, he simply craned his head to look at me and with a half smile, nod. My friends left to go to the restroom and get some more drinks. Left on the dance floor, quite inebriated, I did what most gays would do and requested a Robyn song for me to dance to and take my mind off of things. With my friends nowhere in sight after 15 minutes, my song came on. It wasn’t the Robyn song that I was anticipating. Instead I began to dance to her hit song “Dancing on my own.” For anyone not familiar with the song, these are the lyrics to the chorus:

“I’m in the corner

Watching you kiss her,

I’m right over here,

Why can’t you see me?

I’m giving it my all, but I’m not the girl you’re taking home.

I’ll keep dancing on my own.”

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the haze and the flashing lights. Or maybe it was the strategically placed old crush standing 20 feet away from me affectionately holding and kissing his boyfriend that he started seeing right after me, but I began to believe that I was LIVING the song and thus began to dance like I haven’t danced in a long time. As the lights dimmed and the song slowed, I stood dramatically and sang along with the final verse as she sang:

“So far away, but still so near.

The lights go on. The music dies.

But you don’t see me standing here. I just came to say goodbye.”

Then a dramatic drum roll seized my legs and I started doing the flashdance jog in place as the couple walked out of the bar wrapped tightly in each other’s arms. The final chorus of my dance break made me realize that I needed to say goodbye. I wasn’t still hanging on to a desire for him. I was hanging onto the desire to have what he had. But he didn’t make me laugh. He didn’t make me feel important. He didn’t need me. Maybe I should be thankful that I’m dancing on my own and not trying to be something that I’m not with a guy like him.