I’m 33 … And Hungover

I like to think that I am a responsible person and I make responsible decisions. But I don’t always. Often, but not always. And I made a bad choice last Sunday. I decided to be Capt. McRummy of the Rum Liberation Army. I freed “gallons” of rum and poured it into my freshly blended watermelon juice. It was delicious. And strong. And the rum fought a mighty battle and was victorious.

It looked something like this.... except with rum, instead of beer.  

This part of the story would be enough to say… “Yeah, Greg – you are dumb!” And you would be right. But, it gets worse.

Rum and watermelon isn’t my usual drink of choice. And I am pretty sure it was a brand of rum I had never heard of. But I also was Lt. McWinetown before I became Capt. McRummy. So wine, then rum, and I was feeling – woo hoo!

But, don’t forget now… I said this all happened on a Sunday. I did this on a Sunday.
Yep! I had to work the next day. Now, I am sure my “legions” of readers are all 22 and can bounce back from keg stands at lunch on a Wednesday. I, however, cannot.

Monday morning came and came early. I was up at 5 a.m. Why? I have no bleepin’ clue. My wonderful body decided that I needed all of FIVE hours of sleep and I should be good to go. “Start the day!,” it bellowed into my hollow soul.

With that, I laid in bed for awhile and tried to fight that “I am incredibly awake” feeling I inexplicably had. My body almost forgotten my night of fun it seemed. So, I woke up (slowly) and made coffee. And it was the worst coffee of my life. In my marathon “rush” to get the coffee made, I must have decided to go light on grounds and heavy on water. How do I know? Well – because it tasted like the world’s prize-winning edition of coffee-based water. Scientists could marvel at how awful and weak it was. And this was on a day where I needed a coffee like my mother needs a hair dryer. (Seriously, the woman needs a hair dryer or she will ruin you. )





So, I was drinking useless coffee and trying to assess the situation and I realized suddenly … I am not feeling so good. Like, really … not … good. Not ... good.

To my credit, my stomach was incredibly unhappy with me, but it held fast. It asked for ginger ale and carbonated beverages and I supplied it. Aspirin was a novelty joke addition to the problem. The Aspirin bottle just stared and laughed at me. “Listen old man, I ain’t gonna get you out of this.” Aspirin can be a cruel bedfellow.

Ginger Ale was fortunately much nicer to me. It’s probably because only 70 year olds and I are the only people buying the brew. So, Ginger Ale knew to be kind to me to maintain our continued business relationship. (FACT: Ginger Ale is the only soda you will ever see in my fridge on a regular basis. However, find me an old timey glass bottle of root beer and I would drink it.)

Well, I digress. After taking the aspirin, it all occurred to me. I am so unbelievably old.

It’s cute to be hungover when you’re 25. It’s a badge of honor. Oh look at that crazy, young lad. He really knows how to party. But, hungover at 33 is just sad. It means you are stupid.

And your body doesn’t know what to do with it all. My body woke up and said, “Bleep you! Bleep you! Bleep you!” (My body is a huge swear word user. I, however, curse only at church or funerals.)



So, my body finally came to life TWO hours AFTER being physically awake and only then decided to start hating on me. And by hating, I mean – it decided to make me feel … headache filled. And stomach rumbly. But headache filled, above all else.

Now, have I told you I live in NYC? And have I told you I hate subways? Oh good. Well, being 33 and hungover and living in New York is the equivalent to watching the speeches at the Republican National Convention. You want to scream out loud and say, “Why, God? Why?”




The noises a subway can make. The noises a jackhammer makes on the street. The noises people talking to each other make. Can everyone SHUT UP? Nope! Because New York is allegedly the city that never sleeps. Though, having been to Las Vegas, I think there is room for argument.
For you devoted readers, you may realize that this little story is a continuation from my last blog. I had three parties in one weekend, and the toll finally occurred on Sunday.

This hangover is not to be confused with the Bradley Cooper movies. (I know. Bradley Cooper totally stole my look. It’s fine, though. I will steal his underwear in retaliation … someday.) While hangovers are unnecessary and useless, nothing comedic happened.

And I was ok, aside from some amusing texts to my friend. For the sake of the blog, we will call her Lolita. It’s a play on her name, and makes her sound like a Russian spy. At least in my head.
Lolita consoled me for my drinking mistake, my Sunday mistake, and all the mistakes I have ever made in my life. It wasn’t quite priest-level confessional, but it was two friends making each other laugh. I cried how old I was and she told me that she snort laughed out loud on her crowded bus, which comforted me immensely.

I did learn a lesson, though. I always know when to say no. Nancy Reagan taught me well. (I also style my hair and clothing from her, in addition to her love of gay male hairdressers.) But, I really should have kept being Lt. McWinetown and not “upgraded” within the ranks of the drinking army.

The bigger lesson was: maybe three parties in 1 weekend is too much. I went from zero to hero too quickly. It is better to space out the friend love, and maybe just 1 party a weekend really is my speed due to my advanced age.

I am glad I tried the experiment. For having the experience and not missing the meaning. Or whatever Mark Twain once said. I don’t think I missed the meaning, though. Not this time.

Love,
Me

I Find Solace That I'm Not The Only Single One

So, I feel like we have gotten to know each other really well over the past 2 months of this blog. Well, you've learned all about me. I know nothing about you! (Way to keep secrets, dear "friends!")

One thing you may have noticed is that I am single. And that's OK.

It is. It's OK. I essentially feel that if I continue to be perennially single but feel truly happy, then it's OK. Don't get me wrong: I would LOVE to have woken up next to a guy this morning and every other morning that follows. But, if it doesn't work out, then I'd like to think I will continue to find happiness from within me.

I was at a house party last night. A lovely house party. And there were friends my age there. Some younger and some just a few years older. The good news (for me) was that several of them are single, too. I have gone to other parties and it's just couples, couples, couples. I get it. You put a ring on it. But it can really make me dread and then detest the party I'm at. Everyone is holding hands or staying right on top of their spouse. Why? I don't know. Maybe they're afraid she will run away (like Katie Holmes) if given a moment's freedom.

All I know is these parties make me feel like it is" Greg"the lone wolf" time. (And yes: I BLEEPING HATE NEW YEAR'S!!!)



In some ways, I do feel like I have a loner side. Which, to know me, is a bit shocking. On paper, I seem like an extrovert. But, I'm not. I don't like public speaking. I have huge insecurities of saying the wrong thing, and to make matters worse - I do that often. (Like the time when I made a new friend a ball game this week. She happened to be in the closest seat near me and we made small talk and laughed. I then told her she was brave bringing her three boys out to the game. She replied, "well ... one of them is my daughter.")



So, yeah, sometimes the loner track may not be a bad thing. I enjoy my quiet time. I also just enjoy literally quiet time. Some people don't know to appreciate quiet and their librarian lovers resent them until the day they die.

I, however, just enjoy being on my own sometimes. It took me a long time to get here. It didn't happen overnight.

I used to go crazy if I wasn't scheduled every night with some friend. I always had to have something going on. This weekend: I had 4 social obligations to go to and literally made me pause. "That's a lot," an internal warning system alerted. "I will have to drop one of them so I can have time for myself."

But - just as a test - and also because it's the end of the summer, I decided to try to do all 4 things. And I am on the last day and I am looking forward to today's party (where I will undoubtedly embarrass myself and/or say something hilarious and awkward.)

At last night's party, there were several beautiful women and men and like I said - they are single, too. We are all athletic and really fit. The men and women are straight. So, if this was the "Real World" House, guess who was the "diversity?" THIS GUY!

But, it made my head crazy. They're gorgeous and from what I have seen - also stable. They are funny, smart, have great jobs and are easy to talk with. People from the opposite sex should walking on hot coals to get to them. These people clearly are getting it on in some way with someone. They just can't be "single" single. So, I - of course! - asked everyone loudly, "WHO ARE YOU BLEEPING?" (For the sake of the blog, I used a naughtier word. But, I like to keep the blog pure and innocent. Wink!)



By the way, if game shows were really big on TV right now, I am sure there would be a show called, "Who Are You Bleeping?," and Regis Philbin would be hosting it. But, I digress.

My question made people undoubtedly blush, and the question had the force of a rubber ball. Someone lobbed it back to me. And, yes, dear readers, I can take the medicine I give out. I am a big girl and I can walk the walk. (I can seriously walk. Tyra Banks ain't so fierce to me!)

So, I told the recent story of someone I have had some dates with. It drew some sisterhood and laughs. Yet, people were still quiet about their lives. (Except one closer friend. She leaned in and whispered that she's got something on the horizon. Which is awesome!)

My point to all of this is: if you can't talk about it all, and laugh about it, then what's the point? Half the reason I will say yes to a date will be for the experience. At the very least, I think, I could learn something about the city, see a new restaurant or place, and have a memory. Dates allow us to become stronger, smarter and - in my case - funnier!

I am OK on my own, but I also don't want to be on my own forever necessarily. So, I take a chance and I go with it. But, don't be quiet about it. I understand some privacy is important, but roll the dice and talk about it, too. Sometimes the best way I have coped from a bad date was laughing about it with my friends.

Men come and go and even friends as you age can come and go, too. It is having the experience and then finding the humor that is really important. You have to be able to pick yourself up, have a chuckle and grab the dice again. It's Vegas, baby! You be on a winning streak, you may be on a losing streak. But, take a free drink from a surly waitress, have a party with your friends, and roll the dice.



Love,
Me

OkCupid Is Just OK ... Online Dating Is Even Worse

I have been online dating for years. Thanks, Al Gore! You created the Internet and then some idiot thought we should meet people from it.



Well, we probably shouldn't meet people from it. It's a bad idea.

For one, they usually don't look like their picture. Or their age. Or even their father's age.

For two, they act like a computer. They have no bleepin' logic or reason. They certainly don't act like people, that's for sure. Even less so, when you decide to meet them! They lack all kinds of social skills. And not because they are stereotypical computer nerds. No, those days are gone. The men out there are computer savvy yet normal looking. They may wear glasses, but they probably don't play with their Star Wars toys. Having said that, though, they simply just don't know how to talk like a normal person.  TALK TO ME! ASK ME A QUESTION!

Instead, it's like forcing things out of them as opposed to getting someone to just converse. I didn't realize online dating and asking questions would be like a criminal interrogation.

"WHERE ARE YOU FROM?"
"WHY DID YOU ROB THAT BANK?
"WHAT IS YOUR FAMILY LIKE?"

For three, they don't listen. They hear what they want to hear. When I said to one dater that I live far in Brooklyn and would prefer to meet somewhere half way between my house and his, my online counterpart suggested a bar down the street from his apartment. Evidently, one block from his house is "half way" from his place to Brooklyn. And guess what? IT ISN'T!




It's all very simple - shouldn't it be?

No - it isn't. In addition to worrying about my looks (as well as theirs), I have also have to worry about educating others. I have to be a master negotiator. I have to be a superior talk show host. I have to spin plates and juggle. Well, maybe not that, but you get my point.

In many ways, dating is exhausting (a topic I have discussed and will continue to discuss). But, doing it on the web is even more tiresome. You have to be a bigger detective. Is this person real? Safe? Attractive? Honest? Stable? Funny?

And guys on the web are stubborn. In person, everyone can be a bit more relatable. (God willing!) But, sitting miles apart and on a computer screen, guys can be even more distant. On purpose! They will not answer your latest email (even if they like you!) because they were "busy." It doesn't make sense, but online dating allows them to be distant and they embrace like a true man would.

"Work was C-razy," said one idiot.
"OMG, this week has been awful. Sup?," said one insane asylum resident.



And Sup is not a word! So, I am back to being an educator. Fantastic!

The truth is: I hate gay bars. I'm not a big fan. So, online dating is probably the more ideal option for me in this modern age. I will probably have to stick with it, if I continue on this "single, party of 1" path.

So, thanks Al Gore! Let's just hope I meet someone who talked better than you than the 2000 election. I really don't feel like another 8 years of Bush-speak.

Love,
Online Dater

I Am So Gay ... (but I'm just not THAT gay!)

I was out with some old friends two weeks ago. Doug and Robyn. (I would normally give them code names - for the sake of the blog, naturally. But, you simply cannot give Doug and Robyn code names. They ARE Doug and Robyn.)

I played tour guide and gave these out-of-towners their very first glimpse into Brooklyn. They saw Brooklyn Bowl, the Brooklyn Brewery, the Promenade, TWO bridges, and Park Slope. It was fantastic. It was the perfect day and evening.



Over dinner, we laughed and ate until our little stomachs got bigger. And we talked and talked. The thing I like most about Doug and Robyn is how real they are. You can really go there with them, you know? You can say the dirty joke and they are cool. You can talk about people and have honest conversations about yourself. Best of all - it's a judgment free zone. (God, I hope!)

The point of conversation, though, that really got me was how we talked about my blog and how I am gay. But I'm just not THAT gay.

This was their words. Greg is gay, but it's not like he's ever been THAT gay.

Yep, I'm a gay mother-lover, but I'm a normal dude, too. Sure, I like men, and shopping, and the occasional soap opera. (Seriously, the new Dallas was awesome this summer.) But, I like other things, too.

I drink whiskey for god's sakes!

I can still quote lines from the movies: Old School, Wedding Crashers, and Anchorman.

I dig James Bond flicks, and really any kind of spy crap.

One thing Doug and Robyn also referenced was: Baseball.

I actually like baseball. I don't watch it non-stop like they do. (The straights just LOVE their baseball.)
But, I love physically going to games and I actually even understand what goes on during them. Especially that seventh inning stretch. I LOVE me some relaxing time!



There is just something really fun about being in a real baseball park. I like the energy from the crowds. The music, the cheering, watching bases load and the visiting team get 3 runs at once. Being surrounded by cute and not so cute men. And to cap it all off, I even drank beer that night! Need proof?I mean - look what I ate!!!

I had 2 beers in ONE week. At the Mets' outfield, and at the Brooklyn Brewery just days before. Not only did I go to an actual brewery with Doug and Robyn - but I drank the beer, too. I was more of a Nurse Parker that day, but come Baseball Night: I drank my Bud Light like a champ.

I Am So Gay. I'm just not that gay!

Sure, I can drink beer! I just don't guzzle it. And also, hello? A burger and fries? Sure, they were from Shake Shack and I did have a Bud "Light," but I was still all man that night.

And I kinda like that about myself. I can be the best of both worlds.

Yep! I can.

I will wear my navy suede oxford shoes and my rolled cuff shortie shorts, with a nautical striped tee. But, don't try to mess with me on the subway! I got my shizz!



The thing is: I know who I am, but it's not ONLY who I am. There is so much more to me than ONE thing about me. And the same goes for you. You may be gay, you may be straight, but I bet you act like a normal person. Sex doesn't define you (and if it does - there is a shrink you should call).

In the end, we can realize that just because we're different - it doesn't mean we can't enjoy the same things. Because we can. But, I will still be sipping whiskey over a Bud. I'm not that straight!

Love,
Me

You Can't Always Get What You Want ... But You Get What You Need

I am sorry. Sorry I have been away so long.

Between work craziness, fundraising and baking for a charity, going to a Mets game, visiting family and general fatigue.... I just haven't felt up to writing. It's a tough life being a working, dating, running, family-loving man.

However, said recent family trip unlocked that elusive writing itch. Yay for blog time!

Nothing like surviving a family trip and then wanting to wanting to write about it.



The thing is: I do love my family. I was able to look at one family member and see that I shared the same nose. The very nose I don't like on myself - I saw on another, and liked it. It made me smile.

Other family members and old friends made me feel love that feels like a warm blanket. When you go home after some time has passed, it's comforting and yet odd. Everything can feel familiar and new at the same time.

Your parents will always want to do things for you that no one else in their right mind would want to. They will always love you and always say loving things. Usually... (wink!)

My father (in a quick, quiet moment) made me feel better about something that someone else made me feel bad about. Ironically, it was this very blog, and how I express myself so openly.

Only your family can see you for who you are at your base level and then cut you down at that very same base. And, in that very same day, only your family can pick you right back up again.

The lesson my father taught me, though is: you can't please everyone.

I liked it. I can't please everyone. It's a bit freeing. Screw the haters. I will take the lovers!

I will have my critics. I will have fans. (Forty-nine fans on Facebook as of this writing!!! Who wants to be number fifty??? Like I Am So Gay on Facebook today!!!)

SHAMELESS PLUG!!!!



Yet, it's hard to soak up the fact that not everyone can be happy by the things that I do. I am - despite all of the rumors on the gossip magazines - a good person. I didn't break up Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston. I didn't even break up Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart. I mean ... I did introduce her to that director and I did buy her a case of wine... but that is NOT my fault.



No, despite all the haters, I actually do good things. And I am pretty much always nice to people. So, what the hell? Why isn't what I do enough? Why is it NEVER enough? You can do a nice thing, but you better do another 10 minutes later, and another, and another. You must constantly go out of your way, and perform above and beyond. And yet - you still won't make everyone happy.

Because some people just aren't happy. And no matter what happens - they will never be happy. And I feel sorry for those people who get something but want something more.

Just enjoy the thing you have today. Bask in it. Enjoy the moment. And don't stress about the next.

Yep. You can't please everyone. And I am done trying.
But, thanks to Mick Jagger, I will get what I need.

I've Been Dating for 10 years ... And I Still Know Nothing!

I'm going to ask you to join me on a little ride. Grab a glass of a beverage that you like. For many of you, it may be a tasty glass of wine. For me, it's whiskey! Tonight is a WHISKEY night! So ... light a candle, grab a glass and buckle up! Tonight will be quite a ride!

As you may ascertain (my stripper name in college), the blog for tonight will be about clueless dating. The irony of this blog is that I am writing about this topic on a Friday night. And no - irony has not been lost on me. I am well aware. It's Friday and I am home.

The truth is: Netflix is a better date to me than the many other dates I have had in my life. It isn't to say that I haven''t had good dates. Oh.... I have! (Wink!)

But, it's often the second date, or the third date that are just ... ugh. It's honestly just exhausting. I have had a hard week. I can't go through another bad guy. I recently told someone this week that I come first. It's work, exercise, me time, and maybe a date. Dates are no longer a priority in my book. So, tonight: it's whiskey, dinner and Netflix. All in that order. And it's been awesome. I am relaxed. I am smiling. I feel good.



I didn't always feel this way...

I didn't have my first date - my first "real" date until I was 23. I had no idea how to react when a boy liked me. It really didn't happen all that much in my life. I occasionally had girls like me, which had been flattering. A girl, though, just never made my heart skip a beat, which I finally learned does actually happen when you like someone. To this day - if my heart skips a beat - I know what it all must mean. "BOO-YAA," said Samuel L. Jackson at the end of some movie.



It is when my heart tells me (complete with a Samuel L. Jackson catchphrase) that I understand that someone likes me. Often, a man must hit me over the head to tell me he likes me. (In a gay world, they don't hit you over the head. They offer to take you home from the bar. Or they just grab you and say something inappropriate. It's all ... shocking.) I am evidently and unfortunately very clueless about dating.

When I was 23, I was an Assistant Manager at a Banana Republic in Fairfax, Virginia. I clearly had hit the big time! I had been working there a week. New town, new job, new company, new store, new pants, new everything! Literally! It was a new Greg. And he was scurrrrrred. (This means I was scared, but like ... really scared.) And I couldn't even tell people that I was scared. I had to seem confident and composed and super, "fireworks-blasting" happy!

I don't know how Mr. Scared managed to attract someone of the same sex, but it did. I was 23 and working at a mall. I was HOT.

It was Friday night and I was working in the women's section.

I Am So ... Glamorous? FABULOUS? Nope, none of them!

Like I have said, it was my first week and I was shadowing the store manager, Kim. I was "straightening" the women's section - the very back end of the store. By the way - "straightening" - isn't retail code for making me heterosexual. That just isn't possible, dear reader. Lord knows, everyone had tried!!! Alas,"straightening" is retail code for picking up your crap. You came into my store and made a mess and now I am cleaning it up.

So, I was cleaning up, and feeling alone in a new place, and scurrrrrred. And I worked a pretty full day at this point, so I looked probably just tired and awful.

This tall drink of water came in with 2 lesser attractive guys. And they browsed. Now, like I said, I was in the women's section, which is ALLLLL the way in the back of the store. You have to walk through the men's section to even get to me.

So, this tall something-something walked into the women's section, never making direct eye contact with me. He just glanced around, all tough guy. He was looking for his woman and found nothin.'

But, oh! He found me, all right!

So much so - that he actually called the store. Twenty minutes later, my boss is ringing up the register and counting all the money. And the phone rings and the caller asks for me. She knows that I know no one in town and have 1 female roommate. So ... imagine my embarrassment when the caller asks for a guy in a red shirt. (Red has always been my color!)



Kim was a bit stunned ... and said, "Please hold."She put down the phone, and looked around at the store. There was her, 1 other female employee and me: gay dude in a red shirt. "Um, Greg. I think you have a phone call."

It was less than perfect. I often envisioned me getting asked out on my first boy date with flowers, or some other "TV show" kind of gesture. Like a doctor who bumps into my car, offers to take care of everything and say I have the nicest pair of brown eyes he has ever seen. I never expected it to be, "Um, can I talk to the guy in the red shirt?"

But, when destiny calls, I answer!

I said hello and he asked if I was wearing a red shirt. Did I have dark hair? Was I working in the women's section? I wondered if my social security number would be the next question. It was not.

Instead, he said I was cute! And would I be interested in going on a date!!! Stunned. I was just stunned.

And I was just crazy enough to say yes. What did I have to lose? I would meet him at my roommate's restaurant, The Sweetwater Tavern. Class (and safety) all the way is my motto!

Short story: we had a great date. It was awesome. We talked non stop. No awkward moments. He was cute as hell, had a great job and was tall! Sign. Me. Up. And he kissed like ... a good kisser. (A lady never tells.) Who am I kidding? He was good. Real good.

He was so good ... right up until the moment when he never called again. What did I do in response to never hearing from him? Oh, I made the rookie mistake of calling him and leaving him messages a few times within the week after our first date. (Looking back, all you can say about oneself is: yep - rookie!)

I'd like to say the TEN years that have followed have been awesome. Well ... awesome is one way to describe it. I'd say it's been pretty grueling instead.

There is no class in school or college or even a simple placemat at a diner that will tell you how to date. There is no map. There is no "right" way. WHICH SUCKS.


There should be a "turn handle, open door" set of instructions. Instead, we are given a set of directions from IKEA and instead of making a beautiful dresser, we somehow ended up with a mouse trap.

It's deadly!

I think of all that has happened in the ten years since my first date. It was October 2002. We were enjoying a president with the brain power of said mouse trap. Cinnamon coffee had just come out at New England area Dunkin' Donuts. And I had my first date with a man. These were crazy, heady times!!!

I didn't get a second date with my Tall Drink O' Water (which is his new name - for the sake of the blog), but there would be others. Some would have boring names like Chuck - yup Chuck! And some would have gay names like Chad. Sorry, Chad! "Your Name Is So Gay." (And so are you for reading this.)

On a side note: Trent, James, and really anyone else who would use their full name, casually, have super gay names. Gay names!!! (Not that there is anything wrong with gay names. But, if you call me Gregory - I will hurt you!) Give me a Joe, Mike, Dan, Matt, Jeff, or something rugged like Tom. But if you introduce yourself as William or Christopher, I may just lose it!



Back to the point: I have had many beaus in my life since that first date. And I am still just as surprised when they screw it up, or I screw it up, or both. Like I said, there is no map. WHICH SUCKS.

You have to roll with the punches. Yep, it does suck, but you have to get right back up again after being knocked down. So what if I have dated up and down the East Coast from Virginia to New York and have learned essentially nothing?

Does this all mean that I have given up?

As if!

Love,
Cher - a la Clueless