Come What Gay

My most humble and respected co-blogger and Plus One, Austin took an interesting turn off of my most recent dating column, Booty Call on the Blarney Stone, to bring us a fantastic State of the Gay Union (at least as it stands here in the Isle of Manhattan).

And you know what? He's right. The dating culture (in NYC) seems to have gone the way of the sock hop and soda shoppe (read: you can only find it at Disney World, and even then it's pretty phony and laughable.)

Why is this? Is it because in NYC we all just move so fast?

Are we just finding the wrong people who lead us on to get it on?

I can produce a list of men I've met on "respectable" dating sites who were quicker to my bed (or floor, or the alley next to Mr. Black) than the people I've met on less "respectable" dating sites.

So what gives!?

Well, I have no fucking clue. Because I've never had a good sense of what a relationship is. Before my ex Paul and I formed our most holy (and 5-year-long) union, my longest relationship was about two months, with the majority lasting no longer than 7 days.

This was because in the past, I would meet a cute guy, we'd make out, and I'd go ahead and ask him to be my boyfriend three days later. I didn't know any better! No one taught me the way that dating works. I thought - oh, okay, so we've kissed... now we have to be boyfriends! Then I say I love him in a note or email! Then we're together forever and ever!

Clearly the boys I proposed to didn't know any better either, because they would say yes. And then we'd be boyfriends for a few weeks, talking on the phone all night and doing all the stuff Michael Jackson sings about in "Remember the Time" until we realized -wait- I don't like this guy. Then they'd dump me, or I'd find a way to get them to dump me, because I was a coward.

Then I met Paul and things changed. Mostly because he abhorred me when we first met. He thought I was cocky. Shallow. Obsessed with sleeveless tees and capri shorts.

AKA: He was an excellent judge of character.

Well, I had to chase him down for a full summer and autumn (spending longer running after him than I spent running WITH anyone before him) until I finally made the kill and got him to fall in love with me.

We then had five faboo years together.

When we ended I found myself back where I left off - a club kid (one who now drank, at least) with a desire to be out all the time and until all hours.

I believe this was put best by Plus One Alum, Blair Bryant Nichols who said "When you broke up with Paul, did you stumble into a time machine?"

Yes. Yes I did. But with one key difference: I now know that I can kiss and sleep with and date guys without calling them a boyfriend. I did this prior to my next boyfriend, and then resumed it again after he and I broke up a few months ago.

Now I know that I don't need to take it slow and date someone. Mostly because I have yet to meet anyone who makes me want to take it slow. No one has seemed interesting enough. Funny enough. Exciting enough. Unlike me enough.

The problem with slow dating is it assumes a happy conclusion already. The mystery. The chivalry. The dinners and drinking and talking. It's a great move if you're ready for something serious. But, god dammit, I sure ain't! I proved that to myself quite some time ago.

When I find that guy, maybe I'll take it slow with him. Or maybe we'll discover we're perfect for each other after that first drunken night in bed.

I'm not ruling out possibilities just as much as I'm not searching for anything in particular.

In the end, I believe Ewan and Nicole put it best when they said "Come what may." That's my credo, too.



And, yeah, I know they said some shit about eternal love and death after that, but I'm only giving them credit for the first half.

xoJR