Every time a gay man is reintroduced into singleton, he is forced to face a wall...

of repressed abandonment issues from past relationships and to decide between spinsterhood and the perpetual hunting-and-gathering scene. The choices: he sits at home and does the eating-a-whole-tub-of-Häagen-Dazs-and-crying- while-watching-the-entire-Sex-and-the-City-franchise gig (sans movie, of course…at least, not until next year), or he takes this opportunity to become more of the “love-‘em-and-leave-‘em” type. Thankfully, this is definitely a slippery-slope fallacy (despite the lack of slipperiness elsewhere), because in most cases, both scenarios happen anyway, in that consecutive order – even if it is not in so many words. But, what happens when he skips that mourning phase, only to be greeted with a prospect that is so fantastic that he might actually end up in mourning after a possible fling? Or even, dare we say it, a relationship? The mind reels….

Yes, I am officially bajiggity, which is not entirely uncalled for considering the whirlwind of a weekend I had just spent with Transformer (his nickname is a result of a unique branding). Considering the lack of long-lasting dates over the past year, when Transformer and I end up going on three different dates within a 24-hour period, ‘whirlwind’ is quite a modest descriptor indeed. To add sparkle to an already blinged out rapstar, the dates were far from contrived and overflowing with flirtatious, nonsensical and witty exchanges and pop-culture references that could rival even the Gilmore Girls.


Yes, such a man actually does exist beyond the wholly unrealistic expectations of the gay mind. Is it too good to be true? (Maybe, depending upon how the situation is perceived.) After a year of either ratty or lousy (or both) dates reeking with desperation, finding myself actually having fun on the first date, I am utterly delighted, as well as scared. The level of comfort reached within the first hour of the first date is astounding, such that I find myself divulging my goals, accomplishments and failures. To add insult to injury, I even went so far as cracking open The Ex-Files for a quick glimpse. This would all be incredibly regretful, except Transformer was reciprocating each revelation. Both parties were already delving into topics that usually stay unmentioned until we're at least knee-deep in the game. So it should come to no surprise that a second date was due, and conveniently, it occurred the very next day.

Rules were being broken left, right and centre: 1) do not open the Ex-file on the first date; 2) do not text your date right after the date, even if it is the best date you have had in a year, and he is texting you back; 3) do not become that loathsome, cliché happy-couple roaming around the grocery store, and that's just on the second date. Need we be reminded that it was a whirlwind of a weekend? The third date was in the evening, and Transformer had a chance to be analyzed under the careful eyes of the Beautiful Fag-Hag (and Associates). With nothing more than my introducing him to them, Transformer was shining and receiving validations from my friends, all on his own. The evening, thereafter, was riddled with grinding and kissing, despite the fact that Mary-and-Mo were definitely in a Heterosexual Hive buzzing with nosey bees. But it did not matter, as far as we were concerned, we had our own bubble, even when we stepped outside for some canoodling under the sheer-fabric tents. Within a matter of 24 hours, we had gone from semi-strangers exchanging witty remarks to, dare I say it, a cute gay couple.

So, the question is, why am I acting this way. Have I been so JADED lately that this recent run-in with a great guy has caused me to just chug along at light-speed? And, it is important to note that all of these questions have arisen, even without having slept with Transformer yet. History can show how attached I get after sleeping with a guy I like. If this is my behaviour sans sex, one wonders the subsequent set of events, because let's face it, all the tasteful dry-humping on the dance floor got us halfway there anyway. Am I unknowingly placing all my eggs in one basket, yet again?

Sex is equated to a handshake, and conversation seems to be more awkward than licking some appendage...

...because these days, it seems to be more likely to have sex than actually sleep with anyone anymore. Whatever happened to classic romance? Instead of setting our sights on the ultimate goal, we just settle for the next best thing. Yet, the moment we run into the opportunity to attain just that, we go running back in the other direction. Is it because we have been desensitized to the notion of sex without love? Personally, I think that it is not necessarily an attraction to secularism alone, but merely an avoidance of the chance of leaving oneself vulnerable to heartbreak.

I have run into a kind of crossroads. In one corner, there is the Zygote who is sweet and more than willing to jump into a relationship. In another corner, Overnight Crush, who I had only met two days ago, yet has left me in a state of bajiggity-ness. Of these two, I sparked with Overnight-Crush, despite the fact that I have not been on any sort of date with him. Nonetheless, our conversations have left me in a “bajiggity” state. Maybe it would be better to start from the beginning which was two days ago.

Last Friday was the long-delayed movie date with the Zygote to see “Run Fatboy Run” – a fantastic movie that I recommend to everyone, but I digress – and we had set to meet at 6:30 pm. He was running late, but I actually thought that I had been stood up. Oddly enough, I was feeling a strange sense of relief that he was not going to be showing up – this feeling was abruptly ended when he came running in through the doors. The Zygote is a sweet boy, and he meets most of the criteria I have set for my potentially unrealistic idea of a boyfriend; however, there is a catch. Despite my enjoyment of the throwbacks to classic courting/dating, I must admit that there has been no real spark between us. Our conversations feel forced most times, as if we were pulling topics out of a hat. Ever since the first date, I had been questioning the veracity of my feelings for him because it is quite possible that I was simply projecting my idea of a boyfriend upon him. As in, I may have simply been so desperate for that companionship, that I was actually willing to settle for a bit less.

For the entirety of our date, which is the third one thus far, it felt as if I was just talking to another one of my friends, and the attraction was absent. Much of my reservations with the Zygote come from his lack of experience in relationships. In all honesty, my heart sunk after our previous date (which was the first), despite the sweet date, there was something missing. I had been convincing myself that I had been having a grand time, when it has really only been mediocre – again, as a result of my desperation for a boyfriend. My initial attraction was based upon an idea of him, which is clearly unfair. The worst part is that I am not looking forward to the inevitable conversation that I must have with him – the all-too-repeated “Let’s be friends” conversation. Truthfully, he would be a great friend, which is probably why I hesitate in going down that path. I had a chance to tell him during the date when he extended a penny and said, “A penny for your thoughts.” There it was, the flight-or-fight moment. I was walking beside a sweet and naïve guy, but I was feeling like I was more than ready for the end of our date.
Later that night, I was stuck in a pensive mood, yet I still managed to stay up until the wee hours. Here is where Overnight-Crush enters the scene, if life were a movie. A virtual meeting of course, but it was speedily met with a veritable phone conversation. In his own words, “although the hornies brought us together, good conversation actually made us talk.” It was 3:30 am and we had been on MSN for nearly an hour, so we said our good nights. I then explicitly questioned if I should ever hear from him again, to which he replied with his phone number. Clearly, heavy flirtation was on, and I was more than happy to reciprocate with an immediate phone call. The conversation was short, but both parties left in a sleepy yet happy state – or so I thought. About 15 minutes later, I received a text message from him indicating that I add him to Facebook. Thereafter, we spent another half hour text messaging each other about “sleeping undies” and even Ms. Bradshaw herself. That’s right, step aside, Carrie’s in the house…well, apartment, but I digress.

Despite the 4 am turn-in, eyes were wide open by 9 am, and I had even had the energy to go for a run around campus. It is actually ridiculous how much a boy’s attention can stir up my endocrine system (just a tiny reminder that I have been studying medical sciences for four years now). However, Overnight-Crush had certainly left me in a cheery mood, and my day was literally running on it. Consequently, by Murphy’s Law, all this cheeriness had to end at some point, and Dr. Murphy came blowing with full force, and not in a good way. I waited until 1 pm to send him a text message indicating that I was looking forward to seeing him. Plans were made for the following evening because he would be working until nine. However, Sunday came and went, and I was left feeling like shit. I had left him a cute, and somewhat awkward, voicemail, which only left me wondering if I had actually lost all rationality. I felt, literally, not figuratively, like shit that had been spewed after a case of irritable-bowel syndrome.

Despite his explanation later that night that he had left his phone at work, and that he would be facing one hell of an essay week, I was still hoping that there would be some sort of reprieve. Alas, my hopes landed on perhaps emotionally unavailable ears and I have set myself up, yet again, for heartbreak. What the hell is all that about? I have officially become bajiggity about a guy that I had only met the day, hell, the night before. Maybe I have been watching way too many chick flicks, maybe I have been listening to too many R&B songs, maybe I have been reading too many entries from a real-life-man-version Carrie Bradshaw, or maybe I actually clicked, sparked, ignited with this guy. Nonetheless, I will never know now – or, at least, it feels that way.

So now, I am left in a compromising position wherein I am wondering about the meaning of life and where I sit in it. Circumstances may very well be against the actual meeting with Overnight-Crush, at least, for the time being, but it still does not change the fact that reciprocation has been non-existent. I still have not received any sort of response/acknowledgement/comment/limerick regarding my voicemail message. The wit, humour and overall excitement about each other may have faded on his end – and of course, not on mine. Has the novelty passed already? Did I place all my eggs in one basket yet again? Moreover, this basket just so happens to have a whole in the middle, leaving a whole humpty-dumpty mess. The sad part is that these actions and results are not new. I always get drawn to the guy that will ultimately make me feel like crap at the end.

Experiences like these are what leave me feeling as if I am well on my way to becoming jaded about the whole dating scene. My dating-track record, though bountiful in attempts, shows that many of my conquests are short-lived. Despite the nearly guaranteed astronomical sex with each one, there is no endurance in the relationship department. It seems as if great sex and a great boyfriend do not go hand-in-hand – the hands and limbs go elsewhere, for that matter, but I digress. Why does this occur? Further analysis would suggest that it might be because they know that their expertise is in hot demand, so they are endowed with ample opportunity to keep sampling the boy-buffet. However, what am I missing such that none of them has ever stuck around? More importantly, why can’t I find someone who is exciting, but also has his head on his shoulders? Why can’t I just settle down? Why does EVERYTHING seemingly point back to Mr. Big (real-time version)? But that's one of my monstrous Ex-Files.