For today’s hangout post, you get a post from the free fringes archives. You’re welcome.
My personal blog free fringes crashed in January of this year, and I haven’t had time to re-jigger it. Yeah write takes up a lot of time and I also have three kids in various knuckleheaded stages. Throw in my living arrangement with the dad of the household batching it up on the east coast while his family goes along to get along here in Texas and, well, that personal blog may never get resurrected.
Here’s a post from June 2011.
[divider_header_h3] the most fun I had dating was the straight-or-gay debate [/divider_header_h3]
Sometimes, okay, usually, I’d guess wrong.
I’ve always said that when I have a 50-50 chance of getting something right, I won’t. Get it right, that is. I’m probably the only person alive who will lose 75 out of 100 coin tosses even when consistently choosing heads.
Part of the reason? I didn’t care all that much. Yeah, the straight-gay debate from my thirties probably delayed a few goals, such as a sustainable relationship with someone who was actually attracted to me sexually instead of personality-ly, but the 3,000 closeted gays I managed to date for 10 years were a lot of fun to hang out with, and they pretended to love me. Pretend love counts for something, don’t it?
Yeah, there was the one who insisted that we split the check like on every single date, which was weird because every man knows the fastest way to my heart is through his paycheck. I can’t remember why we broke up, but my fuzzy memory says once he was outed by someone at work, my bearded services were no longer needed.
One clue for CG #2 should have been his marriage proposal without so much as a peck on the cheek. The church we were attending at the time welcomed all kinds of people: the choir had a pre-op transgender soloist, for goodness’ sakes, but still, somewhere in there he must have felt the need to have a fake fiancée and, blah-dee blah-dee, I was soon enough suspicious of his wanting to wait until we were married to have sex once I found out he was having sex with his boyfriend, but not his girlfriend. What was with the double standard, guy?
But how would I have discovered boutiques and French wine and the love of cocktails without my gay lovers who weren’t exactly, well, my lovers, but you see my point. I was the perfect girlfriend because I would believe whatever they told me until I found out otherwise from everyone else on the planet who saw them having dinner with their “friends” while I was at home watching Barney with baby Jordan. Who else would listen to them as they wondered aloud if other men found them attractive hypothetically speaking? My all-time favorite hypothetical question has to be—as I’m lying naked in bed with closeted gay, no. 8—“So if I were to post a profile on a bi-curious website, what picture do you think I should use and do you think I’d get any hits?”
As I was writing this post, Q asked me when did I know for sure he was straight enough (we are never truly straight, are we? We’re straight enough). I told him it wasn’t so much the sex he was having with me [although: awesome], but the sex he wasn’t having with other men. Without missing a beat, he answered: well, that one wasn’t for lack of trying.
He’s such a quick wit. He’s joking. He’s so cute. And has such great taste in shoes.
The yeah write #65 hangout grid is open…
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