When I Need A Pick Me Up, by my friend Ryan King

Wednesday, October 20, 2010


So I can blog again now that I haven't caused NYC's 2nd gay-related suicide leap. I know. That's not funny. But hey. I'm not laughing at, but with. I'm just as gay as they are and I feel the same type of isolation and fear as they do. All those "It Gets Better" messages apply to me even though I'm 46-plus-two-weeks old. What keeps me from suicide is a fear of the unknown and a suspicion that yeah--it will get better.

I mean hey, it got better for My First Man Date, anyways. After our last date he was able to find a guy who he likes a lot, and who likes him a lot. He even said that he waited until their fourth date to get busy, and he learned that from me! So folks, see? Instead of driving him to the point of suicide by depriving him of my gorgeous self, I helped him into a relationship that he's happier with than he would have been with me. My Hero Friend's advice was spot on.

Isn't that great?

Yup. That's great.



I'm currently blogging between doing wash and the supervision that my Part-Time Gig demands of me (they want me to write someone up) and I ran into Hunky Married HeteroDad Neighbor in the laundry as I usually do when I do the wash. A head taller than me, wide shoulders, smiling eyes, always having one of his two kids in tow, friendly and responsive with them, thus far has been in various states of undress--just a real day-off casual working man's Ward Cleaver.

And I think to myself, "How did I get here?"

It seems like it's not that I'm gay--it's like I'm a woman. I don't want a gay man...I want a man.

Problem is, I'm not blessed with the estrogen that makes women soft, receptive, accepting, and supportive (well, wait--I can do supportive real well actually). But I'm stuck on stupid. I don't want just any man, be he pudgy, skinny or whatever. I want a bruiser. I want a roughneck. Gruff and rumbly. I only want one type of man. A physical type. And these are the times when I can easily just really hate myself.

Still, I'm not diving off of any bridge and letting my body be tweeted about by my
Inwood neighbors as it washes ashore. I want more for myself and my life--it just feels like I'm not able to get any of it.

It's like I'm not a homosexual--I'm a monosexual.

I was alerted to this article. I need to be this guy. Couldn't I still please have a wife?