Yes, the gay community is fucked, and not in a good way. More like in a sad, pathetic, die old and alone kind of way. Well, depending on what your goals are, what you want to accomplish in this life. If you want to booze and cruise and, you know, continue to keep a running list of all the dick you can collect like some twisted, fucked up version of Pokémon Go, you might be all right. However, if you’re searching for the fairy tale like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, then you better put on your boots—the thigh-high ones—because there is a lot of shit to sift through before "happily ever . . .
Turns out, there’s more than one meaning to Cardi B’s latest hit, WAP. While her lyrics are quite impressive and fun to rap along to (I spent an entire workday last week trying to learn all of the words), I much prefer the song’s alternative message . . . which I just made up: WAP, or work and patience. Anyone reading this most likely already knows the secret to a happy, successful life: work and patience. Unfortunately, I always seem to get to the party a little late, and then I’m often immediately asked to leave. Therefore, it has taken me a little bit of time—fine, a long ass time—to . . .
I recently decided to conduct a survey. Nothing official, of course. I wouldn’t even begin to know how to do something like that. Also, too much work. Unpaid work. Like Todrick Hall says, “I don’t work for free; that’s not the tea, hunty. No, ma’am!” No, ma’am, indeed. Therefore, when I say I “conducted a survey,” I really texted a handful of random friends and asked for their opinion on a certain subject matter. Don’t worry random friends who may be reading this: I’ve kept you all anonymous. Anonymous, like that one time . . . You know what? A story not appropriate for sharing. So, . . .
I can’t believe I’m writing this blog article. I can’t believe it’s necessary for me to write this blog article. Yet, here we are: sipping on hard seltzers and gossiping about sex, love, relationships, and the gay community. Fascinating stuff, really. Cue the eye roll. I partly blame myself. If you’re new to my work, shame on you. I wrote an article last year: “Be Careful What You Wish For.” Apparently, though, I didn’t read it. Too many times I’ve wished for a life similar to Carrie Bradshaw’s. Hell, I even refer to myself as “the male Carrie Bradshaw.” So, here we are: drinking hard . . .
I once went on a date with this guy. Let's see . . . I have to call him something. We'll call him Mr. Douche, as I want to respect his privacy slash don't remember his real name. That's not true. I do remember his name; that's how excited I'd been to officially go out with him. Before the night of the date, I was extremely nervous. Not taking my SATs kind-of-nervous, even more so than that. I'd say it was like waiting for test results from the clinic after a busy holiday weekend kind-of-nervous. You see, I'd casually crossed paths with Mr. Douche a few times before he officially asked me . . .