“Yes,” Blake said. “I’m actually going to visit him this week.”
Hold up. Wait a minute. Had I not just paid for his sixty-dollar cab ride back from La Guardia?
“What?” I said.
“Yeah, I am going to visit Jerome this week. We’ve been speaking for so long, I figured it was finally time to meet the kid.”
“I’m confused,” I said. “If you couldn’t afford to take a cab back from the airport, how can you afford to go and visit Jerome?”
“Ummmm …” Blake trailed off. “I paid for the trip before I went to Vegas. Besides, you offered to pay for my cab.”
“I understand that, I just wasn’t expecting you to stroll in here and tell me you were going to meet Jerome this week. I had figured since things were going so well between the two of us—”
Blake interrupted. “I just need to do this. We’ve been speaking for so long. I feel like I at least owe him this.”
That’s the thing with kids these days. Gay guys in their early twenties think that the grass is always greener on the other side. That is, until they figure out what I learned long ago. It’s not greener. It’s actually not even grass—it’s Astroturf. Blake and I went to bed shortly after that but I could not sleep. For one reason or another, Blake really affected me, and something about this entire situation did not seem right.
The next morning, I sent Blake on his way, but before I left him, I had to throw in my two cents once more.
“Please, for the love of God, figure your shit out,” I told him. “I really like you. Please.”
“I have my shit figured out,” Blake replied.
“Whatever,” I said as I got on the subway.
I went to work that day in a huff. I was probably huffing because it was a) a hundred-plus degrees outside, b) Blake was totally playing me and I was allowing him to do it, and c) I had smoked about sixteen cigarettes and it wasn’t even the start of business yet. I had no idea what had gotten into me. Perhaps it was the intense working out or the heat, but I had such strong feelings for Blake, yet I knew it wasn’t going to work out, so I did the only thing that made sense.
“Blake,” I said into the phone later that day. “I’m sorry but I can’t date you anymore!”
I was devastated that I had to dump Blake, because my feelings were so strong for him, but I knew it was for the best in the long run. I had thought I had fallen in love with him at first sight, but maybe not. After putting the phone down, I realized that I hadn’t worked out yet that day. I popped in the back-and-biceps DVD and began watching it. Immobile.
I stared at Tony as he lifted his weights. He seemed so happy with himself and his physique that he must have been married for years. I did a quick Google search but found nothing about whether or not Tony was in a long-term relationship. As I continued watching the workout DVD and not working out, I began to wonder why it had been so long since I had been in a long-term relationship. I started to think back on all of the train wrecks that I had called relationships in the past and wondered why I even bothered dating in the first place. Before I knew it, I was not only not working out while watching P90X, I was eating a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and sobbing into it. How had I come to this? I text-messaged Ron and told him that we needed to have an emergency meeting of the Babysitter’s Club the next morning.
I met him at our usual place and sat down.
“Aren’t you going to tell me that I look like crap?” I asked.
“You yelled at me last time I said anything.”
“Well, I’ve been crying all night and you know I am not a crier. Ice runs through these veins.”
“I know,” Ron said with a frown. “What happened?”
I filled him in on everything that had happened over the last few weeks.
“You love him!” Ron said.
“How was that the only thing you absorbed from my story?” I asked.
“I’ve never heard you speak about someone like that before. You must love him.”
“Love?” I said, not fully understanding the meaning of the word. “I don’t think so. Besides, he’s dating like half of America right now, I didn’t know what to do, so I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore.”
“Why on earth would you do that?” Ron asked. “He’s never met this other kid so they can’t technically be dating. How old did you say he was anyway? Twelve? I mean, I had a pen pal once, but I never went to Tel Aviv to visit Shlomo, nor did I ever develop romantic feelings for him—because I never met him!”
“You had a pen pal named Shlomo?” I asked.
“Long story,” Ron replied. “Listen, if you want Blake and I know you do, then fight for what you want. You tend to get rid of people at the first sign that something is going to go wrong. I understand that you’re trying to protect yourself from getting hurt again, but if you like him, call him.”
“I guess you’re right,” I replied. “Thanks. What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing,” Ron said. “I think that Israeli that I slept with last month is living with me.”
“You think he’s living with you?”
“Well, he hasn’t left in almost a week. I don’t think he has anywhere to go.”
“Hmmm … that’s peculiar. BTW, how were you able to meet for brunch on a Tuesday? Was it Asian Appreciation Day in your office? Did they give you the day off?”
“Fuck you,” Ron said. “You’re paying for lunch.”
That night I called Blake and told him I wanted him back, but after a few days of going back and forth, we decided it would be best if we just stayed friends.
I stayed away from Grindr for the rest of July. It had bitten me in the ass so many times at this point that I figured I needed to lay off. I continued working out like a madman, however. I figured in the unlikely instance that I would run into Blake, I needed to look as hot as possible.
Week Eight
It was August, and although it was still hot, the heat was a bit more bearable. I was still reeling from what happened with Blake, but I continued as if I was all right. The truth was, I was anything but all right, and Blake and I went from “trying to be friends” to just communicating via virtual Scrabble. Turns out, Blake was quite the savant when it came to Scrabble. He beat my ass repeatedly and I quickly found out that words like dick, June, and DOOL (an acronym for Days of Our Lives) are not acceptable Scrabble words. I also found out that I had forgotten how to communicate with other human beings normally. I now only spoke with people through Grindr or Scrabble. I was officially a product of the Apple Company.
It was time for another week of cardio with Tony and the gang. I popped in the kickboxing DVD and realized that I could mouth the words that Tony was going to say before he said them. As with every other relationship I had ever had, Tony Horton was becoming a pain in my ass. Everything he said was beginning to annoy me, especially his comments about making soup. In an effort to be funny and lighten the mood after working out, Tony would always refer to an after-workout stretch as “stirring a pot of soup” and would ask his workout buddies what kind of soup they were making.
“Tomato soup,” the blond slutty-looking one would say.
“I’m making lobster bisque, Tony!” the Jewish-looking one would say.
“Sounds like a lot of calories,” Tony would respond.
“ACTUALLY, IT SOUNDS FUCKING AMAZING,” I would yell at the TV.
“I’m making chicken barley soup,” the Asian hottie would say. “What kind of soup are you making, Tony?”
“German po-ta-to soup!” Tony would bark in a horrible German accent.
“FUCK OFF!” I’d yell.
That weekend, Ron called me and told me that he was in L.A. and would not be able to meet for our usual brunch. I asked him if there was some sort of Asian convention going on and he told me to fuck off.
Weeks Nine and Ten
I hadn’t heard much from Blake, Ron, or anyone else in more than a week, so I decided to give Grindr one final try. I couldn�
��t possibly become a twenty-seven-year-old recluse, so I scheduled two dates with two lovely-looking Jewish boys on the same night. If neither date worked out, at least I would be one step closer to living out my lifelong dream of opening up a Hillel on the Upper West Side.
The first Jew I went out with was Andy. He was a bit younger than me, a bit shorter than me, and a bit hairier than me. While speaking on Grindr, he was constantly asking me if I wanted a blow job, and after I politely declined five times, he agreed to meet for coffee at a café near my apartment. I have the same policy as Kelly Clarkson as far as hooking up goes: I don’t do it. Except for that pesky time with Blake.
Andy entered the café and greeted me with a kiss on the cheek.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” Andy said as he sat down at my table.
“Nice to meet you too.”
“So, where are you from?” Andy asked.
“Outside of D.C.”
He nodded. I assume he accepted that as a reasonable answer.
“How long was your longest relationship?” he said.
“A year and a half.”
“Good. I don’t date anyone who has not been in a yearlong relationship at least.”
I sighed. Another bullet dodged.
“Where did you go to school?” Andy asked.
“Uh, are you looking to fill some sort of position or for a boyfriend?”
He chuckled and quickly returned to the conversation.
“No. Seriously, where did you go to school?”
“I went to school here in the city.”
“Average GPA?”
“Are you being serious right now?” I said.
He laughed. “No, that time I was kidding.”
“Oh, good. I was hammered for most of college,” I replied.
He laughed because he probably thought that I was kidding, but I wasn’t. Andy was pretty cute and seemed funny, so I decided to dig a bit deeper into who this kid was.
“When did you come out of the closet?” I asked.
“Funny you should ask that,” he said. “I officially came out of the closet about six months ago.”
“How old did you say you were?”
“Twenty-five,” he said. “When I told my parents I was gay six years ago, they made me go to this camp every weekend to basically beat the gay out of me.”
“Excuse me,” I said, trying to refrain from doing a spit-take.
“My parents are Hasidic and were not happy when I came out of the closet, so they sent me to this camp.”
I honestly wish I could make this shit up.
Andy continued: “So for about six years, every weekend I would go to this camp in New Jersey where the counselors would ask us certain questions about our sexuality and why we thought we were gay. Then every night they would hold us until we went to sleep.”
“You have to be kidding me,” I replied.
“Nope,” Andy said. “Is that not the gayest thing you’ve ever heard?”
“Yes, yes it is.”
Andy and I continued talking, and as if he were trying to impress me, he listed off every person he knew who had been on a reality TV show. I’m not impressed unless the person you know on a reality TV show has the first name Jill and the last name Zarin. After about forty-five minutes, I sent Andy on his way and in walked Jonah, my next Jew. That’s right, I had two dates with two different Jews at the same café.
If I kept this up, I would be more popular than the Zabar’s bagel bar on a Sunday morning.
Jonah (who I decided I was going to call “Super Jew” because he had explained several times during our conversation how much he loved being Jewish) and I exchanged the usual pleasantries and I got right to the questions. After nearly losing my shit in front of Andy, I figured I would be a little more to the point and see what made Jonah tick.
“So what are you looking for in a mate?” I asked.
“I really want to get married,” Jonah said.
I looked him in the eyes, and when I realized he wasn’t joking I told him that I thought I had just gotten food poisoning and needed to leave. I had been playing in the proverbial relationship sandbox with the kids all summer. I couldn’t imagine committing to a second date with anyone, let alone a marriage. I left Jonah at the café and went home.
Perhaps I was destined to spend the rest of my life with Tony Horton. The thought made me a little nauseous, so instead of doing a P90X workout the next day, I went for a run. The weather was pretty comfortable so halfway through the run I decided to take my shirt off and run topless the rest of the way home. When I rounded my corner, I glanced at my reflection in a car window. I stopped to look at myself and was surprised to see that I now had a six-pack. My own body be looking right and I about said as much aloud to myself. I couldn’t believe that I wasn’t even finished with P90X and I had already seen such drastic results. I went home and Googled Tony Horton’s personal information to see if I could send him a muffin basket as a thank-you, but unfortunately it was unavailable.
The next day at brunch, Ron’s tune had changed.
“Oh my God, Mark,” Ron said as I sat down at our table, “you look amazing.”
“Thanks, but I’m a fucking basket case,” I said as I leaned over to kiss him. “It’s nice to get complimented for a change, though. How’s everything? How’s the Israeli?”
“Well,” Ron said, “he’s still living in my apartment, but we’re seeing other people.”
“Wow. You guys have played out a whole year’s worth of story lines on All My Children in less than two months.”
“Yeah, he has nowhere to go, and I like having him around but let’s face it, I wanted to taste the ice cream, not buy the fucking ice cream truck! I have a few dates planned for next week. He knows about all of them and is okay with it.”
“I don’t get you at all, Ron,” I said.
“What about you?” Ron asked. “Who are you dating?”
“Well,” I said, “I went on two disastrous dates last week with two Jews and came to the conclusion that I don’t need to be dating at all anymore. It’s just not working and I’d rather be alone.”
“Well look at you,” Ron said. “You’re just like Renée Zellweger in Down with Love … except without the puffy face of course.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you think you are just swearing off men because you still have feelings for Blake?”
Of course that’s why I was swearing off men, but I replied, “Of course not!”
“I know you’re lying to me, but I’ll let it slide because I know you have serious feelings for him. Have you heard from him?”
“He texted me last week to say he’s going on tour with a show for the next ten months.”
“Perfect!” Ron said. “He’ll be gone and that way you’ll be able to move on!”
“I hope so. Otherwise I am truly pathetic.”
“I loved my ex-boyfriend,” Ron said. “We were together for three years and I still think about him every single day. But we can’t be together so I chose to move on and try to be happy.”
I understood what Ron was saying but needed a few more days of feeling bad that Blake and I would never be together. I nodded and listened to what Ron was saying, but I didn’t process any of it.
“Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, but your body be looking right these days, girl,” Ron concluded.
“Let’s get a brownie sundae!” I said.
“Done!”
Week Eleven
When I put in my P90X DVD, something in Tony’s eyes told me that he knew that our time together was coming to an end. My body had almost completely changed, and I felt amazing on the outside. On the inside, I was as big a mess as ever. As summer was ending, I was surprised when the temperature spiked yet again. Just when we thought the excruciating heat had left us, Mother Nature decided otherwise and brought one more week of horrible heat our way. After coming in from a run that week, I threw up all over the place because I was so dehydrated. It was t
ime for summer to end and to move on, but there was also some unfinished business to take care of.
After I vomited, Blake called me unexpectedly and told me he was coming over. I suspected he was hammered because he had said on the phone that he was out at a bar with some of his new cast members. I quickly got myself together as best I could and waited for him to railroad his way back into my life, but I questioned his motives.
“I had, like, four margaritas,” Blake said upon entering.
“Seriously?” I asked. “Four margaritas and you’re hammered? That’s pathetic and that’s coming from a recovering alcoholic.”
“I’m not hammered, just a little tipsy,” he replied.
“Whatever,” I said.
We sat and chatted as if we were old friends and there was no bad blood between the two of us. One of the reasons I really liked Blake is because I saw a lot of myself in him. One of the reasons I really hated Blake is because I saw a lot of myself at the age of twenty-three in him. Twenty-three-year-old Mark and twenty-seven-year-old Mark are two completely different animals.
As we continued chatting, I had to ask, “What the hell happened to Jerome?”
I had never gotten the skinny on what actually went down between the two of them, and being the nosy piece of shit I am, I needed to know.
“I haven’t heard from him in a few weeks,” Blake replied. “I don’t know what happened. He just stopped responding to my texts and phone calls.”
“Maybe it has something to do with the fact that the two of you dated for, like, five months and never met. Did you ever think about that?”
Blake laughed, “Yeah, I know how you felt about that.”
“It’s pretty ridiculous,” I said. “But I have to say, having someone pick a stranger over me is a new low, even for me. So thank you.”
“He wasn’t a stranger, we had just never met in person.”
“Right,” I said with a laugh, “so he was a stranger.”
Eating My Feelings Page 18
