It's been nearly a month since I first introduced myself to Jonathan, and ever since then I've been asking myself the question men have wondered since time immemorial: Is he, or isn't he gay?
For my convenience (and for the readers'), I have organized a list of clues about his sexuality. After studying the list, it became fairly clear that he isn't gay, but might still be bisexual. (This is why the columns are labeled "Signs Jonathan is Straight/Not Straight," instead of "Signs Jonathan is Gay/Not Gay."**)
Only adding to the confusion was a set of clues I couldn't categorize: Jonathan keeps inquiring about my dating status; he altered his name tag to read "Jon·I·Am" (imitating the rapper Will-I-Am), which he pointed out to me with special pride; he suggested coming over to my place to party; he made a sexual remark about a female at the gym, whom he later learned was only fourteen.
Blogosphere: please help me read the tea leaves.
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*Did you ever see the episode of Will and Grace episode in which they're attracted to the same guy, but can't tell whether he's gay or straight? They then consult Jack:
JACK: Ah, yes. Many have sought my counsel on this subject. They say, "Jack is a wise man. Jack is a dangerous man. Jack is a great man." No. Jack is just a man. A man who knows men who like men. Bring to me the facts.
WILL: Ok. In his bathroom, he had 3 magazines, and one of them was Martha Stewart's Living.
GRACE: He also had Basketball Digest.
JACK: Ahh! You both make compelling points, but I believe the truth is to be found in the third magazine...
WILL and GRACE [TOGETHER]: Vanity Fair.
JACK: ...unless it's Vanity Fair.
**Other titles under consideration included
• "Reasons to give up hope on Jonathan/Reasons to invite him to bed"
• "I may have to turn him/This may be easier than I think"
• "He's Straight/He's Str8."
†The "Lady" is, incidentally, headlining at this month's fabulously gay White Party in Palm Springs. For more information, go here or here.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Is he or isn't he, the age old question*
Friday, April 3, 2009
The Great Cloud
--Hebrews 12:1
In 1947, the great English poet W. H. Auden wrote a letter to his friend Ursula Niebuhr in which he confessed: “I don’t think I’m over-anxious about the future, though I do quail a bit before the possibility that it will be lonely. When I see you surrounded by family and its problems, I alternate between self-congratulation and bitter envy.” The root of Auden’s fear of loneliness and his envy of the comforts of family is not hard to uncover: Auden was a homosexual Christian. And this dual identity created a tension for him: As a Christian of a relatively traditional sort, he believed homosexuality missed the mark of God’s good design for human flourishing. But as a homosexually oriented person, despite his Christian beliefs, he craved intimacy and companionship with other men. Caught on the horns of a dilemma like that, what was he to do with his loneliness?
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
That's What She Said
I spent the night with Aurora and Nadia, who might soon qualify as my unofficial fag hags. Sitting around their kitchen table for story-swapping and group therapy, I felt a little bit like a 2009 version of the Golden Girls, if the Girls were all in their 20s, rented rather than owned, and if one of them were a queer male instead of a post-menopausal woman. (One more difference of note: we nibbled on calorically-more-acceptable gummy worms, rather than gorging ourselves on cheesecake.)
Dissecting a yellow and green gelatious specimen, I relayed some of the highlights of a recent weekend church retreat. Under the halogen lighting, the sugar-coated worm shone like it were covered in Swarovski crystals.
"You know what you should do," Aurora broke in. "You need to divide your life equitably." She lowered her chin, and looked up at me as though this pronouncement were an Idiot's Guide to Being Christian and Gay, complete with detailed, step-by-step instructions on how I should carry out the next two months.
I was unable to interpret the oracle. "What does that mean?"
"So, you went on a church retreat for the weekend, and gave two and half days to God? Well, then you need to go on a gay retreat and give two and half days to men. You can't live with imbalance." Apparently very satisfied with this advice, she treated herself to a red and blue worm. "When do you want to go gay clubbing? Nadia and I will take you."
I'm not sure that this is the best suggestion for my situation, but it is what she said.
Monday, March 30, 2009
A Life too Crowded, Not Rumi
Although I'm not usually a fan of pop-reading (especially from Oprah's book club), I've been re-reading Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Pray, Love because sometimes one just needs a break from all his pensive, dour introspection. Something with a happy ending. Or at least something that distracts one from his own messed up life by inviting him into the messed up life of someone else. Eat, Pray, Love offers both.
Well, until page 29, where Ms. Gilbert writes, "[t]he Great Sufi poet and philosopher Rumi once advised his students to write down the three things they most wanted in life."
So casually I drew up my own list in my mind:
1. A healthy relationship with Jesus
2. A healthy relationship with another man
3. Bay windows from which to view my garden
She continues, "[i]f any item on the list clashes with any other item, Rumi warned, you are destined for unhappiness."
As there is clearly not room enough in my life for all three things on this list, I suppose I could: console myself with the popular wisdom that two out of three ain't bad; or accept Rumi's wisdom and resign myself to a lifetime of unhappiness.
F* my life.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Turning Turtle
My friend Nadia invited me out to watch turtle racing to celebrate her 28th. Having never heard of this spectator sport, I assumed it was something quaint, like a pastime Nicole Kidman and Tom Cruise might have enjoyed on a Thursday night in Far and Away. Not so, according to an email explanation from another friend, Ellie, who's been to the races before:
So about the turtle racing thing...it is disgusting. I have never seen women with lower self-esteem. The whole idea behind the turtle race is really to get chicks to bend over and put the turtles down—you cannot bend your knees. They blow the whistle for a unknown penalty and make each girl do it again, telling them to spread their legs more and taking a picture this time.
A good portion of the turtle droppers wore skirts. When you spread your legs and bend over in a skirt your v-jay-jay is totally out there. especially if you are wearing a thong...or no underwear at all, like one girl thought was okay.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Nasty, Dirty Sex
Warning (because the title may lead some to the erroneous conclusion that this post is about kittens dancing with ponies and rainbow-colored unicorns): this entry is graphic. You have been warned.
I've decided that hookups with strangers have their ups and downs. Ups: I get to have sex. Downs: as many people know, sex can also be a "down," especially when one expected it to be up Up UP.
Monday, March 23, 2009
No, it doesn't stretch any bigger than that, so quit asking.
My trainer Jonathan is providing me with much more than eye candy and lessons on fitness.
After my chest felt ready to disintegrate and I could barely raise my arm to wipe the sweat from my brow, we went into Jonathan's office to measure my body fat and discuss my feelings toward the sessions so far.
Having noticed that Jonathan isn't a good listener, I tried to sound as forceful as I could. "Jonathan, the sessions are good but..." Oh no: I am hedging. Be forceful! "but I really don't want my arms to be any bigger. A lot of my shirts are pretty fitted, and the sleeves are just right. If my biceps grow larger, my clothes won't fit me."
Jonathan leaned forward in his chair and squinted. His mouth opened slightly, as if it were trying to formulate a question, but couldn't figure out exactly what to ask. "You mean your shirts don't stretch like this one?" he eventually asked as he pinched a section of his uniform and tugged at it to demonstrate the miracles of Lycra.