ROB BECK
| 8.13.2008
“HOW CAN MY LIFE BE so fabulous in reality, but so pathetic on paper?” lamented my friend Manny as we leaned on the bar at our usual spot.
Manny’s one of those people whose job makes other homos pink with envy. Through his PR gig, he’s in direct contact with a Who’s Who of gay club culture. He makes enough money to support half his extended family if he needed to, and his friends are always up for fun and never short on witty banter.
In short, his life could hardly look better on paper or in reality, so his question confused me.
“Your life’s fabulous however you look at it,” I said.
“But when you pull up my high school and graduation year on MySpace, I’m the fourth one down, and it says, ‘Orientation: Gay, Status: Single.’”
“MySpace is really hitting below the belt these days” I said, glancing over my shoulder at a cute guy passing behind us. “But I thought you wanted to be single.”
“I do. But I don’t want it to look like I’m losing the contest.”
“Contest?”
“It’s called, ‘Who’ll die miserable?’” he said.
My Jack & Cokes were starting to hit the right note, and my sass was rising without any food on my stomach.
“Alright, Samantha,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Well, if you don’t like it, then change it.”
“How?”
I didn't know, but I thought, if anything, another drink might help.
MANNY WAS ASKING THE WRONG GUY. It’s been 10 months since my ex skipped town and I started living the single life, and to call my few-and-far-between attempts at dating “futile” would be putting it mildly.
It’s not that I don’t want to date. I do. It’s just that I’m a hopeless romantic and an idealist. I’ve got pretty specific ideas of what dating is supposed to feel like, and if I’m not getting that feeling, I either quickly abandon ship or never even climb on board.
My friend George is in the same boat, and he blames the city. He moved back to Atlanta almost a year ago from the land of dating plenty — which, according to him, has settled on the West Coast — and has found himself similarly single and without prospects. The fact that he was never lacking for companionship until he came back here led George and me to jokingly (and drunkenly) dub Atlanta the City Where Dating Goes to Die. I think we both secretly fear that it might be us, not Atlanta, but that's not the stuff of jokes or drunken banter.
Given my current state of mind — high expectations with nagging little doubts they’ll ever be met — I had no real words of encouragement for Manny on changing that hostile “Gay and Single” status that somehow cancels out all his other fabulousness.
So I did a little research. I polled my friends to see if they’re having the same problem, and if so, what are they doing about it?
George decided to take a scientific approach, going on “experimental dates.” He takes anyone who asks, even if he’s not really interested, and tries different tactics to see what gets good results.
That way, his thinking goes, when the right guy comes along, he’ll be ready.
As innovative as that may be, I’m not sure it’s for me. I suck at the “I’m just not that into you” conversation, and I’m not willing to put myself through it that many times for the sake of science.
At the other end of the spectrum is my friend John, who’s so allergic to “dating” that he’s been seeing a guy for almost two months and refuses to even use the word to describe what they’re doing. They’re “hanging out.”
And then there’s Knox, who insists it’s us — all of us, everywhere. We all want other guys to approach us, he says, so no one approaches anybody.
Since I’m guilty of that myself, I can’t really argue the point. We all want a knight in shining armor to sweep us off our feet. Did it never occur to anyone that at some point, a few of us actually have to be the knights in shining armor?
FOR THE PAST COUPLE OF YEARS, I’ve been cusping on adulthood, operating in a grown up world, but deep down, just …
barely … there. I recently turned 26, and my grandfather took it upon himself to inform me that it’s the year during which I can no longer call myself "young."
Whether that’s true or not, it is time to man up, stop waiting, and start finding out for myself if dating is still possible in this town.
I toss back the last of my drink and decide to embark on my quest to see if dating is truly dead or if it’s — horror of horrors — just me.
Is there a guy out there who can completely shatter my somewhat cynical, maybe even a little nihilistic, views on dating and with one word, fill me with hope and desire? Maybe.
Or do I have the potential to be that person for someone else? Anything's possible.
Will I have fun while I look for the answers to those questions?
Absofuckinlutely.
|
