So. Remember that one time when I moved to NYC and decided to find me a man? Well, I really don’t like to half-ass anything. And I went pretty hard. So. Let’s start this story at the beginning, because it also pains me to half-ass story-telling.
When I moved to NYC, I was super excited to find a dude, because I had been living in central Wisconsin where all the gays or either pretty or smart and never both. Oh, well there are smart and pretty gays in Wisconsin but they’re dating the other smart and pretty gays. It’s a really hard group to break into, like being a waiter in NYC or being an equity actor. So I gave up on finding a Prince Charming in Madison, Wisconsin. I set my sights on NY. And I had high hopes.
So I moved to NY, and I met new people every day. I started working as a cater waiter. One day while working an event, I met this super cute guy. We flirted a lot. I actually used my “useless college learning” to flirt. I wrote this super long research paper for my Dance History class, and this guy that I was flirting with was a dancer one of the companies that I wrote about. So I felt super informed and super pretentious. So we flarted hardcore (flarted is the past tense of “flirt”, just in case you didn’t go to college [jk, I’m a terd]). And we exchanged phone numbers and lalalala. So I was all texty like, “Heeeeey, let’s hang out! Laaaaaaaaa!” And his response was, “Totally! I’m busy this week! I’ll check my planner for next week.” Okee dokee!
…no response for a little bit. So I sent the text again.
“Hiiiiiiiiiii what’s up? Are you still interested in hanging out??”
“Oh yeah, I’m just busy this week. Maybe next week.”
Listen, bitch. Shorty don’t play that game. So then I texted him AGAIN, cuz some bitches like me is stoopid. He didn’t respond immediately, so I did what was natural: I went to Dallas BBQ with Drew and Alex, got drunk on a Texas-sized Pina CoLaLa and went home and made an OkCupid account. Safe to say: best drunken decision of my life. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the magically addicting world of OkCupid, it’s a free dating website. And depending on bitchy you are, it rates how often you respond to people who contact you. Obvi, I wanted to be in high demand so I didn’t respond to people who were foul. Yes, Hookers, I was quite a Bitch. I needed a self-esteem boost. Hate me all you want, but I know you’re gonna keep reading cuz you want to know how the story ends. (I’m less of a bitch now, I proms [that’s an abbreve for “promise”]).
So I went on a LOT of dates. A lot. This one guy took me to see where the “Friends” apartment was taped, as in like which apartment building they “lived in”. It’s the building that they did shots of the outside of. Man, that’s hard to explain. If it doesn’t make sense to you, get someone else who speaks CrayCray to come read this and translate it to you.
I went on a date with a dude who did NOT look like his OkCupid picture. I was standing outside the bar, and as he was walking up, I was secretly praying to myself, ‘Please don’t be him, Please don’t be him.’ “James?” (…’fuck’) “Yeah, hiiiiiiiiii!” I had A drink. I downed it. I thought it was pretty clear I was ready to go. Then he ordered another drink for myself. And didn’t even offer to pay my drink. Oh, by the way, I’m ricockulously poor. And he wasn’t. But I still paid for myself. Assfucker. Then he proceeded to do impressions of his latino neighbors having sex. During this, I looked around for a loose light fixture to stand under. Then! OH THEN! He walked me to my subway stop and tried to kiss me. I stood on my right leg with my left leg as far in front of me without looking unnatural. But let’s be real, I looked quite unnatural. He tried to kiss me TWICE. Thank God for my humongous leg to keep me safe. Literally, my leg served as a barrier. So awkward. I’m pretty sure I started laughing the second I sat down on the subway.
Then I saw some guys who were kinda ok. The first guy was cool. Things were going well. He took me to a celeb’s Halloween party. I talked to some Ford models about how I could get into modeling. This is how it went down with the models.
Model: How tall are you? How much do you weigh? Do you work out? Let me see you abs.
(I lifted up my shirt.)
Then I killed myself.
Jk. I moved on. But on the way home from the party, the dude I was with suggested that we invite those dudes back to his apartment for a “real party”.
Me: Um. Ew. No.
Dude: You’ve never had a foursome before?
Me: No! I’m from Wisconsin. Wha??
Dude: You’ve never even had a threesome before??
Me:…NO! (Apparently, I’m some sort of freak in the gay NYC for never multitasking with more than one gay at once. My sincerest of apologies. NOT.)
Dude: Well, you will. You just moved here.
Me: Um. Nope.
Dude: You’ll change your mind.
Me: Nope. No, I will not.
Dude: Well listen, I know that we’re just having fun but if this turns into a relationship, we’re gonna have a threesome.
Me: Nope. No. That is a dealbreaker.
The next day, he said he was just drunk. True, he was drunk. But I just couldn’t get it out of my head.
Then I saw another cool-ish dude for a couple weeks. But he kept forgetting that we had dates. And that hurts my feelings. I would like to be remembered. It’s like when I’m walking through a crowd and people run into me. I’m like, “Bitch, I’m 6’3″ and gay as fuck, don’t TELL me you didn’t see me.” That’s what I feel like in life; “how could you forget about me?!?” So, I confronted him a couple times. I asked him, “Hey, are you interested in me still?” He reassured me, “Yes, yes, I’m just busy.” This happened a couple of times. And then we just stopped talking. I was the last one to text. But I have enough self-worth not to beg for a boy’s attention. So. I moved on.
Oh, in the course of this, I turned off my OkCupid. I’m pretty sure he didn’t.
So, I kinda gave up. Finding Prince Charming was proving to be more difficult than I had anticipated. Before moving to NYC, I figured, ‘There are millions of men in New York; if it doesn’t work out with some dude, I’ll find someone else.’ But fuck, dudes, it gets SO exhausting. Going on dates is EXHAUSTING. I mean, I have to work out, shave my face, take a shower, dress pretty, conceal my freak card and initiate conversation over and over and over again. And sometimes, these dudes looked like they just rolled out of bed. Bitch! Sweatpants?! Is that all I’m worth to you. Suck a beaver, I’m done.
So I gave up on the whole dating thing.
So then my friend’s Kacy and Kaleigh were in town, and I went to go hang out with them. I almost wore sweatpants out in public; THAT’S how much I had given up on my life. Haha, I’m sarcastic. Just as I am sarcastic when I say that the men I had met in NY were “charming”. JAMES. BACK TO THE STORY.
So I met up with Kacy and Kaleigh. Kacy said we were waiting for her friend Billy. Cool. Then she said, “I secretly want to hook you guys up.”
“….Um, Kacy! I am unprepared! I haven’t shaved since 1999, I’m wearing my glasses, I didn’t do my weave, I almost wore SWEATPANTS out. SWEATPANTS. Am I wearing deodorant? Who knows?! When’s the last time I flossed? Oh great, I have my backpack. Damnit, why don’t I just carry about my Dora pillow, too. F. Me. Hard.”
Kacy laughed and reassured me I looked cute. I think I said, “Shut up, bitch.” Charming, huh?
So Billy arrives. He seems a bit uninterested in me, cuz he has a lot of catching up to do with the hoes I’m hanging out with. That’s cool. Well, as long as he’s not interested, then I’ll be myself!
So I proceeded to be James, 100%. I used the word “beaver” and “pussy” MULTIPLE times in converation. And by “multiple times”, I mean “incessantly”. I was cackling like a wench with Kaleigh while Kacy and Billy walked ahead of us. I told graphic and unflattering stories from my past. I talked about how I peed the bed when I was 20. No, I was not drunk during this bed-wetting situation. Apparently, I was just lazy.
So. I was not presenting “the best me”. But I was DEFINITELY presenting the real me.
So we ended up at this bar. And like the classy broad I am, I got sloshed. One of my eyes decided to pull a Mad-Eye Moody and travel around the room. The other one clung desperately to the conversation happening right in front of me. Every time I went to the bathroom, I tried to fix my hair. Well, this is a hard task for a sober person to do. It was even HARDER for me since I couldn’t see myself with my face pressed against the mirror to help me keep my balance. I’m pretty sure my hair was soaking wet by the end of the night.
I WAS SO PRETTY.
So Billy kept talking about how he had some date with some trick the next day. But he kept saying he didn’t know if he wanted to go. Finally, he made a decision. He said, “I’m not gonna go on a date with this dude tomorrow.” The three of us all squealed, “Whyyyyy?? Why not?!?!” And he turned to me and said:
“Cuz I’m gonna go on a date with you instead.”
It was a miracle of Jesus that I didn’t fall on the floor. Jesus watches over the drunks, too. I have living proof. He likes the gays, even when they’re intoxicated.
So that was the beginning. And since in our first encounter, I was being Real James instead of Date James, I could just keep being me. What a fucking relief. (Mommy and Aunties and Uncle, I’m so sorry that I swear so much, but I promise, in this day and age, it’s like fuckin’ poetry. I promise it enhances the story-telling.)
And he’s a really good guy. And I don’t know where this is going, but it makes me happy. He makes me happy. And he makes me laugh. And after all the bullshit I went through (see Project Happiness 365 http://jimmymarv.wordpress.com/ ) I just know that I deserve this. And that’s a great feeling. He says how he’s feeling which is a huge relief. And I can be as candid as I want. If I want to know if he likes me, I don’t have to play all those stupid mind games. I can literally just ask, “Hey, do you like me still?” Thank you, Jesus. Literally, thank you, Jesus.
And he calls me pretty. But he says he was first interested in me because I made him laugh. Wha?!?!?! Someone can appreciate me for more than my good looks. I’m not gonna be treated like a stupid trophy?! What a miracle.
And perhaps it’s inappropriate to get so excited about someone who isn’t even my boyfriend (yet). I’ve known him for a month now. And perhaps it’s inappropriate to talk openly about it online. Maybe I’m the only person who gets to prematurely excited about something so awesome. Maybe everyone else is better at gauging a situation and taking things slowly and just enjoying things as they come. Maybe everyone else is better at not skipping steps. And maybe I need to work on these things.
Or maybe I’m just fine the way I am.
So, I’m not writing this to brag. Not at all. I mean, it’s definitely something to brag about, but that’s not my intention. I more so want people to know that you can go through a LOT of losers and still find someone winning. DON’T GIVE UP. Don’t you dare give up. I’ve been on 42 auditions in NYC and I’m still going. And it looks like these are getting better. And I’ve been on SO MANY dates in my life, but I’m not giving up. And I don’t know how long this thing will last. Maybe just another moment, another day, another week, another month. Or maybe longer. But all I know is that there are people that you can actually be yourself around. And that has been an extremely valuable lesson that I will never forget.
Don’t give up. I’m not giving up. I’m sure my fight isn’t over yet. And things won’t just get easier from here. But FUCK, I deserve this SO HARD.
Don’t give up.
Oh, and he cooks. Like really yummy food.
Creep away. His name is Billy.
He’s a little older than me. And he’s really good at math:
Billy: When I’m 60, you’re only going to be 52.
Me: So what? We’ll both be ugly as fuck.
Billy: I’m never getting ugly.
Me: Me neither.
I love my life.
“What you need, what you need I need, too. What you are, what you are I am, too.”
~”Blood Brothers” by Ingrid Michaelson
Oh, and if you’re wondering how my auditions are going, I think Katie summed it up pretty nicely a couple days ago when I flubbed an audition:
“But, you’re getting closer. You can feel that, right?”
Not giving up.