Tag Archives: gay culture

66. Dr. James’ Diagnosis: The Trouble With Love Is


Dating is hard blah blah blah. I talk about it a LOT. But then again, so does EVERYBODY. Everyone talks about how hard dating is. Everyone. Everyone talks about how fed up they are. And everyone is like, “Why can’t I find someone?” Ok. So then if everyone here and everyone there and everyone everywhere is frustrated, you’d think that we’d all be ready to cut the bullshit and get serious about dating. Right? WRONG, BISH. Because it takes work and we don’t fecking WANNA.

In NYC, the dating pool is HUGE with a population of almost 8.5 million people. That is a FUCKLOAD of daddies #daddiesgalore. Knowing that there are so many single, eligible hotties, we feel like the world is our oyster. We go on a date with someone who seemingly fits the profile of what we’re looking for except for that ONE thing. “Oh man, he would be PERFECT if he didn’t drink.” And then we meet someone who doesn’t drink so we drop Guy #1 for Guy #2 who happens to be PERFECT if only he didn’t live in Brooklyn! But then we meet someone who lives in our actual neighborhood so we can just skip home after a night of blowjobbing so we drop Guy #2 for Guy #3 who seems to be PERFECT except he happens to paint his fingernails. But then we meet a masc bro who crushes beer on his forehead so we move on to them and so on and so on and SO ON. We’re told “NEVER SETTLE” so we don’t! We live in a city where we can have Thai food WHENEVER the fuck we want it. “It’s 2 AM and I fegging NEED panang curry with imitation duck. I’MA GIT IT.” You can literally have whatever you want whenever you want it. They even fucking deliver alcohol. You can pay someone else to do your laundry and fold it and then DELIVER it to your front door. You can order your groceries online. OR you can go to the grocery store, buy all your groceries and then LEAVE THEM THERE and they’ll deliver them to your house later after you recover from a day of adulting. You can go out to a restaurant here and tell the server exactly how to cook your food and what sauce to put on the side and you can sub your kale salad for a quinoa parfait while the chef in the kitchen slams his head in the fridge door repeatedly out of utter frustration for your lack of class. We’re conditioned to believe we can have exactly what we want. We believe perfection exists. So we search for it in the people we date. Everyone does it. Tinder is no longer to blame, Assholes. It’s us. It’s our fault. Let’s own up to it. We write people off for a variety of reasons. “Oh, he’s too femme. BYE.” “Oh he’s a bad speller. What a fucking idiot. BYE.”Oh, he’s too eager. He wants this too bad. Desperate? BYE.”

And you know what, I am fucking eager. And that’s what makes me undateable by NYC standards.

There’s all these fucking weird rules to dating, and I don’t get it. Basically, it sums up to being “COOL” ALL the time, which I fail MISERABLY at. I go down in a blazing ball of glitter when I attempt to Keep It Cool.

Here are the rules to being cool:

1) First of all, your Tinder should only be flattering pictures of yourself looking SO Cool.
2) On Instagram, you need to delete any picture that doesn’t get a sufficient amount of likes. (Sufficient amount of likes= Enough likes that it stops listing the individual people who liked the picture and instead lists the number of likes.)
3) Never make the first move. If they’re interested in you THEY will talk to YOU. Because being Cool gives you the right to also be entitled.
4) NEVER send more than one text in a row to a boy you like. NEVER. It must be a volley of texts back and forth, and sometimes it’s fair to respond with just a stupid emoji. And remember if the conversation dies, LET IT. If they want you, they’ll keep talking to you, even if you respond with monosyllabic, noncommital texts like “K,” or “Cool,” or “Yeah.” Be entitled. It’s like, you could actually die in real life and they should keep being like, “You okay?” for like DAYS, even as your body rots. They should stick around. Because your’e Cool. And Cool people deserve that kind of deranged commitment without any reciprocation. #Coolpeoplerights
5) Keep conversation light. Cool people don’t experience difficult emotions, and they DEFINITELY don’t talk about them. You may discuss breezy topics like: the weather, celebrities, TV shows that aren’t too femme, your favorite places to throw up, etc.
6) You may creep through their Instagram/Facebook but don’t you DARE like any of their pictures/posts. Being Cool means remaining disinterested and aloof.
7) Do not dole out specific compliments. You may say things like, “You’re attractive.” But you’re NOT allowed to say something like, “God, your smile is dreamy.” That is not something Cool people do. Don’t show them your whole hand. Stay in control. Keep a sense of mystery. They should always be wondering, ‘God, does this person actually like me or are they just killing time by sending me inconsequential emojis and making meteorological observations?’ Mystery is the MOST Cool.
7) Most importantly, at the exact moment that the hottie starts to show clear, obvious interest in you, you MUST drop him. Because being eager makes him UNCOOL. And Cool people can only date other Cool people.

I fail at being Cool. I send five texts in a row. I tell men exactly why I think they’re hot. I resurrect dying conversations by asking questions like, “If you could slap anyone in the world right now, who would it be?” Or “What Britney lyric most describes your life right now?” I post pictures of me looking absoLUTEly foul. (See below.) I tell them that I crept through their Instagram. I am honest about what I’m looking for in a relationship when people ask. I check in with them throughout the week to see how they’re doing. I show interest. I make an effort. I put myself out there. I BREAK the quintessential rule of being cool: I’m eager.


My sexiest Instagram post, by far.

Yes, I’m eager. I know that I have my shit together. I feel very comfortable with where I am artistically/personally/financially, and I’m ready to bring in a significant other. I want a relationship. But is that a bad thing? Is it wrong to be honest and openly state that I’m looking for something serious? Am I supposed to pretend I don’t want it? Am I supposed to stop looking for it and then it’ll come? IS THAT AN ACTUAL THING IT’S NOT STOP SAYING IT. No one ever got something they really wanted by not pursuing it. That’s stupid logic. No one tells you, “Oh, you want a job? Just stop looking for a job! Then you’ll get one. Someone will recognize that you’re unemployed by your sharty clothing and they’ll offer you a job. But when they offer you a job, PRETEND YOU DON’T NEED IT THAT BAD. Because wanting something is WRONG.” No. No bitch. No. It’s not like that. It’s like this:

I’m ready, and I’m realistic. I recognize that perfection doesn’t exist. I recognize that no one will have ALL of the qualities that I want. When someone asks what my Perfect Guy looks like I just laugh. Because to me, that doesn’t matter. Yes, ideally I would date someone my height. But if the guy is shorter than me, I’m still gonna give him a chance because PERSONALITY, Y’ALL. I don’t care if you’re tall; I care that you call me back. I don’t care if you’re skinny; I care that you are real with me if you lose interest. I don’t care if you’re younger than me; I care that you are emotionally available. Because I hope that someone would do the same for me. I know that I will never the most anything; there will always be someone out there who has a better body than me, someone who is smarter than me, someone with better skin, someone who is funnier than me, someone who is cooler than me. That’s fine with me. But no one is my combination of things.

And I think I deserve a chance, God damnit.



“And my hopes, they are high, I must keep them small. Though I try to resist I still want it all.”
~”Fools” by Troye Sivan


My attempt at a 420 look at the ripe old age of WHAT AM I WEARING, MOTHER?!




44. James Resolves: Dating Rulebook


Let me preface this blog with a warning: If you have ever dated/courted me, you may not want to read this.  Because I’m bout to talk about the things you’ve taught me… and the manner in which you imparted your lessons.

About five months ago I went through a really, really bad break-up. Near the end of our relationship, we were having Skype conversations where I would actually start hitting myself in the face and ripping out my hair. I once went to the shower, turned the water up until it was scalding hot, took my loufa and start scrubbing my skin as hard as I could. It was a toxic relationship, and it was eating me alive. I wasn’t myself. It brought out the worst in me. He’s not a terrible guy, but he was terrible for me. By the time he wanted to work on us, my heart had shut off. It was a bodily function as natural as puking when you drink too much. Your body says, “This is too much alcohol. TIME TO EXPEL.” Your body goes into survival mode and takes over for you. Well that’s my heart did. It said, “We’re done.” And I couldn’t even make myself try again. My heart wasn’t in it anymore and, like the body expelling vomit when it’s had too much alcohol, my heart expelled all feelings of love that I had for this person.

Gruesome, I know. But bodies do some nasty shit.

I got so mad at myself during that relationship. I was experiencing fuckery that I had vowed to never go through again. I was having deja vu. And I kept having a flashback to a specific moment from a previous relationship:

I was dating this guy, and I was in LOVE. I was in love so hard. I was in it for the long haul. And it seemed pretty mutual. We said romantic/terrifying things to each other like, “If this doesn’t work, it will break me.” I mean, this dude made me so happy. I still can’t quite figure out why. To properly describe our realtionship, here was my happiest moment with him:

It was nearing Christmas. He asked me what I wanted as a gift. I listed a bunch of stupid shit: a hug, a slow dance, food, a high-five. I said, “Just don’t get me anything. Make me a CD. Don’t spend more than $5.” So that was the deal. We weren’t gonna spend more than $5 on each other. (We were both poor as F-holes.) When it came time to exchange gifts, we went to my room in my college apartment. I plugged in the multi-colored Christmas lights that were hanging around my room, and we sat on the ground in the glow of the Christmas lights as we exchanged gifts. I don’t know what I got him, but I do remember my present from him. It was a CD! I was so happy! He didn’t spend money on me, and I knew I would be listening to that CD all winter. “Put it in! Let’s listen to it,” he said. I put in the CD, and the first track starting playing. It was a slow ballad that I’d never heard. “Get up,” he said. I stood up. He held out his arms to dance with me and said, “Merry Christmas.”  We slow-danced, illuminated by the Christmas lights while it snowed outside. That’s one of my favorite memories of all time.

Clearly, I thought this guy was the one. I had never felt this way before. So I made room for him in my life. I made little sacrifices for him. I didn’t like the thought of spending every night together, so we decided that I would have Mondays and Wednesdays to myself in my bed. But then I found out he couldn’t sleep on the nights when we were separated. I took a deep breath and said, “Fuck off” to my paralyzing fear of intimacy, and I decided to spend every night with him. There were times when I would be really tired, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Sometimes to help him out, I would rub his neck, and sometimes I would “rub his neck”.

And this is the moment I kept coming back to in my most recent relationship: there was one night when I couldn’t sleep. I started to put the moves on my man. But as I started to do my sexy kissing, he said, “I’m not really horny,” and he rolled over to go to sleep. I sat there in his dark room and I felt like somebody had just swung a sledgehammer right into my stomach. I thought to myself, ‘What about all the times I wasn’t in the mood? What about all the sleep I lost over helping you fall asleep? What about me surrendering all my personal space to you?’ The shift that happened inside of me was so monumental that it was audible. I couldn’t talk myself out of this downward spiral that I was riding, and I just started crying in his bed. He asked me what was wrong, but I was inconsolable. I couldn’t be helped; there’s no helping someone who’s just realized their life isn’t what they thought it was. A simple “there, there” wasn’t going to assuage me. He kept trying to get me to talk about it, but I just sat there on the edge of his bed, trying to drown us both in my tears, repeating, “I gave away too much. I gave away too much.”

It ended shortly after that. I was a hot mess for a long time. And then I resolved: I will never, ever, ever, ever, ever, EVER put up with that again. I know the red flags. I know what I deserve. I won’t settle for less ever again.

And the Universe heard me make this promise to myself and it retorted with, “Oh, reeeeeaaally? PROVE IT, BITCH!” And a few years later, It sent in ___________ as my test: “Will you really stand up for yourself this time, or will you put up with it all over again?”

Obviously, I failed the test. It was worse than a 7 out of 47 math test score. It was a -5 out of 47. I did so poorly I was booted from the class. It was taught by Bob Marley. It was called “Stand Up For Your Rights”. He said, “GET OUT, MAN” [read with Jamaican accent].

Since my last break-up, I’ve been on a hiatus from dating. I feel like I need to make a rulebook for myself: Shit I Won’t Put Up With. Or…. The Moment to Walk RUN Away. This isn’t a metaphor. It’s real:

James’ Rulebook for Dating  
Violate these rules at your own expense. But James… DON’T VIOLATE THESE RULES.

1) I will not put up with derogatory comments about my body, my voice, my talent, etc. (If it’s a joke, and I’m not laughing… then it’s not a joke.)

2) I will only date people who are Team James. (When you date someone, they should always be in your corner. They should support you in the pursuit of your wildest dreams, because they want to see you happy. They can put aside their own insecurities and support you because THEY BELIEVE IN YOU.)

3) I will communicate honestly. (“I feel under-appreciated when you don’t thank me for washing the dishes.” “I am grateful to have dinner with you tonight.” “I’m not ready for that.”)

4) I will not sacrifice my career for a man. (“Some women choose to follow men, and some women choose to follow their dreams. If you’re wondering which way to go, remember that your career will never wake up and tell you that it doesn’t love you anymore.”  ~Lady Gaga)

5) I will not settle for someone to avoid feeling unpretty and lonely. (I work really hard to be a good person, and I deserve the same from a partner.)

6) I won’t date someone just  because they think I’m pretty. (That’s selfish of me.)

7) I will never do long-distance again(It’s extremely hard. Some people can do it; I’m not one of those people.)

8) I will take my time. (I rush things, because I get excited. We won’t spend every night together if I’m not ready. We won’t move in together if I’m not ready. I won’t say the L word too soon. I won’t sit on it on the first date.)

9) I will not date someone with a nasty temper. (Temper tantrums are for children.)

10) I will look for someone who brings out the best in me. (And vice versa.)

11) I will know the difference between a compromise and a sacrifice.

12) I’ll know when to stay and when to walk away.

Right now my current mantra on dating is: if you aren’t the sweater I need to have, then I’m gonna pass.

I was once told my standards were too high.  To that person I say: see the last five years of my life.

I’m still optimistic. My biggest dream is still to be proposed to with a flash-mob of my friends dancing to “What Makes You Beautiful” by One Direction. I still make the same wish every time the clock hits 11:11. I still have a lot of faith in the idea of all-consuming love. I still believe that two people can be married forever and be happy with each other forever. I don’t care if animals don’t do fidelity or whatever that stupid biology argument is. It’s bullshit. I’m not just another victim of biology; I’m a romantic god damnit.

And I believe in love.


This Queen.


30. James Teaches Gay Culture: EXPLICIT


Ok. I have been steeping heavily in the theatre community for the past 2.5 months, and I have learned some disturbing thing about ignorance within and surrounding the gay culture. It is very frustrating, but I have chosen to educate with patience instead of getting mad at people for their ignorance. If this comes off as a rant, I am deeply sorry. I sincerely intend for this to be eye-opening and enlightening. I hope you have learned something when you’re done with this.

First. Let me start with humor:

 If you are going to put a D in your B, you need to buy one of these. It’s an enema. Let me be frank: if you’re having sex (ladies and mens), you really don’t wanna poop on the bed. And if you DO, if that’s a fetish of yours, by all means, BYPASS this advice. Crap away. But if you are terrified during anal sex and you can’t stop thinking, “DON’TPOOPDON’TPOOPDON’TPOOP,” never fear: this is your solution. This is how you should use it:

Empty it out. Don’t use the solution in it. You don’t need it. Unless you’re actually constipated. Empty it, and fill it with warm water. You only need to fill it about halfway. I’ve read some things saying that you don’t need that much water. And I’ve also read a lot of things saying it isn’t healthy to use it every day. This is foul, but I read about it drying out the natural mucus that your anus secretes…. WHO’S HUNGRY?!?! ME, TOO!

Ok. So take that turkey baster contraption and put some lube on the tip or something. Otherwise it SHAN’T be pleasant. If you don’t have lube, I think it’ll be ok to use just a little bit of unscented lotion. NO BATH AND BODYWORKS SCENTED SHIT. THAT. WILL. BURNST.

Ok. Then. Um. STICK IT IN. JUST RAM IT IN. I’m totally kidding. Say a prayer to Jesus (he’ll listen in this time of great need), squat over the toiley and slowly slide it in. It helps a little bit if you’re kind of pushing like you’re trying to… shit. (Let’s be honest, the time to be coy has passed by a LONG SHOT.)

Squeeze all the water in. (This should be half a bottle. And it should be warm. But not hot. Just… pleasant.) Now. You should wait a little bit while it’s all inside of you. Maybe wash off the bottle. Disinfect it with some alcohol. Jump up and down and do some cartwheels to make sure all the water is swishing around. …Totally kidding about the last part. But you can read the box that the enema came in! It’s quite fascinating! I DISTINCTLY remember this phrase on the box, because it has been seared forever into the walls of my fucked-up memory: “Wait until the urge to evacuate is strong”. I laughed really hard when I read that, and I evacuated all over the floor. I’m kidding, but I did laugh really hard.

Ok. After you have “evacuated” take a baby wipe (preferably a “Flushable”) and clean yoself up, bitch. Flush. NOW GO PARTY. Some people say you need to do it more than once. But. I think as long as you normally wipe, once will be good enough.

OK. Now that you have puked in your mind or quite literally from your mouth, let’s get down to business:

Sometimes I hear some ignorant questions. But if you are not a gay man or you are an inexperienced gay man, then I can’t really blame you for not knowing the answer/ not knowing that your question is offensive. A good friend of mine recently asked this:

“So, is one of you the boy and one of you the girl?”

I responded calmly, because the question wasn’t meant to be offensive. It was earnest. So here’s my answer:

We are actually both men. I think being gay is all about equality. The cool thing about being in a homosexual relationship is that there are no preconceived gender roles. We’re both dudes. So neither of us is expected to curse and fix cars while the other cooks and cleans and dusts. We just fulfill the needs of the other person. I’m a pretty clean person. I don’t mind washing dishes. I’m not good at cars, but I can sure care for my man when he needs it. When one is sick, the other cares for them. And sex is sex. There are no boys and girls in my sex cuz neither of us has a vagina. (I know; many of you who really know me are shocked that I have no beaver, but I promise I don’t.) Which sort of brings me to my next point:

Top  vs. Bottom
Ok. If you think this is gay terminology that describes who is literally on top and on bottom during sex, you are wrong. This is what it most specifically means:

A top is someone who fucks someone, and a bottom is someone who gets fucked. I know. So vulgar. So. Sososososo vulgar. I apologize. But here’s the problem I have with this:

You are no less masculine if you take a dick in your butt.

For some reason, I’ve met a lot of gay men who are ashamed of their sexuality, especially if they’ve ever bottomed. Listen. A REAL man takes a dick up the butt. You know when people say, “Take it like a man!”? They’re talking about anal sex! I promise. Anal sex isn’t like a walk in the park. Unless during your park strolls you regularly fall violently and unexpectedly on a penis. I’m just kidding. It doesn’t have to be awful. But I’ll be honest with you: if you are a gay man and you refuse to bottom, you need to let go of your shame surrounding being gay. There is nothing shameful about being gay. And even if you don’t bottom, you are still sticking your peepee in a dude’s b-hole, which still makes you gay. There is no degrees of gay. You can’t be “really gay”. People say that. But if you’re gay, you’re gay. And if you’re F-ing a dude, you are JUST as gay as the dude that you are plowing.

Listen, I strongly believe that equality is the prominent theme of homosexuality. We want equal rights. Our relationships are about equality. And in that same vein, in a relationship I don’t think there should be a “top” and a “bottom”. I think it should be about versatility. After you’ve tried both, I think you can have a preference. Absolutely. But. Gays: don’t pigeonhole yourself; Republicans will do that to us enough.

I hope you learned something today. Here’s my most important lesson:

Let go of your shame. Acknowledge it. But let it go. Don’t let it inhibit you. People frequently call me “extremely gay”. But I don’t care. I just wanna be me without worrying about what people think of me. I have a Lady Gaga belly shirt. Perhaps I’m challenging people to call me out on it. But YES. I AM GAY. GAY GAY GAY. And I don’t wanna be ashamed. So don’t make me feel ashamed. I know that “no one can make you feel anything without your permission”. Yeah ok booshit. Admire me for my courage to tell the story of myself with my whole heart; don’t chastise me because of your own shame. Just stop caring what people think. And do what you want. You’re not gonna live forever. I know few things but I know that for certain. And I don’t have time in this life to live my life within the confines created by someone else’s ignorance. I wanna wear a bright pink. I want to wear girl’s clothes cuz they’re bolder. I wanna wear a huge peace bangly necklace. I wanna wear my Lady Gaga belly shirt. I wanna wear my skanky underwear. And I REALLY wanna wear my “Likes Boys” tshirt.

I don’t wanna hide.

I refuse to hide anymore. If I don’t fit in this world then so be it, but I will no longer change myself to fit a world in desperate need of a change.

This is not a compromise I am willing to make.

“Sometimes the only way is jumping. I hope you’re not afraid of heights.”
~”Meaning” by Gavin Degraw