It’s the moment. Max and I are looking at each other outside the restaurant, their slender frame smaller than my larger, lumpier one. I am wearing what I thought would appeal to them: a pink linen shirt, slightly flowy, I wore my light chinos and rolled up the cuffs, wore derby shoes with non-visible socks. In short, I look like a queer snack. They are wearing a poncho, blue eye shadow, I swear that there is glitter in their beard that I have been staring at all night over dinner. They stretch their arms wide for the embrace and I lean in for the kiss; they turn their head and I get a mouthful of beard and glitter. Okay, friends, I think and pat their back in a brotherly way to let them know I’m on the same page. We walk our respective ways and I look back to see if they turn around. They do not.

Later, I ask them out again over text. They reply “Sorry, had a blast. you’re not queer enough.” Continue reading →

The leaves rustle, in the morning there’s a chill in the air, shopping bags start becoming aggressively seasonal, and I suddenly crave every pastry near me within a ten block radius. It’s fall, jerks! And I have never embraced my dadbod more: it is the daddest of bods. Wait is that appropriation?

The text from the guy comes at work while I am lifting a pastry up to my mouth in the break room at work. I consider telling my coworkers that this is my first cheese danish. It is, in fact, my third pastry, but really I only count it as my second because I had the first one before I clocked in. I look at my phone, log into social media, bury my face in the screen. I really don’t appreciate the stares they’re giving me, I can practically hear their whispers to each other as they giggle at the crumbs in my beard, their-

I lift my head. Oh. The break room is actually empty. Ahem. Continue reading →

I’m slogging through the holidays, like I do every year. They’re a combination of sweet and hectic: this is my busy season at my day job, and it makes December rush by in a blur. It’s colder than usual, so cold that when I walk and fart I’m scared people walking behind me can see it billowing out, a beautiful white cumulus smelling of my colon that expands forever, slowly engulfing Portland. I’m lonely, too. All I really want is a boyfriend for the winter I can cut open like a TaunTaun and nestle inside wait not that.

I spot the guy on social media, he is my type, maybe even My Type: tiny. Bearded. Professional. We hit it off, follow the steps, I follow the  script to the tee. “Super handsome, how’s your week? I’m Mike.” “Wanna get off this app? I don’t get notifications, text is easier for me.” “Want to grab grub sometime? I promise I’m not a psycho.” The joke is on him, because I am actually a raging psycho. I make sure he is truly single: the hot trend is guys on social media who are in super committed relationships who pretend to be single online just to be more popular. Continue reading →

I’ve been in Portland three years. I love the summers here; they seem like they go on forever and then disappear in the blink of an eye. They say summer is a great season to fall in love. It’s been a while since I fell in love. I’m not on the dating apps: they alternately bore and frustrate me. But once in a while, someone catches my eye in real life and I give it a go. This is one of those stories, this is a story of my worst date, if not ever, then certainly this month. This is the story of my date with Mike Schneider. Continue reading →