It’s an old Mexican recipe (the morning after and the super bowl)

Readers: I am headed to Sydney, NSW, Australia for Mardi Gras and a bit of traveling. Therefor, posting may be a bit slower than usual for the next two weeks. But know that I'll come back with stories, pictures, and video of boys with accents. Did I mention Aussies generally have really nice asses? Yeah.

I woke up in an unfamiliar bed next to a pale redhead, who I quickly learned was actually Israeli. Of course, I had to ask if he'd been in the army. We lounged in bed as I repeated everything I’d slurred through the night before, including panicking over not finding my phone in my pants.

Me: “[I really don’t usually approach guys, so] How did our interaction start?”

Him: “Well, it was crowded, and I was coming over to put my coat down. You moved over, and smiled, saying, ‘We always have room for a shaved head!’”

Me: “And that worked?!”

Him: “Well, you were smiling.”

Smart guy.

I bade my nocturnal companion safe travels and walked up to Rosebud’s place to see if I had left my phone there. I had checked her Facebook page, but there was no cell phone number. So when I arrived, I asked her doorman to give her a ring. No answer. The doorman offered to ring the mobile of his roommate, a fellow alumnus of my non-Ivy League school (thank god), and he said to send me up because Rosebud was there. Perfect timing because Rosebud literally in his town about to hop into the shower.

Him: “I thought it was your phone, but I wasn’t sure.”

Me: “Did you not see my picture as the wall paper? Whatever. Thank you.”

I headed home to tell myself that I’d be productive with unpacking the new apartment, but sleep called. By the time I’d woken up, I’d gotten a text invite to TTT’s for the Super Bowl, which made the third time in 3 days that I’d showed up at his place (that’ll teach you to move to a convenient neighborhood).

The buzz of the party was MicHELLe’s… I don’t quite know what it was called. It had shrimp and minced veggies and spices, and it made me wish I hadn’t scarfed down a huge plate of Chinese on the train before I left home. I was the Sandra Lee to MicHELLe's Martha Stewart (i.e., I brought vodka). But the best was when Ms. W's contribution to the party when she walked in halfway through the second quarter.

MicHELLe: “I can’t!”

Ms. W: “What?”

MicHELLe (cracking up): “A bag of chips, a block of cheese, and a knife?”

Ms. W: “It’s an old Mexican recipe!”

MicHELLe: “Not even shredded cheese. Just a block of chesse and a knife. Did you carry that on the train.”

Ms. W (with a neck roll): “Honey, I walked here. Don’t get it twisted: I’ll cut you!”

Apparently, she’d forgotten the other half of the old Mexican recipe: microwaving.

As the night went on, we drank more, and out laughter got louder. At one point, I said something hilariously insulting about MicHELLe's chastital virtue, and just as she was opening her mouth to defend herself, someone rang TTT’s buzzer. She said nothing and closed her mouth when the buzzer cut off, essentially lip synching the buzzer. We both burned off about as many calories as we had consumed in that one seizure of laughter. TTT's friends who were new to us were confused as to why we fell out of our chairs. TTT and Ms. W ignored; they know that's how we are all the time.

About an hour after the game ended, we headed out for a rather empty happy hour at Barrage. Did I mention that there were about 12 guys in the bar (including us), and TTT still managed to take one home? Yeah.

Click here to check out last year's jam-packed Superbowl weekend.

Note: you may find the "Topics of Discussion" on the right and the Cast of Characters to be of help in navigating this blog.

Photos borrowed from about.com, freethought.com, and epinions.com.

I said fuck it and stripped down (a housewarming party and a spandex soiree)

Another Saturday night in NYC, and this week, it was all about the house parties. First on the list was ‘Trish’s house warming for her new apartment, and after that was Rosebud’s Olympic-themed party (the Facebook invite was entitled “Spandex Encouraged”). But first, I had planned a brunch with Euro blogger buddy Planet Franck.

Planet Franck and I had been reading each other’s blogs for quite some time (I think late '08) and had always appreciated (read: been jealous of) each other’s disparate experiences. He was actually exactly how I imagined him, but much taller and with less accent. I took him to Maracas for their unlimited drink special, of which we both eagerly took advantage. I tried to coax him to a bar afterwards, but he declined, claiming he needed a nap before meeting up with friends. I’m always wary that bloggers will be awkward as hell or grossly less interesting in person (a general rule for anyone I meet online), so I was glad we had such an enjoyable meeting.

After going home and taking care of laundry (in the basement of our new building!! No more dealing with the drop-off place being closed after I get out of the gym!) and a short disco nap, I hung out with the Straight Roommate and a couple of his friends. They got me some Chinese, so even though I wasn’t planning to pre-game, I offered them some vodka, which they gladly accepted. Meanwhile, most of the Straight Roommates regular glasses have broken, so I’ve been collecting mason jars. And no one had turned on the ice maker yet. All of these factors led to my making drinks that were much bigger and much stronger than I expected. I changed into more party-appropriate attire and giggled my way downtown to meet TTT and a couple of his friends.

‘Trish lives super far west in Hell's Kitchen, so we split a cab over. Instead of looking up the apartment number on Facebook while we rode, I yakked with the others in the cab. We pulled up to what looked like a modern hotel where a very handsome and young door man asked us which unit we were headed to. Finally, my iPhone cooperated, and he informed us that we were in the wrong tower. We ran across the driveway (through piercing wind) to the other tower’s entrance and took the elevator up to the 50-something-th floor.

‘Trish: “D. Kareeeeeeeeeem! I’ve been waiting for my wo-man! Come this way. There are way too fucking many people in there, so we’re putting coats next door. My key opens the whole floor. Nobody’s moved in yet!”

We dropped our coats off in the empty unit and headed over to the party. He wasn’t lying when he said it was crowded. The unit was a large studio, and there were at least 50 people there. The view, which wrapped around so that one could see Jersey, the Hudson, and downtown to most of the signature high-rises of TAPS (the Trash Around Penn Station), was rather breathtaking. If only my parents loved me that much…

“Oo, black people! What’s your name!”

I quickly got acquainted with the pretty, performer-looking black guys that walked in, and it wasn’t long before two black women from NJ (where ‘Trish works) joined us and started taking a multitude of pictures (including the one to the right). And we may or may not have sang the song from that campfire scene in Glory.

Things got very blurry after that second vodka and orange soda (it was either that or cranberry “juice”… did I mention this was a doctor serving all this HFCS?), but I remember setting my alarm to go Rosebud’s party around 11:30.

So remember how spandex was in the title of Rosebud's party?

Dear Preppy: the 5% spandex in your collared shirt from Club Monaco is not theme-appropriate.

I guess Banker Gays don’t go to the gym until their Fire-Island shares are imminent are more modest in the winter. Not a single other person was wearing spandex gear, but I said fuck it and stripped down to mine. Urban Sprawl took off his pants in solidarity, but that was about all the moral support I got. I really don’t remember talking to anyone, but it’s possible that someone caught held my attention past, "Can you pass the [mixer]?" What I do remember is putting on music from my iPhone before we hauled out for Posh.

And I remember seeing a red-headed guy.

And I remember stumbling into a hotel down the street.

Did I mention we were both intending to top?

Yeah.

Click here to check out Rosebud's holiday party, complete with a surprise coming-out!

Note: you may find the "Topics of Discussion" on the right and the Cast of Characters to be of help in navigating this blog.

Photos borrowed from funny-pic-world.blogspot.com, explorerpass.com and stuff.pyzam.com

Sober Moment 2.17.10: Fun With Grindr (Call me)

So, I mostly make fun of Grindr profiles with these posts, but there are a lot of really hot profiles on Grindr. So call me. Seriously.

…because I can’t get enough of accents or power tools… and I need help installing my new curtains.

(Check out his website… he’s actually very charming)

…because I took Spanish in high school y podría dártelo por diez minutos al máximo toda la noche.

…because we may or may not be the same person.

…because there has to be an awesome story behind this.

…because my gut is totally smokin’. And I also know how to use photoshop.

(It’s cute how her nipple is winking at me.)

Click here to check out Grindr convos gone wrong.

over-gesturing with and unlit cigarette (Med School Mess's Birthday - Day 2)

The night before was Med School Mess’s slumber-party birthday, and around 7am, my body said, “Well, this was fun! I’m ready to go home now.”

I tried to convince my body, “Just lie here for another half hour. I’m sure we'll fall asleep again.”

My body: “Oh yeah? Remember that s’more we ate last night?”

Me: “Fine, fine! I’ll get my stuff!!”

I spent about 15 minutes wandering among the sleeping bodies littered on the living room floor trying to find my coat before I gave up and left. I considered waiting for the crosstown bus back to the west side, but if ever there were a time to spend $15 on a cab ride, hungover and coatless at 7:30am would be that time. When I got home, I set my alarm for noon, anticipating a 1:30 brunch.

Text from Med School Mess: Brunch at 12:30! See you there!

For a second I was kind of hurt! I mean, no one even bothered to ask what happened to me or why I left in the middle of the night. Then I remembered I had tweeted about going home. And of course, TTT had re-tweeted. Which meant The Crew had been making fun of me all morning.

I was quite late meeting the boys at Maracas. In fact, so late that I was only able to get 2 drinks in before our last call! And some asshole decided to add $15 to our tab by getting the “La Bamba” birthday to-do for Bottomless Pitt! I mean, it did warm my heart to see his reaction, but I somehow ended up putting in almost for an $18 brunch.

Because we did brunch so unusually early, we ended up at Pieces about an hour before we’d ever gotten there before, and we weren’t even sure it was open yet. I think the couple of guys that were actually there were friends of the bartender. Once we got our first round of drinks, I got really into what they were playing on the TV. Someone informed me that it was called Arrested Development (I told you I don’t watch much TV, but I promise to watch it if someone sends me the DVD). After a couple of episodes, I suggested we go to Gym Bar since it would be more of a scene and since drinks were only a dollar more.

And a scene Gym was. There was a certain young otter in a deep V that caught just about everyone’s attention. Med School Mess went out to smoke shortly after the otter did, and MicHELLe said she’d join. Here I am thinking she was just going to talk to the guy. No: she actually bummed a cigarette off Mess, lit it, and struck up a conversation with said otter. The cigarette went out about two seconds after she lit it, but she didn’t notice. So there was a good while where she was over-gesturing with and unlit cigarette. I like to imagine that the otter interrupted a long story to say, "Um, your cigarette's out."

The rest of us were inside dying as Med School Mess re-lit her.

Not long after that, I saw a familiar face walking through the crowd. I wasn’t sure if I’d talked to him on Grindr or if I’d met him somewhere. Then I saw the guy he was with, and I yelled out, “Guido!” No idea if Guido’s actually his name or not, but it worked! Turns out yet another one of my blogger buddies, CameraObsessedMichael, is actually a real person (his blog is great: you don't even have to read)!

After a drink or two at Gym, I was starting to get hungry. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one because everyone seemed to agree that it was time to grab dinner. I wanted to go to Tue Thai because, though it was a longer commute (one stop on the train), we could be seated faster. But The Crew wanted the scene of Spice in Chelsea.

After about a half hour of “Oh, just give us 10 more minutes,” (did TTT just bring the trick she was making out with at Gym to dinner? Oh no, he just got him to walk him up before he ditched him.) we were finally seated and able to eat. The plan was to go to back to Pieces before Posh, but Med School Mess was determined to get to Posh early. It was actually kind of nice because it wasn’t ridiculously crowded yet, and the drinks are only a dollar more than Pieces.

Did I mention how much Sunday morning afternoon sucks when you get to bed at 5am after an all-day drink fest? Yeah.

Valentine's Day, Chinese New Year, Presidents' Day, and Mardi Gras, all in 3 days! In honor of Mardi Gras, click here to check out my trip to NoLa for Mardi Gras.


Note: you may find the "Topics of Discussion" on the right and the Cast of Characters to be of help in navigating this blog.

Photos borrowed from multislackingmama.com, Urban Sprawl's Facebook page, and betweenthemoonnyc.blogspot.com

Sober Moment: Fun with Texting

My friends are insane and slutty. And here are some of the text messages I have to deal with. Remember, my texts are in green.

One of my more slutty friends has recently found himself in one of those relationships where you never see the two of them apart from each other. They're always posting about each other on Facebook (the most modern version of PDA) and always talking about each other to their friends. In a Facebook thread once, I mentioned something hilarious about Grindr, and he responded, "I no longer have that app on my phone. Neither does [boy situation]." Cute is one word you could use.

Anyway, one night, the boy situation of my friend got sick, and the following text exchange took place.

A few friends and I are convinced that Foursquare is gonna be huge! Basically, this is an app where you check in at locations to get points. One can become the "mayor" of a certain location, and one can get updates on their friends' check ins. Stop making fun.

In addition to checking in, one can send a "shout out" to one's friends.

I assume everyone is a bottom. There's a very convincing reason as to why, but it really doesn't relate to this post. Anyway, my general rule: just like you double the number of people a girl tells you she's slept with, you double the number of times a guy tells you he bottoms. Or you just slide him two positions over on the top/bottom scale (e.g., top = versatile; vers = bottom; vers/top = vers/bottom = bottom when he's been drinking; bottom = fuck yeah!).

Anyway, many people will tell you that people's perceptions of you dictate how they interact with you. I once saw a Grindr profile that said "bottom cursed with a top's body!" And one of my friends who claimed to be a vers/top has recently opened the flood gates become more comfortable bottoming more frequently. Okay, who am I kidding: he hooks up with guys, they assume he's a bottom, and he doesn't exactly fight it. So one day, out of the blue, he texted me a question. And I think my answer was rather appropriate.

And in conclusion, this next text is why you shouldn't text drunk. Imagine if I were this person's boyfriend and not his friend.

home button + sleep button = screenshot!

Click here to check out Fun with Adam4Adam.

How To: Gay Online Dating and Hook Ups (Part 5)

Now you’ve decided that you like this guy enough to meet up with him. A few things to consider before getting together in person is mentioned:

How many pictures does he have? If looks are important to you, you should make sure he has at least 2 or 3 face pics. Assume that the one that you are least attracted to is most accurate.

Body pics count, too. You should be convinced that the pictures are of his body and that they’re current. Even if he’s not showing skin, you want to have an idea of his shape. All it takes is a right click to steal a fake picture. And if it looks like it’s not a digital picture, assume it’s from the 90s. Do you really want to meet up with someone who can’t get a hold of a digital picture of himself (even a webcam one!)?

Trust your gut. Do you get a good vibe from this person? Sometimes intuition can be your best friend. And as awkward as it is to email, “Hey, I don’t feel comfortable about this. I’m gonna have to pass,” it’s even more awkward to have a bad in-person encounter.

Where’s this gonna go down? If you’re looking to hook up, make sure he can host if you can’t. This is especially a problem in NYC with sky-high rents.

Ok, so once you’ve squared that away, make plans to meet:

Have an exit strategy!

• Tell a friend to call you 5 or 10 minutes after the guy is to arrive. And if the guy’s a total dud, you can say you have to leave because of an emergency. If not, answer and tell the friend everything’s fine. You can even tell the guy you’re meeting and have a laugh about it after you hang up (depending on his sense of humor).

• Or set the alarm on your phone to a ringtone and walk away from the table/bar with a “sorry, I have to take this.” That way, if someone actually calls/texts you in the middle of your “conversation,” you don’t have an embarrassing moment with the phone ringing.

• Alternatively, you could just man up and tell the guy you’re not into it. Hell, I’ve had that happen to me (recently). It sucks, but it’s efficient. And you’re not lying.

Neutral Territory. Meet in a public place and actually do something. Not a date, per say, but maybe a (singular) drink, or a coffee. This is what TTT calls a pre-date (apparently you can line them up throughout the night). Anything where you can talk for a few minutes to get a feel for your in-person chemistry. Or just to make sure he looks like his pictures (make sure you see him standing up at some point). If he doesn’t match up, it’s much easier to get out of that situation than to get out of his studio apartment.

Gauge your expectations. Don’t necessarily expect the same ease of conversation in person. It’s easy to write well when you can go back and edit and you have time to craft a response. Interacting in real time is very different. And quite often, those who can navigate online interactions best are pretty awkward in person.

You never signed a binding contract. At no point do you have to do anything you’re not comfortable doing. Just because you met up with someone or because he bought you a drink or because you went to his place doesn’t mean you’re obligated to anything. Sure, you may look like an ass, and he’ll probably be upset. But it’s your body, and you always have the right to walk away.

Hopefully, you meet up with the guy, and he’s everything you hoped for when you talked to him online within 10 years of the age on his profile and 20 lbs of the weight a reasonable match to his online persona. As much as I want to say that there are rules to guide the interaction beyond that, there really aren’t. You have to gauge what works for you and the other guy. Just don’t be an ass.

Whether you’re looking for a fuck buddy, NSA sex, or friends (I’ve met friends online… that I haven’t mess around with!), chances are you’ll eventually find what you’re looking for. Just keep in mind that the online world has striking parallels to the real world. Just like you meet guys in a bar or at an event and find that they aren’t a perfect match, the same thing will happen with guys you meet online. But more and more guys sign on every day, and you get better with practice.

This is Part 5 of a multi-part how-to series.

Click here for Part 1.

Click here for Part 2.

Click here for Part 3.

Click here for Part 4.

Photos borrowed from cnn.com and topnews.in.

Ok, we're playing Never Have I Ever with 10 fingers! (Med School Mess's sleep-over birthday party)

For Med School Mess's birthday, she decided to have a sleep over with a marathon drink-fest the next afternoon. When I showed up at her apartment, most of the crew was there in their PJs. It was pretty low-key drinking (outside of Bottomless Pitt's and Urban Sprawl's Irish car bombs) until we got through the second episode of Golden Girls on DVD.

"Ok, we're playing Never Have I Ever with 10 fingers! An when you get to 5 fingers, you make a rule!"

Never Have I Ever (a game in which you say something you have or haven't done, and everyone who has done it drinks/puts down a finger) is always a learning experience with the Ivy League Crew et. al. Mostly because it's guaranteed that everyone's slutty enough to have done new things since the last time we'd played.

Urban Sprawl and I were the first to 5 fingers.

Me: "Ok, my rule is: no pronouns. Use a pronoun: drink!"

Bronx Newbie: "Um, I went to a state school, so somebody's gonna have to explain-"

Me: "That's two drinks!... Damnit!"

Urban Sprawl: "New rule: drink double!"

(Any word that replaces a noun [I, you, this, that, her, who, what, etc.] is a pronoun.)

It wasn't long before Tighty Whitey got to 5 fingers, but she had trouble coming up with a rule.

Urban Sprawl: "Urban Sprawl has a rule. Every time Urban Sprawl drinks, Urban Sprawl has to say the name of a hook up of a friend in the room!"

Me: "Oo, that's good!... Damnit!... Med School Mess!"

I'd blurted out Med School Mess's name because she was the hookup of someone in the room. She and Bottomless Pitt had hooked up the first night they met about 2.5 years ago. Did I mention Med School Mess's boyfriend was in the room (he hadn't talked much, and I didn't even think about it til after I'd said it)?! I'm not sure if she caught it or if she even knows that little bit of history, but the room erupted into laughter as the next person tried to rush into her "Never Have I Ever" to break the alleged tension.

After a few turns around the room (there were probably about 12 of us) we segued into a game of Truth or Dare. There are actually iPhone apps where you put in everyone's names and it randomly selects a player to pick truth or dare. And some of the dares were pretty great!

One of Urban Sprawl's dares was to be blind folded and try to ID everyone in the room by feeling them up below the neck. When I walked up, she patted my shoulders twice and said my name like she was looking dead at my face! She ended up guessing everyone correctly except Tighty Whitey.

During the game, Bottomless Pitt asked who wanted car bombs and ended up preparing 5 of them.

Pitt: "At Hook and Ladder, the girl lines them up like this with pint glasses. When she knocks the first one over, it dominoes the rest in!"

Me: “Um, those are plastic cups, dude. I don’t know how sturdy they’ll be.”

Pitt: “Yeah, they’re probably too wide to knock the other shot glasses over.”

Me: “I was talking about center of gravity. Or something…”

Pitt knocked the first one in. And when it didn’t domino the rest in, she just started knocking the shot glasses into the cups, which resulted in a half cup of Guinness and at least one shot of Bailey's spilled on Med School Mess’s floor.

Around 4, things started to wind down, and people started to claim sleeping areas. France Pants, who had been relatively quiet all night, was in a bed about a half hour before anyone joined her. MicHELLe passed out in her underwear on the couch as we were still playing T or D. I had joked about sharing a bed with TTT because she’d end up leaving to hook up with someone on Grindr, but I ended up having a full blow-up bed to myself, which is good because I don’t stay still when I sleep. Did I mention how picky my body is about where it sleeps? Yeah.

Click here to check out a wild weekend from last January.

Note: you may find the "Topics of Discussion" on the right and the Cast of Characters to be of help in navigating this blog.

Photos borrowed from hitdanback.com and postdiluvian.org

The bear pool party was huge (The New F Word and Drenched at Grace Hotel)

The New F Word party was about to start its second week at Rebel, so we decided to bless the party with our presence. After pregaming at Urban Sprawl’s place, we hopped on the train, hoping to make it in before midnight. Too bad there was a line. Did I mention it was cold outside?

As we approached the front of the line, Miss Joey Israel walked up to the door.

Urban Sprawl: “Hey, Joey.”

Joey: “Hey, babe! You guys going in?”

Me: “Of course! How could we not!”

Joey: “Cool, how many are with you?”

Urban Sprawl: “5.”

Within 2 minutes, we were shedding our outer layers to disco music. I love disco!

Me: “Hey, are you guys still doing the $3 Stoli special.”

Johnny Ohio [you know, the one with Ohio tattooed on his ass]: “For the next 2 minutes.”

Me: “Well, I’m right on toooime! Lemme get 2 screwdrivers, please… Hey, where’s your favorite DJ?”

Johnny O: “Uh, which one?”

Me: “The one you’re engaged to.”

Johnny O: “Oh, he’s downstairs.”

The boys got tired of disco (WTF!), so we headed down to hear Cazwell spin. On the main dancefloor (there were at least 4 in this place), go-go Matthew Camp was on stage dancing while video of him dancing in similar attire was projected behind and on either side of him. On the other side of the dancefloor, a tall, ripped go-go was teasing the audience with his… okay, fuck being clever: the guy had a huge dick.

Me: “Holy fuck! He pulled it out!”

Med School Mess: “Huh?”

Me: “The fucking go-go! Look!”

MSM (to the tune of “We Are Family"): “TSWB!”

Me: “Oh my god! Did that drag queen just—“

MSM: “Yes she did, girl. Yes she did.”

Around almost 3 AM, we were on our way out. I had no food in my fridge (or protein powder in the cabinet), so I suggested a diner. I was getting my coat, and all of a sudden a TSWB with an accent was in my arms and making out with me. Huh? The tongue-n-run isn’t usually my style, but something told me to get my ass back to WaHi that night.

The next day, I met up with Grrber after the gym. I had a cocktail and worked on the blog while he took a disco nap. I was taking him out to a night among his own people: Drenched (the bear pool party). I was pretty tipsy when he made a to-go drink in a Figi bottle and handed it to me. I was surprised when he made another one for himself. I was drunk when the homeless man came on the train and sang a quivering cover of "Blowin' in the Wind." At that point, I was in tears, avoiding eye contact with alleged bum (who could somehow manage to tune his guitar).

The bear pool party was huge. And I don’t mean that in a symbolic frat boy sort of way. I'm talking head count and mass, and not not at all the muscle-bear eye candy I was hoping for. They were full on not-even-tautly-fat bears. And they were packed into that goddamn pool! I mean, the ratio of bears to DR!P patrons may have been 2:3. But I’m glad to see them feeling liberated in their environment. Free to roam and splash around with other bears! It was like a wildlife reserve!

Grrber: “I love these bear parties! They don’t even look at me because they’re like, ‘She’s too thin!’” He was in such a good mood that he got us a round of over-priced drinks at the bar!

As I was getting dressed (while Grrber went for jeans and a tank top, I did the full speedo-and-flip-flops look) I got a text that everyone was at Vlada. 5 minutes later, another text said Posh.

Me: “Are you for-real at Posh, or gay-style at Posh?"

MicHELLe: "Huh?"

Me: "I mean, when you say you're at Posh, does that translate to you're finishing-your-drinks-and-planning-to-go at Posh?”

MicHELLe: “We’re putting on our coats right now! We’ll see you in two minutes!”

Me: “I’m setting my alarm.”

Yeah, I deal with drunk gays under 40 way too much. Trust no one (even the 40 year old mark isn’t an absolute).

Did I mention Grrber got another round of drinks at Posh? Yeah.

Click here to check out the (much slimmer) DR!P pool party.

Note: you may find the "Topics of Discussion" on the right and the Cast of Characters to be of help in navigating this blog.

Photo borrowed from DexStar G Simms Facebook album.

How To: Gay Online Dating and Hook Ups (Part 4)

You’ve picked your site. You’ve written your profile. You’ve posted your pics. Now it’s time to get you some man-cock! Communication on these sites and apps can be a complex and frustrating process. Or it can be as simple as a guy telling you that you’re hot and sending his phone number (or address, telling you his door will be unlocked and he’ll be face down on the bed).

A few things to keep in mind while interacting with guys online.

Many (if not most) messages will go unanswered. I’ve never agreed with this, but it’s commonly accepted that no response is a proper way to tell a guy you’re not interested. But just because “everybody’s doing it” doesn’t mean you have to.

Guys aren’t always in front of the computer. Just because a guy responds to you 5 minutes after you message him doesn’t mean he’ll be eagerly awaiting your next response. He may be doing other things (or even talking to other guys) and may not respond for an hour. Or a day.

Guys lie, they flake, and they’re inconsiderate. If you assume this, you’ll be pleasantly surprised when they act like decent human beings (which many will), and you’ll be less surprised when they’re dicks.

Protect yourself. It’s not likely that the guy you invite over after a few drunk messages will rob or attack you, but it has happened. If something doesn’t feel right, don’t go through with it.

If you decide to meet up, get his number. Even if you plan on never seeing him again, you never know when you’ll/he’ll get lost or delayed in transit.

A common phenomenon in the world of online “social networking” is the one-word email, Sup” being the most prevalent. It’s the least amount of investment, so if it gets ignored, it’s not a big deal. Plus, it’s a great way to show that you’re not really looking for conversation. I’ve found that “Sup” is most often followed up rather quickly by a sexual advance. If that’s what you’re going for, then “Sup” it up! However, if you’re looking for more of a conversation or connection, you may have to put a bit more effort into your greeting.

I’ve always said that if a guy is into you, he’ll respond, and it doesn’t really matter how you open a conversation (within reason). But keep in mind that guys can be won over, even if it’s not lust at first sight. If you want some conversation, give him something to work with. Different things get different guys going, but if there’s one safe bet for most guys it’s this: they love talking about themselves. Make a comment on a picture (less, “You’re hot!”… more, “Cute dog! How long have you had him?”). Hopefully, they’re interesting enough to put something besides a list of dislikes in their profile, though those guys could probably be drawn in by, “OMG, I’m so not into Asians or femmes either!”

And know how to take a hint. Are you the one doing all the asking? Is he asking anything about you or doing anything else to encourage you to talk (well, type)? No? Well, he's probably not into you and doesn't know how to come out and say it.

The important thing is to try a few greetings and see what works best for you. And remember those private pics? An appropriate greeting with an unlocked pic can be more effective than either by itself. Even if the picture isn't explicit, sometimes it's about the gesture of unlocking.

As you’re communicating, remember that you’re dealing with a person on the other end. A lack of face-to-face communication doesn’t justify being an ass. And you know that red dotted line that shows up under the words you type? Pay attention to those. That means you misspelled something (and if I notice a misspelling, you know it's bad!). All it takes is a right click to get the correct spelling. This could help, too.

This is Part 4 of a multi-part how-to series.

Click here for Part 1.

Click here for Part 2.

Click here for Part 3.

Click here for Part 5.

Photos borrowed from mycenae's photobucket and gamertagpics.com

Sober Moment 2.1.10: Fun with Grindr

In an effort to expand readership for the blog, I have whored myself out to veryfamiliar websites (that have helped countless gay men expand other things in their lives): Adam4Adam, Manhunt, and BigMuscle. And also the iPhone app, Grindr.

Grindr profiles are hilarious, but sometimes it's the conversation that really draws me in.

Does this mean I have to host?

I go out in NYC, and I'm damn near invisible to men here. But the Euro guys online are all about Blacking Out! So when I saw this visitor pop up on my grid, it wasn't a surprise when I got a message from him.

Does this count as bros before hoes?

I try to see the bright side of every situation.

Literally.

I told you Dexter was gay!

As many of you know, I'm originally from Columbia, SC, a city of unparalleled class and charm. We don't have any professional sports teams, so the University of South Carolina* is everyone's sports obsession. The mascot is a cock. Tens of thousands of people have "Go Cocks" bumper stickers. Seriously.

Actually, it's probably a lot more tolerable than you'd think. Especially with such classy and charming residents as described below.

Cocky is the mascot. The couple didn't tell The University that they were into furry fetish.

*Sidenote about "The Metro" (as Columbia is often called): it's the only place in the world where you can mention "Carolina" and "USC" as universities and not be referring to UNC-Chapel Hill or University of Southern California.

Click here to check out another Fun with Grindr post.