See 6 across

You know those people who say, "You're never going to develop a meaningful relationship with somebody you meet at a bar"? They're usually single, appreciate a good sale, and have a love/hate relationship with tequila but say, "I'm a whisky girl!"

But when you live in NYC and you're young and gay, your only choice to meet people is at a bar.

THIS is the point where all the gays chime in and say, "That's not true, I didn't meet my boyfriend at a bar," and to them I say, "But I did. Check his texts."

Just kidding, Mom. I'm not a home wrecker. They're still together.

BACK TO ME.

I've recently developed a habit of going out on Saturday nights alone. Well, I never start alone, but as soon as one friend is attached at the hip to a 40-something gay-league baseball coach from Canada who "works for the government" (read: postal worker), and my other friend is lost in a tango with a curly haired brunette girl, I decide it's time to excuse myself.

So, I perch at the center of a bar, open a tab, set my iPhone down, and upload a crossword puzzle. Then, I wait.

I usually wait for quite a long time. To be honest, the only person that ever talks to me is the bartender because he wants me to hit the $20 card limit and who else in their right mind is going to approach the kid sitting at the bar at midnight on Saturday doing a New York Times crossword puzzle on his lime green iPhone?

Somebody who's not afraid to die, that's who.

Being single isn't so bad. I don't have to pretend that sharing a pillow is comfortable or sneak off to brush my teeth when I wake up. And someday, somebody will see me struggling with "Syrian city of 2.5+ million" and whisper,"Aleppo," into my ear before asking to buy me a drink

to which I will say, "Please, let me...I've got $6 to go on the minimum."

Just kidding you can buy,

TJB: Making It

Just Checking

What have I been doing recently?

Nightlife: I feel asleep at 6:15 PM on Saturday of the Gay Pride Festival, woke up at 9:30 PM, and watched a documentary about poor people living in Skid Row. I was sort of proud of that.

Television: I've watched the first two seasons of Bob's Burgers three times on Netflix (reminder: not my own account), and have once again begun to watch 30 Rock in its entirety for approximately the 9th time. Every weeknight, I watch The Nanny like a good gay. I'm very grateful that Dance Moms is back. I also recently discovered that Sabrina, the Teenage Witch is available for free on Hulu...the future is bright.

Writing: I haven't blogged since Father's Day, but I have been writing two different web series for a friend of mine in New York. One is called Boob Cam. It's a working title...

Love: HahahahahahahahahahahaOHGodIwilldiealone

Dining: I eat a PB&J every day for lunch because I'm too poor to afford anything else.

Music: I recently had my first round of auditions for a singing competition at the bar below my apartment. My best friend went with me. I left feeling like I was Top 2. She was pretty sure I was somewhere near the Top 5. She bought the drinks, so I didn't rebut.

Well, that about sums it up. Thanks for checking in, America.

Don't worry. Things won't stay boring for long. They rarely do.

Buckle up,

TJB: Making It

Parents Can't Stop My Swerve

Great parents have a strange way of making you feel like you can do anything, but also that you can't do anything right. My parents are probably the best parents, so I spent a weekend feeling both incredibly motivated and incredibly disappointed in myself.

Just kidding, I'm like the best son in the world. 

What being around my parents does make feel is incredibly single. Anyone who's met my parents knows they're pretty close...in a weird Ben Stiller movie sort of way. They do everything together, including Pilates...every morning...even in my studio apartment. I would have complained about the time and lack of space, but then I saw the shoes they bought me. 

Now, anyone who's met me (or read my blog) knows that I'm pretty sure I peaked when I was 17 and will never find another  5'7", 115 lb. jerk to date me again. I get closer to the proverbial knife the longer I go without having interaction with gay men who are not actors, or every time a Trader Joe's cashier comments on my purchase of ice cream, wine, and chocolate. 

No, it's not going to be a romantic night. 

So when my best friend texted me at dinner to say she was suddenly in the mood to go out, I left my parents with the check, threw on a printed top, and took some shots before I dragged that bitch to the gay bar. It had been weeks since I had seen a v-neck T and vodka tonics. I was like a kid at the circus. We perched ourselves at the head of the bar (6'1 blondes belong at the top), and overlooked the colorful kingdom of queens. 

Before I had even finished my first drink, some drunk in a tank top came over to whisper far too loudly into my ear, "My friend in the green shirt over there really wants to talk to you."

I WAS BACK! And green shirt was real  handsome. Sure, he was wearing American Eagle, or Hollister, or something that was popular in 2002, but he was pretty and that's all that mattered. 

No, I didn't go talk to him. Hell, I hadn't even finished my first drink. Have some respect before you prematurely approach me. The point is, I was reminded that I am not completely undesirable just because I spend my time in the shadows of straights.

Watch out kweens, the sun is shining and so is this jawline. And if my spring wardrobe has anything to say about it, I'll have a new ex-boyfriend by the 4th of July!

Now if my hag could just finish finals,

TJB: Making It

a lady must be taught

Straight girls have this idea that every gay guy would be perfect for every other gay guy as long as they're both single.

Gays have taught straight girls a lot of things. We've taught them how to contour, how to dance, how to do their hair, what to wear. Basically, we've kept them looking good for decades. I'm not sure how we failed to teach them that pretty gays do not belong with ugly gays, but also don't want to be the ugly gay in a relationship. 

Every time a straight girls asks me, "Are you singe?" I visibly cringe. I give them a squinted side-eye and ask, "Why?" Without fail, they always say, "Because I know someone who would be PERFECT for you."

Sometimes, he has a half-sleeve tattoo. Sometimes, he's in nursing school, so he's really busy and couldn't help but gain a few extra pounds, but trust her, he used to be so hot and is so funny. Most times, he has overly waxed eyebrows and owns three shirts that aren't tank-tops, two of which are from college and only used to sleep in on the rare occasion he sleeps in a shirt. 

Why can't one of them be an incredibly attractive (yet slightly less attractive than me) gay who likes to pretend he doesn't drink as much as he does, and would never let you catch him with bare arms unless he's on a beach although he'd probably look pretty OK topless, and he generally just wants to watch bad television and drink and hang out with my friends and have a nicer apartment than me so I don't have to sleep in a twin bed, but he doesn't have any cats, and can pay for at least half of the times we dine out (which is almost all the time) but is also an amazing grocery shopper for the times I want him to cook dinner (but I'll buy the wine). 

WHY?!

Fine I'll go on a date with gay-brow,

TJB: Making It