Single,
Gay,
and Thriving!

[October]

 

THE MORNING OF THE PARTY… 

(Friday)

 

It is customary, I think, for a gay man to feel some sort of way on his 30th birthday. After all, 30 is the age that is often referred to as ‘gay death.’ So why, you ask, am I freaking out on the morning of my 29th birthday?

     Because now, the one-year countdown has officially begun.

     Not the countdown to turning 30, I couldn’t care less about aging. Well, I guess I could (and do) care a teensy bit about aging, but that’s not the main reason why I am freaking out in this moment.

     No, I am freaking out for a very specific reason regarding the swift approach of my 30th birthday, which will surely arrive out of the blue like when your college professor assigns you a paper that isn’t due for months, but tells you to make sure that you start working on it right away because it is going to take longer than just one night, but you wait until the last night to begin working on it anyway. That is a feeling I have not felt since I graduated, and it’s one that I do not plan on feeling again anytime soon. 

     I am freaking out over the possibility of turning 30 having never had a serious boyfriend before. There, I said it, the secret is out. I’m a lonely gay spinster who has never even had a man ask me if I want to try being monogamous with him, much less be the person they hold hands with in public, introduce their friends and family to, and call their boyfriend. 

     I am afraid if I do not get any serious dating experience before turning 30, that I will forever be labeled as emotionally damaged goods. Forever lumped in with the group of gay men who are well past their prime, yet have no intention of ever settling down, even though they definitely should consider it. 

     That’s why I've decided to get going on this very important assignment now, the due date an entire year away. I send a text: “Hey are you able to make it to the party tonight? It starts at 7:30.” 

     While I’m still looking at my phone it begins to vibrate, an incoming call from ‘Dad.’ I pick it up and try to answer, “Hello-”

     “Happy birthday to you!” a chorus of my father and stepmom blares through the phone. “Happy birthday to you!” At this point I’ve learned it’s best to just let it run its course. “Happy birthday dear Jayden,” almost there, “Happy birthday to you! How old-”

     “Thank you guys so much!” I interject. No way in hell am I letting that continue for more than it has to. “I need to get to a work meeting in a few minutes, can I call you back later?” They accept my lie and false promise and let me go.

     Please excuse that interruption and allow me to properly introduce myself. My name is Jayden, I just turned 29 years old (duh, stop fixating on that). I work in corporate marketing (barf) and I write a blog called Single, Gay, and Thriving! about how much I love living the gay, single life. (Please don’t let my readers find out how much I’ve been bitching about never having had a boyfriend before.)

     I’ve grown my blog from nothing to now where my posts average about 1000 page views fairly consistently. Which isn’t a ton, but if I’m helping even a couple of people with my advice, then that’s good enough for me! (Interesting, I’ve just noticed that the title of my blog could be used as a two truths and a lie, I’ll let you take a wild guess which one is the lie…) 

     Anyways. Here’s some advice I gave to a reader recently that I used in my own personal life:

 

SINGLE, GAY, AND THRIVING!

 

Dear Gay J,

 

I have been reading your blog for years now, and have always found your advice to be super useful! I’ve been in a bit of a rut lately, ever since I turned 30 years old. I’m currently single, and am having a hard time with it. I need to learn to love myself like you do! Do you have any advice?

 

Sincerely,

Luv Myself More

 

Dear Luv Myself More,

 

First of all, thank you for being a fan! (To the tune of The Golden Girls theme song!) It’s easy to get down on yourself when you’re single, trust me, it happens to me a LOT more than you’d think. The secret is: when you want something, the only person you can fully put trust in to get it done is YOU. For example, I’ve always wanted someone to throw me a surprise birthday party. However, I’ve come to the conclusion that nobody knows me better than I do. That means if I wanted a surprise party, and I wanted it done right, I was going to have to do it myself.

 

With Love,

Gay J

 

JONATHAN… 

 

Before we get too far into it, I have to tell you about Jonathan.

     Jonathan is the handsome, 34-year-old, highly successful marketing executive (not at the company I work at, that would be too sexy) with an amazing body and chiseled jawline who I’ve been seeing for a couple of months now. (On top of all of that, he’s also a top.) He’s only an inch taller than me, but that’s okay because everything else makes up for it.

     We matched on Tinder and talked for about a week before he invited me over to his house (yes, he has a house) to watch a movie in the home theater room. A couple bottles of wine added to some cuddling under the blanket, and you can probably guess what that equation ended up coming out to (spoiler alert: we did it). Sparks flew instantly, and although I don’t usually hook up with people on the first date, our connection was so strong that it just sort of… happened. And I don’t regret it one bit.

     Two weeks before my birthday Jonathan and I were walking in the grocery store, shopping for supplies to make dinner later (at his house, did I mention he has his own house?) He was pushing the cart and rambling about something. 

     “You know, if you ever want to move up in your career, you should find an open position at a company that’s not remote. Get into the office more, have people see you working hard, start forming relationships with upper management, that sort of thing. That’s how I did it. Charisma goes a long way, and it’s hard to be charismatic over emails and video calls.”

     I nodded along and agreed with what he was saying even though I wasn’t listening, because there was no way in hell I was ever going back into an office again on purpose. Also, I was busy staring at the way his arms filled up his shirt sleeves. Did I mention he has a bangin’ body? 

     “I suppose that could be helpful,” I replied, pretending to be interested even though I had something else on my mind entirely that I had been trying to bring up the past couple of times we’d hung out. “You know what’s funny?”

     “About you getting a new job?”

     “What? Oh, no, I thought we were finished talking about that.”

     “Then what?”

     “I-”

     “Hold that thought.” Jonathan stopped the cart at a rack of vegetables. “Would you rather eat broccoli or carrots tonight?” (How about eggplant?)

     “Wow, what a choice,” I replied, mustering all of the enthusiasm I possibly could on the off chance that me seeming too indifferent or sassy made him decide he didn’t want to put out later that night. (Older guys can be weird like that, and I was Horny with a capital H.) “Carrots.”

     “Hmmm. I think I’m in a broccoli mood.”

     “Then why did you- never mind, I’ll eat whatever.”

     Jonathan put a head of broccoli into the cart and continued to walk. “Now, what were you saying?”

     In my head, I swooned. He’d remembered that he interrupted me. “I’ve never had a surprise birthday party before,” I dropped nonchalantly. “Isn’t that kind of crazy?” First, cast the line…

     “How old are you turning?”

     “Twenty-nine.”

     “Well I’m 34 and I’ve never had a surprise birthday party, so it can’t be that crazy.”

     Of course he had to go and make it about himself. “Well, would you even want one?” I asked back, trying my best to hide my annoyance.

     “No way. I hate not being in the loop on things.”

     “Then why would you be confused as to why you’ve never had one?” The conversation was not going the way that I had imagined it would, so I was forced to try being a little bit more forward in order to reel him in. “So, is that a no on the surprise party?”

     “What? For who?” he replied, totally oblivious as to what I was trying to do.

     I hadn’t been forward enough, apparently. For an ‘executive,’ he’s thick as shit. Disappointed, and not wanting to increase the risk of not getting penetrated later, I made something up. “I was just wondering if I should throw one… for my mom.” Finished reeling it in and… no fish. More like the pole got ripped out of my hands and was currently sailing across the water. Yes, I’m gay and I made a fishing analogy. No, I don’t fish and never have and also never will.

     “I don’t know your mom, but I’m sure she would like it. Unless she’s too old, make sure you don’t give her a heart attack. Now let’s go, we have to hurry if we want to have time for dinner, a movie, and sex.” So, sex was still on the table (right in front of my broccoli?!) 

     “Let’s go then!” I said as I grabbed the cart from him and pushed it quickly to the front of the store.

     At least Jonathan was good(ish) for one thing.

 

MINUTES BEFORE THE PARTY…

 

I arrive home from my birthday dinner around eight, alone, because nobody offered to take me. Well, nobody offered to take me who wasn’t a close friend that I have no intention of trying to date, anyway. 

     After Jonathan’s whole fumbling of the ‘surprise party’ thing, I’m not even sure if he knows that it’s my birthday. Even still, I would have rather had him invite me to dinner over any of my friends. I know that might seem a little bit petty, but I’ve had enough ‘friend’ birthday dinners. Plus, then who would be waiting in my apartment to surprise me?

     As I ride up in the elevator I get more and more nervous, even though I know exactly what will be awaiting me when I step into my apartment (because I planned the entire party).

     Actually, that’s not 100% true, because there is still one thing that is making me nervous. One unknown factor awaiting me, one reason that I’m being eaten alive by anxiety as I unlock the door, turn the doorknob, and step inside…

 

JOEY…

 

I guess I should probably also tell you about Joey.

     Joey is the cool, sexy, ethnically ambiguous 24-year-old pretty boy I’ve also sort of been dating for the past couple of months. He’s conveniently (mostly) a bottom, so my vers self has been getting all of my needs fulfilled. We met at a gay bar one night when he came up and started talking to me, something I find super hot because I love bold guys. We ended up ditching our friends and bar hopping all night before going back to my place (to do what, I'll never say!) Of course we exchanged numbers after, and have been going on dates ever since. (He’s also only an inch taller than me, but since he’s a bottom, that’s a plus.) And he’s one of those bottoms with a good dick.

     I know what you’re probably thinking, Jayden, you are a slut! I swear I’m not normally like this, I just had really real, genuine, instant connections with both of them! (You’re also probably thinking the last time you saw this many J names was when you watched something involving the Dugger family. I promise that this story involves less religious cults and more hot gay people.) 

     And so I’ve been seeing two guys at once, sue me! I need options. And yes, that means that there are two guys who didn’t invite me out to dinner for my birthday. And also two guys that I couldn’t get to plan me a surprise party. Oh well, there’s always next year.

     About a week before the party, as I sat with Joey on his couch, I realized that I had a decision to make: do I want to invite Jonathan or Joey to the party? I knew that it was a little bit last minute, but I truly couldn’t decide which one of them I wanted to invite more, and I wanted as much time to feel out the situation as possible. But also, as much as I didn’t want to admit it, this was actually a very easy decision to make, as Jonathan had never hung out with me outside of his house (and occasionally somewhere ‘fun’ like a grocery store or the gym), a fact my friends seem to love reminding me of.

     “So, I’m having a party next Friday,” I said casually during a commercial break of The Real Housewives of New York. “My birthday party. If you’d want to come.” 

     Joey thought for an unnervingly long amount of time (a couple of seconds) before he replied, “Oh my gosh, happy birthday! I’ll try my best to make it! I might have something else to go to that night though, I’m not totally sure yet.”

     “My birthday is actually on Friday, so you can wait until you see me then to say happy birthday!” Jesus, he couldn’t even think of an actual excuse, but I smiled anyway. “I guess just let me know! I’d love to see you there.” God, I hope I didn’t sound too desperate. Now that I think about it, I definitely sounded super desperate.

     “Otherwise are you going out after? I can meet you out after.”

     Not what I wanted to hear, but I had to hide my disappointment and take what I could get. “We’ll probably go out, but I was just thinking it would be cool if you finally hung out with me and my friends somewhere other than a bar?” I asked hopefully, making me sound even more desperate than I already had.

     “Let me look into it! Text me the details and I will for sure try my hardest to make it.” There was a slight pause… “You wanna mess around?”

     So it was a soft maybe, and I got to bang Joey. Better than I would have gotten out of Jonathan, that’s for sure.

​

SIMULATION MY BRAIN CREATED OF ME ASKING JONATHAN INSTEAD:

​

Me: “Want to come to my birthday party this weekend?”

     Jonathan: “Eww, gross, what the fuck? Fuck no. I don’t think we should hang out anymore. You’re creepy and weird.” And then he would’ve shuddered in disgust and walked away.

     Yeah, asking Joey was the right way to go. Now I just wish I had asked him sooner.

 

THE PARTY…

 

I turn the doorknob and open the door to a moment of darkness before being blinded by the lights. 

     “Surprise, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JAYDEN!” shouts everyone in the room as I smile and act like I’m genuinely surprised and the littlest bit happy. Good thing I’m a great actor. Unfortunately, I couldn’t manage to pick out the sound of Joey’s voice, so now I will be tortured as everyone else says hello to me before I can walk around and see if he made it or not.

     I look around, my apartment is tastefully decorated (I wonder who chose the decorations?) The gold ‘29’ balloons bob in the corner, staring me down, mocking me. “You have one year, starting now!” they scream.

     “You guys didn’t-” I start to say, feigning excitement before noticing a bag of balloons on the counter that aren’t blown up, “-finish.”

     “We didn’t what now?” my friend Kendra retorts sassily with an eyebrow raised.

     “No, I was saying like, aww, you didn’t!”

     “That’s what I thought.”

     Another one of my friends, Grace, comes to my defense. “I knew what you meant!” she says cheerily. Grace and Kendra are an older lesbian couple (34 and 36, don’t let them hear that I described them as ‘older’ because they don’t seem to understand that ‘older’ is a relative word, for example: a 5-year-old is still ‘older’ than a 4-year-old). Grace is a big softie, and is always the first to offer her help. Kendra can be… forward and filterless, but that’s what I love about her, and she always has my back. Their love is what I aspire to have someday (and I get jealous of it sometimes).

     My friend Tyler comes over and pats me on the shoulder. “Sure that’s what you meant,” he says sarcastically. Tyler is 28, and kind of a basic gay (every group needs one for balance reasons). We used to have a thing but realized we would be better as just friends, and he’s been my best gay guy friend ever since. “Also, happy birthday, bud!” he finishes.

     “First of all, shut up, that is what I meant,” I snap back. “Second of all, ew, don’t call me bud.” Guys calling me words like bro, bud, dude, etc. are all off-limits (unless they’re currently inside of me). I don’t know why, I just hate it, especially from Tyler, who I feel like says it to try (and fail) at sounding more masc and/or straight.

     “Get over here, birthday boy!” my friend Carly squeals as she runs over to give me a hug. Carly is also 29 and the token straight of the group. We were best friends in college, otherwise I’m not sure if the others would want to hang out with her. We lived apart for a couple of years post-college, but she recently moved to the same city as me, and we instantly reconnected. We’ve been through so many boy issues together, so she’s my rock in that area.

    My final close friend, Dane, comes over and gives me a hug. “Happy birthday Jayden! 29-years-young.” Dane is 24, pansexual, and uses he/they pronouns. He’s never afraid to be himself and is more often than not a wild card. To be honest, I can’t even remember how we met them. Probably doing drugs at a party or something.

     “Thanks Dane!” I say, breaking the hug short so I can hurry up and look for Joey.

     Someone turns on “Birthday” by Katy Perry. I know that it was on my list of instructions, but I am not in the mood. I finally break away from my main friend group and start making the rounds of the other people I invited or had my friends invite to pad out the party crowd. People I hang out with less frequently, friends of friends, teammates from old intramural teams, an old coworker, two of Dane’s old flames who are dating each other now, etc. (Basically all people whose birthday parties I wouldn’t normally attend, but now if I get invited, I’m sort of obligated to go.)

     “Hi, hey, hello, thanks for coming!” My brain expertly calculates the least amount of time I can spend interacting with each person without seeming like a total asshole as I speed around my apartment looking for Joey.

     Not in the kitchen, not in the living room, not in my bedroom. (I was feeling delusionally hopeful he would be inside, waiting ass up.) Now as I stand here outside my bathroom door waiting to see who’s inside, I realize how pathetic I am. 

     Yet, I wait.

     Eventually the door opens, the putrid odor revealing itself before the human [creature?] that created it. God, now I hope this isn’t Joey, I don’t know if I’ll be able to put my tongue in his hole again knowing this smell has come out of it.

     Phew, it’s just Luke, Carly’s disgusting boyfriend. “Jayden, my dude! Happy birth-” he starts to say before I turn around and walk back into the kitchen. 

     I guess that means Joey isn’t here yet, but what else was I really expecting? Now that I think about it, he’s never on time anyway, why would tonight be any different? And maybe this is better, now he won’t find out that I threw a surprise party for myself. Whatever, I need a drink.

     “Shots? Shots? Shots.” I walk around and say, more of a command than a question.

     Kendra comes over and grabs a bottle of vodka. “So, it’s gonna be that kind of party?”

     I snag the bottle of vodka out of her hands. “It’s my birthday, so. Yeah, it’s gonna be that kind of party.”

     Kendra rips it back. “You mean so that’s a regular night of drinking with you?”

     Grace comes over and snatches the bottle from Kendra’s hands. “Let me be responsible for this, I know how you two get sometimes, you’ll be blacked out before we even leave the apartment! We’ll all probably be blacked out for that matter.”

     “And what about it?” Kendra and I snap back at the same time. “Jinx! Jinx again!” we also say together.

     Dane walks into the kitchen. “Does that mean you both have to shut up?”

     Grace snorts. “You know that’s not possible for these two.”

     “The only person who needs to shut up is you so you can get to pouring these shots,” I snap. I need alcohol, now.

     “You’re lucky it’s your birthday,” Grace says with an annoyed look as she starts pouring.

     “I’m sorry, Grace,” I say genuinely. “May I please have a shot?”

     “That’s better.”

     As she fills and hands out the shots, I send Joey a text: “Hey, are you going to be able to make it?” I look at the last text I sent him which is still sitting there, unread, un-replied to. Sad. Sad little texts. Look at the lonely loser, double-texting.

     “Happy birthday to Jayden!” Kendra yells, raising her shot glass and pulling me (slightly) out of my slump. 

I smile and raise my shot glass. “Let’s get fucked up!” Everyone cheers. We take the shots (the first of many) and it’s all downhill from there…

​

NEVER HAVE I EVER…

 

We all take another shot. Don’t ask what number it is, I lost count. Just know the room is already spinning, and it can’t be later than 9:30. Some people just straight up left (I can’t even blame them) and another group already went out to the bar so I told them we’d just meet them out. I wanted to hang out with my core group of friends for a little bit before going out first anyway, so everything worked out perfectly.

     I think about how annoyed I am that I couldn’t even get a guy to come to my birthday party. The first stages of me being dramatic are beginning to rear their ugly heads, and it feels like it’s going to be a messy night. I need to distract myself before I say or do something crazy.

     “Who wants to play a game?” Grace asks.

     “I’m in!” I say, using this as a perfect opportunity to get my mind off of Joey.

     Kendra stumbles over. “A drinking game?”

     “I’m down to kill some more brain cells.”

     “I was thinking of something a little more… sobering,” Grace replies.

     “We could play UNO,” Dane suggests.

     “No way,” I interject. “Something tells me that in a different universe where we play UNO, one of you bitches doesn’t let me win, even though it’s my birthday.” I look suspiciously at them all.

     “Never have I ever?” Carly offers. “Going to be much harder for us now than it was in college, won’t it Jayden?” She nudges my shoulder and gives me a wink.

     “Because Jayden’s a slut?” Tyler says annoyingly. “Also, isn’t 28- I mean, 29 a little old to be playing never have I ever?”

     “If it annoys Tyler, then I want to play,” I say, ready to prove nothing and everything (I don’t know, I’m drunk). We gather around the table and everyone raises a hand, putting up five fingers. “Never have I ever…” I begin, pretending to think even though I already know exactly what I’m going to say.

     In my effort to act aloof, my eyes wander back over to the ‘29’ balloons, this time they scream, “Tick tock, bitch! Time’s running out. Only 31,536,000 seconds to go!”

     “Never have I ever been in a serious relationship before.” Everyone besides Dane groans at my prompt, takes a drink, and puts a finger down.

     “What, I’m a free spirit,” he responds in defense.

     “I’m not judging!” I assure him.

     “When are you going to stop hitting us with that one?” Kendra says. “You use it every time we do this.”

     “He’ll stop using it when he gets a boyfriend, so never,” Tyler adds even though nobody asked.

     “You’re really going to do this to me on my birthday?” I ask, annoyed. This is why I hate using that one, but I’m also a sucker for winning, and it always gets a lot of people. “Carly, you’re next.”

     “Hmm,” Carly thinks. “Never have I ever… gone skydiving!” 

     Everyone groans again. The only thing gays like less than an answer that gets them to put a finger down is an answer that gets them to put a finger down that doesn’t involve sex (or drugs) whatsoever. Kendra and Dane begrudgingly put their fingers down and take a drink.

     Kendra is next in line. “Never have I ever… sucked a dick!” Me, Tyler, Carly, and Dane groan, drink, and put down a finger.

     “That’s a lame one,” I complain.

     “Not as lame as yours! And I’m not the one who put the dick in your mouth.”

     “You got me there.”

     Tyler goes next, out of turn. “Me next! Never have I ever… been Eiffel Towered.” He looks at me when he says this.

     “Okay, that’s enough of that,” I interject. I don’t need everyone knowing all of my business. 

     “But we literally just started,” Kendra replies.

     “I changed my mind, I wanna go out now. Let’s go!” As I wrangle everyone to the bars, I check my phone. Still no response from Joey.

     Maybe I should have invited Jonathan. At least he would have had the decency to say “hell no” to my face.

 

SHARLENE’S…

 

After meeting the others from my party and bar hopping to a couple of lame-for-a-Friday-night gay bars, we get to one of the ones that’s open until five in the morning: Sharlene’s. It’s not super late, but there should still be a decent crowd here. We head inside.

     The music is bumping, the lights are pulsing, and the bar is already getting packed. The perfect environment to forget my woes and finally start having a good night. We immediately go to the bar and sit down, and I check my phone one last time. There’s still no text so I turn it off, accepting that nobody besides my friends cares about me, ready to finally start enjoying my birthday.

     Wanting to spend no money tonight (and I shouldn’t, it’s my birthday) I offer a proposition to the group: “I will allow anyone who wants to buy me drinks tonight, to determine how drunk I get.”

     Kendra takes the challenge immediately. “I’m in.”

     “Me too,” Dane adds.

     “Are we sureee about this?” Grace inquires nervously. “You guys have already drank quite a bit.”

     “Are you suggesting that I should limit myself on my birthday?” I ask, raising an eyebrow dramatically at her.

     “No, it’s just-”

     “Also, I went to school in Oshkosh, Wisconsin. I’ll be fine.”

     “I don’t know what that means.”

     “Binge drinking capital of the world, beeyatch.”

     “Guess it’s game on then, gay boy,” Kendra says.

     Shot. Vodka Red Bull. Another shot. Something pink and delicious (a drink). A quick trip to the bathroom (to pee). Back to the bar. A bomb. Something amber, I’m not sure. A seltzer. Another shot. Someone hands me a glass of wine, that’s not good, I’m mixing too many types of alcohol, but who am I to say no? Another trip to the bathroom (to uhhh… pee again, definitely not puking).

     Out of the bathroom with a fresh… bladder, I stumble back over to my friends before demanding, “Someone put ‘Chiquitita’ on the TouchTunes!”

     More drinks. I literally cannot say no, what’s wrong with me?

     Another bathroom break, my knee almost gives out from sprinting back out onto the dance floor to scream ABBA lyrics at the top of my lungs.

     Now I’m somehow back at the bar, where Kendra hands me yet another shot that I thankfully immediately spill all over myself. She gets three more and hands one to Grace, one to Dane, and takes one for herself. “To Jayden!” she toasts.

     “To Jayden!” Grace or Dane says. Or maybe both, I’m currently as toasted as this toast.

     “To me! Wait, why am I toast again? Why are you giving me toasting again? I mean, why am I getting a toasted-”

     “We’re toasting you because it’s your birthday!”

     “Oh yeah, right.”

     We hold the shots up, Kendra notices my empty shot glass. “What happened to yours?” she asks.

     “Sorry I… already took it. You know me, no patience. Cheers!”

     We go onto the dance floor and for a while, I can’t even remember why I’m upset anymore. That is until I see the back of a head that looks awfully familiar. I go up to it, tapping the person to whom it belongs on the shoulder. “Jo-ey?” I slur.

     Joey turns around and stares at me dumbly for a few moments before realizing who I am. “Jay-den!” he slurs back, equally as drunk as I. “You made it out!”

     “I was always coming out. So, how did your thing before this go?”

     “What thing?”

     That makes me a little bit annoyed. “Remember when I invited you to my party tonight, you said you didn’t know if you could come because you had a thing?”

     “Oh yeah, that thing! It was good.”

     “What was it?”

     A pretty girl walks past and Joey grabs her, turning her to show me. “Hey you remember Aubrey, right?”

     Ugh, Aubrey. I’ve met her a couple of times before, she’s always acted really cold towards me for no apparent reason, I have literally no idea what her problem with me is. She looks at me and gives me the fakest smile. “Oh right, Joey’s little friend.” Friend? Does he tell people that we’re just friends? “Jordan I wanna say?” she asks with a smile that says she knows she’s wrong.

     “It’s Jayden, I’ve told you about him multiple times,” Joey says, rolling his eyes at her.

     “And we’ve met before,” I add.

     “Oh duh, of course!” she says with a strange look on her face. “It was my birthday too, we were at my birthday dinner, that’s why he couldn’t come to your party.”

     “It is?” I inquire suspiciously. “Then what day of the month is it today?”

     “My birthday wasn’t today, just recently.” She turns and sees someone. “Britney!” Aubrey shrieks and runs off into the crowd. Suspicious… or maybe she genuinely saw a friend… 

     “So how was your party?” Joey asks. I can’t tell if they’re lying or not… but he’s not my boyfriend yet. If he was my boyfriend and did this, then I could be mad. Calm down Jayden, tame the crazy. Maybe he just wants to spare my feelings, which is nice of him… right?

     “It was good!” I lie with a pained smile on my face. “Everyone I wanted to be there, was there!”

     “That’s good!” Joey replies obliviously. Apparently I have a type: thick in the head. “What do you say we get out of here?”

     And just like that, I’m pulled all the way back in.

 

A “DATE” WITH JOEY…

 

Joey and I go back to his apartment. He offers me some wine and I don’t say no because I’m already far, far past the point of no return. 

     “Should we put on a movie?” he asks me.

     “Sure,” I reply, knowing that we probably won’t even make it two minutes past the ‘buh bum.’

     We throw a blanket over us and I was right, before the opening credits have even finished I feel Joey’s fingers begin to fondle me through my pants. After about a minute of that he undoes the button and slowly makes his way into my underwear.

     After another minute of that he turns to me and we start making out. He straddles me as we continue to kiss, only taking breaks to take off our shirts and throw them on the floor.

     Eventually Joey gets up off of me and points to my pants. “Those. Off. Now. I’ll be right back.” He walks away into the bathroom and closes the door.

     I do as I’m told and wait. I play with myself a little bit but can’t seem to get it up. Whiskey dick, the bane of many men. This wouldn’t be an issue if I was with Jonathan, because it wouldn’t matter if I could get it up or not. (As in I would just use my hole, in case it wasn’t obvious.) Maybe this is a sign that I shouldn’t be doing this… but if Joey wants it then I’m going to try my best, so I continue to tug futility. Speaking of, where is he?

     I look towards the bathroom door which is still closed. I’ll give him five more minutes before I go and do a wellness check.

     Five minutes have passed and Joey still isn’t out of the bathroom, he can’t be that full of shit. Well, at least not the kind he’s trying to expel right now. I head over to the bathroom and knock. No answer.

     I knock again, still no answer. Starting to get legitimately concerned, I slowly try opening the door, but it stops before I can get it more than halfway. I sneak my way through the crack.

     Joey is passed out on the floor, totally naked, puke in the toilet bowl, and an enema bulb in his hand. Even if I was able to get it up before, I certainly wouldn’t be able to after seeing this gruesome scene. That’s alright though, I need to get some sleep, and I knew in the back of my mind that it was never going to happen anyway.

     I flush the toilet and put the enema back in the cabinet to spare Joey some embarrassment (not that he’ll remember this) before shaking him awake.

     “Where am I?” Joey asks groggily.

     “You’re at home,” I say as I try helping him stand up off of the floor.

     “I want that,” he says, grabbing at my crotch. I finish helping him stand up and guide him over to the sink.

     “I think you need to brush your teeth and go to bed.” I grab his toothbrush, put some toothpaste on it, and hand it to Joey, who immediately drops it in the sink.

     “I wanna put something else in my mouth,” he slurs, smirking at me and trying to grab at my crotch again.

     “Only if you brush your teeth!”

     I manage to get Joey cleaned up and guide him to his room where I set him on the bed. I go into his dresser drawer to find some clothes to try getting him into.

     Before I can even find something, I hear snoring. I look over and Joey is already passed out, still totally naked. I give up on the clothes, put the blanket over him, climb into the other side of the bed, and try my best to go to sleep, my head spinning from both the alcohol and the disappointment of how today turned out. (I’m not upset that I didn’t get laid, I’m upset that I let my birthday get ruined like this.)

     How did I get stuck fulfilling boyfriend duties without actually achieving the rank of boyfriend? Maybe I’m just too nice. 

     Or too desperate.

     Whatever, I’m counting this as a date.

 

THE MORNING AFTER… 

(Saturday)

 

I wake up with a splitting headache that absolutely nobody could have predicted (/s). I look over and see that Joey is sleeping with the covers off, ass up (his natural position) naked as the day he was born but as dead to the world as… whatever day he dies. I usually head out in the mornings right when I wake up, I’m an early riser and he almost always stays in bed until at least noon.

     As I leave I send him a text: “Thanks for making my birthday extra great,” (even though he did no such thing, I’m not sure why I’m letting him think that he did) and head out. To do what, I have no idea. What does one do when they’re alone the day after their 29th birthday?

     I sit at home, at my desk, with my phone face down. I check it, no response from Joey. I still wonder what would have happened had I invited Jonathan to the party instead. I go to my conversation with him, the last text being from me: “Thanks for having me over last night, it was fun!” Read at 9:04 a.m., four days ago, no response. Didn’t even heart or like the message. If I had invited him it would have ended up exactly like this, but probably somehow even worse, I guess this was one of those lose-lose situations. I place my phone face down again.

     Ten seconds later, my hand is unconsciously flipping my phone up to reveal yet again (surprise, surprise) no new messages. “Might as well be productive!” I say to myself delusionally, as if speaking the words out loud will manifest into something, anything to keep my mind off of my damn phone and how lonely I am. I throw it into one of my desk drawers and pull out my personal computer. Time for me to take my mind off of my own shitty personal problems to help other people with their shitty problems. It’s what I do best!

 

SINGLE, GAY, AND THRIVING!

 

Dear Gay J,

 

Sometimes I feel like I need to have more self-respect! So here’s what’s going on, the guy that I like seems to be super engaged every single time we hang out, but when we’re apart, I can’t seem to get the time of day from him! Then he won’t respond for days at a time, but when he does, I can’t help but text him back instantly! Same with hanging out, he almost never asks to hang out with me, but when he does, I always drop everything to see him! Oh yeah, and he only asks me to hang out when he wants to have sex. What should I do?!

 

Sincerely,

No Self-Respect

 

Dear No Self-Respect,

 

Sounds like you’ve got yourself a real dickhole on your hands! I apologize for the crude language, but it needed to be said. The only way you’re going to ever get ahead of someone like that is to think like them. Next time he texts you, leave him on read. Calculate how much time it takes for him in between texts, double it, and take that long to reply back to him. You’re going to have to play the long game if you want someone like that to be interested in you. And then as soon as they want you, you yank the rug out from underneath them, and deny them! Imagine how amazing that’ll feel. 

 

With Lov-

 

THE MORNING AFTER… 

(Continued)

 

I hear my phone vibrate and immediately open up the drawer. I reach in and shuffle around for it, it vibrates again, I shuffle more urgently. Goddammit, make a mental note to organize this God-forsaken drawer later. Another vibration. What if the text is time-sensitive?? 

 

“Dear Jayden, I want to hang out with you, but only if you text me back within the next 20 seconds.

Love, Jonathan.”

 

     I finally find my phone and check it. To my dismay, it’s just our group chat blowing up:

The Gays™

     Grace: I need confirmation from Jayden, are you alive!?

     Tyler: Earth to Jayden!

     Kendra: Did you ditch us for wiener or booty this time?

     Dane: Maybe he left for puss?

     Tyler: God Dane don’t be gross

     Kendra: Wait what’s gross about that?

     Dane: Tyler’s a misogynist.

     Tyler: Am not!

     Grace: Now would be a good time to announce your presence Jayden!

     Me: I’m alive! Now stop blowing up my phone before I die from this headache

     Kendra: We’ll leave you alone when you tell us!

     Me: Tell you what?

     Dane: W or B?

     Me: Booty. 

     (They technically asked which one I ditched for, not which one I got. The rest of last night I will be taking to my grave.)

     Dane: Atta boy!

     Tyler: TMI

     Grace: I’m with Tyler on this one.

     Kendra: Prudes! Now let the poor boy rest.

     My phone stops vibrating but for good measure, I put the group chat on silent. Still no texts from anyone else.

     I lie down on my bed, feeling absolutely revolting. I grab the skin on my stomach, convinced that yesterday I was shredded, and today I am wearing a walrus suit. I’m going to give myself half an hour, and then I’m going to go to the gym.

 

THE GYM…

 

I wake up and shit, it’s been three hours. 

     My pounding headache has been reduced to minor head pain, and now at least I don’t feel like I’m one wrong movement from emptying the contents of my entire body. Although perhaps that would help me feel skinnier… no, I’m going to go and have a good workout, and I’m sure my stomach will be flat again after. Well, flatter than it feels now.

     I get to the gym and walk on the stair climber with my hand under my shirt, feeling the manifestation of all of the bad decisions I’ve been making lately. Fuck, the hangover is coming back. That’s it, I’m never drinking again, for real this time. Okay, I’m actually starting to work up a good sweat, I think I can feel myself physically shrinking.

     Don’t get me wrong, I have a nice body. My pecs, ass, and abs are the top three things guys usually compliment me on. But when I drink so much all the time, I get a little bit bloated, especially in my neck area. Imagine how hot I’ll be when I get my shit together and stop drinking for good. Yeah, I’m going to start that now! Imagine how many guys will be falling at my feet when I’m 02.% body fat with washboard abs and a chiseled jawline. But I also need a guy who can look past my body and not just see me as a piece of meat (at least sometimes, other times I love being seen as just a piece of meat, but I need the duality).

     Oh God, I think I’m going to be sick, for real this time. Better hold off on the rigid workout regimen for one more day, I swear I’m going to treat the gym like it’s boot camp starting tomorrow. But for now, time to go die in bed and feel sorry for myself.

     This Taco Bell I got when my brain literally would not let me pass by without going through the drive-thru will surely heal all of my problems, physical and emotional (unfortunately not psychological). I’ll meal prep for the week tomorrow night.

     Time to eat, watch a movie, and go to bed.

     Alone.

     Happy birthday to me, I guess.

​

Read the rest in Single, Gay, and Thriving! available now.