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[gay-brunch-at-1-ok]

First dates usually fall under three categories: perfect, horrible, or confusing. My first date last Friday is debatable.

When I explained how the date went with my brunch friends, they said, “oh it was perfect! Congrats! That’s promising!” “I guess you’ll be out of the market soon!” But there are these little things that have me doubting. Now let me explain and maybe you’ll get onboard why I’m rather… unsure.

The guy in question is Marcus.

We actually met last August at a party where we made out and followed each other on Instagram. None of these events we actually remembered because we were blacked out drunk. Fast forward to the first day of June, he messaged me out of the blue and invited me to his garden party. I told him that I couldn’t make it because I was going to march at the Pride parade that day. So we decided to meet at Akbar in Silverlake. The spot is an amazing hipster gay bar that occasionally plays La Vie en Rose by Edith Piaf or The Middle by Jimmy Eat World, none which are your typical gay tunes. Sometimes we need to take a break from Born This Way, Padam Padam and Anti-Hero remixes. When we finally met up (which he was late by 30 minutes which was forgivably okay to me), we smiled and hugged. He gave me a pat in the back, which is giving “I see you more as a friend” vibe. Red flag! Red flag! We talked and I felt as though I was leading the conversations. Don’t get me wrong. We had good conversations, but I felt as though I was making more of an effort. We learned we both liked Wong Kar Wai, Elif Batuman, and Soccer Mommy. He went to Stanford and I went to Cal (rivals). He talked about growing up in Portland OR, and we both agreed that Voodoo Donuts is overrated. Yes, we had a lot to talk about and they were great moments in our date. But there were also these awkward silent moments where we run out of things to talk about. During these silent moments, I wondered if maybe I’m not interesting enough. Maybe I’m boring him? Maybe he’s not invested in this date and wanted this to end already. After we finished our drinks, I was convinced he didn’t want to stay longer. But he asked if I wanted to grab dinner. Feeling as though maybe there is some mileage in this date, I said sure!

Marcus suggested this place called Junkyard Dogs. Upon arriving, we discovered it was closed for good. Bummer! We looked at each other and I suggested, “There’s Indian food around the corner if you’re down?” He nodded, “Sure.” When we arrived, the guy seated us near these old straight couples, which Marcus pointed out. I didn’t really care. It’s not like we’re going to Catch or TomTom. But it was a vibe for sure. (Footnote: my friends laughed at the fact that I took him to Indian food. Apparently, Indian is a bad first date but I beg to differ.) Marcus ordered some lamb green stew and I ordered Paneer Tikka Masala. I learned that he’s dairy intolerant, doesn’t eat beef, and is allergic to cats. Noted! Noted! Noted! I brought up that I have two cats which my sister is taking care temporarily. I thought that was a dealbreaker, but he said he’s been meaning to get inoculated and usually they help. I guess he’s referring to shots that will help mitigate his allergies? I forgot because I was starting to notice how pretty his blue eyes were. We had a lot of leftover food and I suggested he bring them home. He did say that the amount of food can last him a few days. However, he said he would have had to carry them and he wanted to go out a little more. So we left them and went back to Akbar.

I ordered him a Shirley temple and I got a margarita. He wanted to dance later, and so off to the dance floor. No one was dancing when we arrived. I tried to dance and sway, but I felt awkward. We weren’t familiar with each other. I wasn’t drunk enough yet too. However, I thought to myself, “Good things happen when you try to be brave and follow your heart.” I placed my hand on his cheek, pulled him closer, and then kissed him. And everything fell into the place. We danced in rhythm. Our lips locked. My hands guided his hips and his hands gripped my shoulder. My lips then explored his neck. I would find him smiling at me, as we danced further into the night.

Midnight struck and we had to go. We noticed that the dance floor was finally popping. He whispered, “We’re such a trendsetter.” He held my hand and guided me through the crowd.

Outside, we waited for my Lyft. And then kissed a bit more. He commented, “I might not remember too much that night we met, but the body remembers.”

We talked about when we can meet again, but it would have to be after my upcoming Mexico trip, so… in 2 weeks. I got in my Lyft and we parted.

The day after, I messaged him around 1 pm. I could have messaged him at 1 am or 9 am, but I didn’t want to come off too eager. “ Last night was fun! Hope you got home fine. Let’s meet again after I come back from Mexico City.”

His response: “Sounds good!!”

I overanalyzed that response down to a tee. Why didn’t he acknowledged in writing that it was fun for him too? Did he actually have a good time? Maybe he did because he used 2 exclamation marks? Maybe he’s trying to keep it cool or maybe he liked the date but not a lot?

Usually, when I have one inkling of doubt in a guy, I just cut him off immediately. I’m not going to chase after a guy, if I know he’s not into me. Why go down a path when it’ll just result in a heartbreak?

Noah told me to cut it out. “It’s just the first date. Just see where it goes.”

I think Noah is right. I just need to cut it out. Almost all my life, I prided myself to being a free-spirited vagabond who won’t let a guy dictate how I should feel. I’ve even called myself the gay Samantha Jones of Los Angeles (but with less sex.)

However, maybe these are all defense mechanism to avoid being hurt. Maybe I need to put in an effort and stop worrying about being rejected. And if I am rejected, I’ll just worry about that once I cross that bridge.

For now, let me just revel in the fact that I had a pleasant first date and just have some faith in the LA dating scene. After all, maybe he does like me a lot. 💕

[gay-brunch-at-1-ok]

I have a date later tonight with a boy I made out with at a party. I don’t remember him at all, because I was blacked out. Am I walking into a disaster or the beginning of a romcom? I’ll just have to see! ❤️

[gay-brunch-at-1-ok]

Ronnie promised me not to tell anyone about his recent drug problem. He was disappointed that Noah knows, but I told him that Noah already had an idea. Noah saw it in his eyes, before he went off the grid. Ronnie wasn’t happy about it, but what could we do? He made me promise and to also make Noah promise that we wouldn’t tell anyone. I asked if Gregory should know. “Absolutely not!” said Ronnie. I was a little surprised. I assumed that Ronnie will tell Gregory at some point, because Ronnie and Gregory are close. They’re in the same kickball team, they’re gym buddies, and they’ve known each other since freshman year in college. Ronnie is not close to his family, and Gregory is the closest thing to a brother. But I guess, there’s more their friendship than meets the eyes… or maybe Ronnie doesn’t want people to know he binged on drugs for close to a month. There’s something taboo and shameful about that within the gay community. If that’s the reason, then I get it. Actually, regardless of what the reason is, I still get it. After one brunch morning (which Ronnie didn’t show up), I was walking to my car when I heard Gregory calling my name from behind. Gregory went up to me and asked if I’ve talked to Ronnie. I lied, “Not recently, I haven’t. Why?” Gregory told me that ever since Ronnie came back from out of town due to a “family emergency,” he hasn’t been the same. He’s been more closed up, and Gregory has worried about him. He asked me what happened to Ronnie and if he ever mentioned about the “family emergency.” I wanted to tell Gregory. Don’t get me wrong. Gregory and I are at an awkward place. He’s not my biggest fan, neither am I to him. Yet, Gregory seems to genuinely care about Ronnie deeply. I know though that Gregory will judge him, just like he judged me for my drinking habits. He’s kind of a puritan gay. So I told Gregory, “Your guess is as good as mine.” I patted Gregory on the shoulder and told him, “I’m sure Ronnie is fine. If he’s not, he’ll tell you.” Gregory nodded and said, “You’re right.” After we parted ways, I’m sure I did the right thing. This is Ronnie’s business. The last thing he needs is his best friend freaking out on him. ❤️‍🩹

[gay-brunch-at-1-ok]

I found someone’s twitter alt account by accident. His name is Jordy, and I met him through Gregory, who invited him for brunch a few times. Nowhere on the alt account indicated his name (hence, why it’s an ALT account). But it’s clear that it’s him. Jordy is a bear - typically gay guys who are big in size and hairy. Hence, the name. He’s a very handsome bear too. I think I said out loud to Noah in a bar that I would be down to make out with him. Lo and behold! Jordy was right behind me. Upon learning he might have heard me, I immediately went to the bathroom to hide in shame and take stock of my life. Noah couldn’t stop laughing about it for weeks. Jordy and I pretended none of that happened, but ever since then, he’s been very friendly with me and invites me to places sometimes. Back to the alt account, his feed is emblazoned with shirtless pics, salacious poses, and sometimes mundane videos of him eating. His tweets get over a thousand likes and over a hundred comments. He’s actually an online commodity! Jordy doesn’t have any d!ck or a$$ pics in his feed. (I kind of searched for them… don’t judge me!) It makes sense though that he wouldn’t post any of those godless pixxx. Jordy has mentioned numerous times that he’s a classy gay. He grew up in Connecticut, went to a boarding school, played lacrosse, and his favorite summer attire is a polo shirt. There have been many times that I wanted to bring up his twitter handle. However, I didn’t want him to think I’m a creeper, especially since I’ve known about his alt for a few months now. It’s killing me though. Maybe someday he’ll bring up that he has an alt account and then it’ll be the right time to tell him that I know… or maybe never. After all, there’s a reason why an alt account is a secret. 🔒

[gay-brunch-at-1-ok]

Noah and I agreed that recently has been too intense with everything happening. Work has been busy, the LA summer weather has been technically nonexistent, and we’ve been going through a lot with a friend. So we decided to go grab a drink on a Tuesday night at Sunset Beer Co. The place looks like a normal beer store but if you go into the next room, there’s a whole speakeasy. Usually, the place gets crowded, but we managed to nab a couch. I ordered an Alaskan Amber and Noah a Santa Monica Brew Works Blonde. In the back of my head, I wanted to talk about Ronnie, Gregory, and every single thing on my head which are not really the best topics. Noah noticed and led the conversation, trying steer things to more positive stuff, like, “Remember that whole Tiger King craze?” “Who’s your favorite Succession sibling?” or “What the coastal grandma style and why does it fit my vibe? Am I Diane Keaton’s long lost son?” For a quick moment, I actually forgot about all the sh-t going on. Honestly, Noah is a great guy. I still can’t stand how he’s so perfect. Throughout that whole night, I swear 3 girls and 2 “straight” guys hit on him. He also wore some Pacsun cargo pants and kept getting compliments on his calves. Whatever! We had a fun time and that’s all that matters. 🍻

[gay-brunch-at-1-ok]

I didn’t fully understand the horrors of addiction until it affected one of my friends. Films and TV series tend to glamorize its portrayal, either inadvertently or intentionally. Even shows that have been lauded for showing its grittiness “accurately”, like Rue’s scene in Euphoria or the entire plot of Requiem of a Dream, can’t fully grasp its reality. None of these hits harder than witnessing addiction’s rapacious hold on a family member or friend. This happened to my friend, Ronnie, when we noticed he stopped coming to brunch. He’s a regular attendee, coming every Sunday, so when he stopped all of a sudden, that’s when we started to get concerned. It all started when Ronnie told us during brunch that he met a cute guy on Grindr. He couldn’t stop gushing how cute the guy was, and how the sex was amazing! He was acting more exuberant and talkative than usual. After brunch, as Noah and I walked to our cars, Noah mentioned that Ronnie’s eyes were hella dilated. Noah thinks he took something last night. Noah suggested we bring it up next time we see him. I was worried for him too, but I didn’t want Ronnie to think we were attacking him. Plus, Ronnie is a good guy. He would never get himself mixed up with all that. Even if he did take some kind of strong drug, I’m sure he wouldn’t get addicted. Ronnie dreamed of being a screenwriter and winning an Oscar. He wouldn’t throw everything away for something ephemeral and lowly. Three weeks had passed. Ronnie stopped responding to our text messages. Our IG and Messenger DMs went unread. None of us knew anyone in his family, because he never mentions them. I don’t think he follows them on social media. We started calling nearby hospitals, hoping that he might be in one of them. Nothing. We were getting worried, and our brunches became less cheerful, knowing that one of our good friends is missing. Then, one night, I got a call from Ronnie. He told me that his battery is about to die, but he needed someone to pick him up. He gave me the address of a motel in Hollywood. I drove over there right away. There, I found Ronnie, disheveled and sickly. His eyes appeared tired, as though he hasn’t slept in days. With those exhausted eyes, he looked at me as though he was in the brink of tears. I got out of my car, which was parked in a red; ran to Ronnie; and hugged him tight as possible. I wanted to scream at him and scold him for making us worried. I didn’t, because this wasn’t about how I felt. I’m just glad he’s safe. Ronnie asked if I can sleep at his place that night. I said, “Of course.” As I drove him home, Ronnie only kept quiet, staring outside. Windows open, the fresh crisp air blew against our cheeks and hair. There was an immense relief within me that Ronnie is safe. And I could tell Ronnie felt the same, knowing I came to help. I didn’t ask what happened during the three weeks he disappeared. That’s for him to share with me. Instead, I kept wondering only one thing throughout that car ride: What happens next? ❤️‍🩹

[gay-brunch-at-1-ok]

Gregory and I hugged for the first time since last December. We’ve been silently feuding for a while, so the fact that we locked arms for even a few seconds felt… weird. The act happened when our friend, Juan, invited us to his garden party. I was running late, because I was marching in the LA Pride parade and my group didn’t start marching until 2 pm. 😳 By the time, I arrived, a few of our friends were already in the backyard loose from libations and gay company. Juan was chatting with Gregory, joking about memes and shit. Juan saw me and shouted, “Mi amigo! Bienvenido mi casa!” I responded with my 4 semester Spanish know how, “Gracias, amigo!” I explained to Juan what happened in the parade and why I was late, as thought I was on trial. Juan responded by “No problema! Don’t even stress about it! Who’s early anyway?” We laughed because it kind of is true. Gregory interjected cutting between Juan and me. He looked at me in the eyes, with a subtle smile, and said, “Good to see you, bud.” And we hugged. “Let me get another drink. Do you want one?” I responded with “No, I’m good. Maybe later.” Gregory nodded and walked off. For the next 24 hours, I tried assessing every single detail of that event. Does the length of his smile mean anything? Did he hug too hard or too safe? He patted my back two times. Is that good or bad? Was he just pretending to be nice to me in front of Juan by offering me a drink or did he genuinely wanted to offer me one? Maybe he’s trying to get me shitfaced so I’ll get drunk and make a fool of myself? Would that have been part of his plan? I feel like I’m analyzing this more than an English grad writing an essay on Moby Dick. But I can’t help it because we’ve ignored each other for so long. I’m also wondering if he’s been obsessing over that event as well. Maybe he’s regretting hugging me? I wish I knew. However, it could be possible that it was just a simple kind hug, and maybe he misses me. I really wish I knew. 🤔

[gay-brunch-at-1-ok]

Flores lives such an unabashed promiscuous lifestyle that, if you look up sex-positive in a dictionary, you’ll likely find a picture next to the definition. When we go out, he’ll make out with six guys. On a good night, he’ll make out with twelve guys. He’ll try anything and has tried everything. He’s slept with countless men, tried every drug under the sun, and went to almost every kink party in LA. His Spanish good looks, deep Latin accent, and charismatic personality also help him out incredibly. Apparently, when you’re brimming with confidence, almost everyone is down to make out with you. I admire that about him, because I can’t even start a Tinder conversation without saying “hey how’re you?” My social anxieties tend to dumb me down and turn me into the most uninteresting person imaginable. Gregory secretly can’t seem to stand Flores though. When Flores was brought up during brunch, Gregory was praising Flores’ indomitable free spirit and talking about the virtues of being sex-positive. But one evening while we were at Hotdog in El Cid, Gregory and I were hanging out with a few friends, minding our own gay business and then Flores showed up with a few of his own friends. Flores greeted us, and then started making out with both his friends and ours. Admittedly, Flores and I also made out. But from the periphery, I could tell Gregory was hardcore judging him. The way Gregory glared at Flores was the same way someone looks at a possum crossing their path in the middle of the night. Thankfully, Flores didn’t notice Gregory’s vibe, because it was pretty dim where we were at and he was also too busy making out with Ronnie and a couple other guys. I wouldn’t want to live a life of hedonism like Flores, but I would love a dash of Flores’ confidence. Maybe if I did, I would probably have better Tinder conversation starters. 💋

[gay-brunch-at-1-ok]

I love Noah, but oh my god, I cannot stand his perfect life. Noah has the resume of an LA Apollo: graduated from Harvard, graduated from Yale law, naturally good looking (according to numerous surveys with friends), natural good physique (he claims to work out only once a week), and has a great sense of humor. He’s in a relationship with a hottie who works in investment banking, so we know they’re a double income power couple. You would think he would be a cocky motherf—cker. But no! He has a heart of gold. He volunteers at the Downtown Food Bank every Sunday morning and at an AIDS clinic helping out patients with STI/HIV testing on Monday evenings. He’s also a loyal friend. There were numerous nights he stood by my side while I was drunk and throwing up on the toilet, making sure I was fine. Gregory claims he has a kind soul, because he grew up fat in middle school and was bullied daily. Everything changed in high school when he joined the swim team, lost a ton of weight, became friends with his bullies, and became so popular he was crowned Prom King both in junior and senior year. Just talking about his perfect life is so exhausting. I’m conflicted too, because I love Noah as a friend, but my resentment make me feel like a bad friend. I’m sure the problem is my perception of the situation, but these feelings are palpable enough that denying their existence would be disingenuous. Why do I resent him when he’s only trying to be the best person he can be? Is it bad that I love and hate my close friend who hasn’t done anything wrong? ✨

[gay-brunch-at-1-ok]

Ever heard of the term size queen? It’s folks who makes a big deal about the size of another’s dick. They might find someone hella cute, but once they find out their dick is less than 6 inches, they disappear. Everyone is convinced that this guy who I’ve been chatting with through Grind is a size queen. This guy, who I’ll name Dick, was chatting up a storm for a couple days. He kept saying how cute I was, how much he loves my shoulders, etc. Then, he asked for my dick pic. I told him, no. He asked if I was hung. I responded, “I don’t think so, but I don’t have a micro-penis.” And just like that, he blocked me. My ego was bruised, but I just moved on. My friends, though, were angry in my behalf. They ranted how society fostered this need for more, more, and more, and it translated into our perception of penises. They call it “late stage penis capitalism.” In the end, Dick only wanted hung penises that would disassemble his intestines and he probably thought I wouldn’t have the reach to carve out a canyon. It’s too bad, because I thought we would have a good time. 🍆

[gay-brunch-at-1-ok]

Have you ever had a friend go from close to just being an acquaintance? When Gregory and I first met, it was friendship at first sight. We went through the stages of close connection. First, we shot back jokes after after jokes. Second, we developed a secret handshake where did stupid spirit fingers. Third, we shared deep secrets. And once you reach that third stage, the BFF status is sealed. Apparently, that’s not true. When we both drink, we turn into different people. I became a loose cannon, my personality amplified by a 1000x times. Gregory becomes more conservative and nervous. And I could tell he detested my uninhibited nature. He didn’t want to admit it, because he doesn’t want to hold me back from having fun and come off as a “party pooper” or “righteous pious” or whatever. I could tell I made him uncomfortable, so out of respect, I stopped drinking more than a couple drinks around him. I won’t even drink a margarita around him, and everyone knows I love drinking margaritas. When everyone asked why I stopped drinking margaritas, I just told them that my doctor told me to slow down for the sake of my liver. Everyone believed me, except Gregory. And slowly, we stopped sharing jokes, doing our secret handshakes, and sharing secrets. We just meet up for brunch and laugh with our friends, oblivious to our ever growing rift. I’m hoping this rift will just stay a rift, and no drama will emerge from this chasm. I’m doubtful, because each time our eyes meet, I could tell there’s this… how do you put it? Misalignment? Unspoken sadness or is it quiet frustration? I can’t tell anymore because that connection is gone.

[gay-brunch-at-1-ok]

Brunch started 20 minutes ago, so if you see a gay man with a yellow tank top driving a Toyota Prius and holding a Starbucks vanilla latte, forgive me if I almost run you over. I was in a hurry.

The brunch spot was at Marco’s, a cute little diner that has worn out wooden tables and countertop and pictures of famous celebrities that ate there. Honestly, if an Italian restaurant and a termite ridden dive bar were to consummate, they would probably give birth to this charming little place.

Also, our friend, Gregory, knows the owner so we always get bottomless mimosas for free.

Once I arrived, literally everyone in our table shouted, “GIRLLLLLLLLL!”

Gregory was like, “Girl, I need to get you a cast, because you broke last week’s record for being late.”

I made the mistake of walking in with my Starbucks drink, because Noah pointed at it and said, “And he apparently had time to get Starbucks on the way.”

“Excuse me!” I said. “It was preordered for pickup. Through the app.”

Ronnie, arguably the only good gay out in the table, roared, “Give him a break. If we were to go by gay time, he’s actually on time. We’re just early.”

Good thing about being late with these gays was that they didn’t really care that I was late. They just like f—king around me.

Plus I saw they ordered a shit ton of mimosas and appetizers already so they were able manage while they wait for my late @$$. 🥂