Friendship Without Benefits

I have a wide variety of friends: gay, straight, male, and female. I have several close friends that are fellow gay men, which shouldn't strike anyone as odd; but it seems that some people carry the notion that these relationships could not possibly be purely platonic. My closest friend is a gay man, and I am often asked, "have you guys ever done anything?" or, "surely you guys have fooled around." The truth is, we have not, and never will 'fool around,' nor will I with the majority of my other friends who happen to be male and gay. The funny thing about it, though, is that I would sort of expect (but not excuse) that sort of question from a straight person; but I get the question a lot from gay acquaintances and friends, who, frankly, should know better.

The question may be innocent enough, no harm intended. It may simply be a curiosity, but I challenge you to consider the implications of such a question the next time it occurs to you to ask. Just because we happen to be men, and some of us happen to like sex (some of us too much if you ask me), doesn't mean that we have to sleep with every gay man we know. That's absurd. I personally don't find every gay man I meet immediately attractive simply because of his sexual orientation. I would hope that our brains are a little more advanced than that. Surely straight men aren't attracted to anything and everything with breasts and a vaginal opening. So why would anyone assume that a gay man would stick it in (or get stuck by) anything with a rocket in his pocket (sorry, bad euphemism. Good for a little laugh, though).

I can't say I didn't have the same notion of gay men when I was young. As a child and teenager, the simple idea of finding someone like me, someone else who liked men, would sometimes turn me on. I don't think it was a sexual attraction to those people, though, but rather a response to the idea that I was, in fact, not alone. Really, the gay world is like any other. We are attracted to certain people, and others we are not. Certain relationships are meant to remain platonic, and others may go further than that. I probably doubted my own ability to be true friends with another gay man at points in my life, but having established such relationships has proven that it is possible, at least for myself.

We have to support each other, otherwise, who will. If we can't be friends with each other, than we don't stand a chance. There are certain things unique to the gay experience that only other gay men can know and relate to: coming out, accepting oneself, discrimination. That's why I value my friendships and welcome the emotional support and empathy that only they can provide. I'm glad to say that I have those kind of friends and that we can do all those things the way that close friends do without going any farther than that, without feeling the need to take it to the bedroom.

I really don't mind the questions. I find it rather amusing how people tend to gravitate towards these types of questions. Who's screwing who, who's cheating, who's after who's boyfriend? It is the endless soap opera of our lives. I had just gotten the questions at an alarming frequency as of late, which made me step back and think about it for a second.

Every Song's A Love Song

Well, it has been a week. I apologize for my lateness in submitting a new entry. I suppose I needed a little bit of a break from writing. Call it a short and temporary case of writer's block. It's bound to happen every now and then.

I've had a difficult time thinking of a new topic this time. I have a list of things to write about, but none them are currently grabbing me as anything I want to delve into deeply enough to write about at the moment. I've been in the mood for something lighter, something without too many emotional implications. Love can be difficult, but shouldn't always be (I'll write that down for later, maybe we can write about that one soon). The mind wanders.....what to write about?

Ah, I've got it. I recently spent a week in Nashville, as you may have gathered from recent entries; which, of course, immediately makes me think of country music, which in turn sends the mind to thought of sappy songs of love and pain. Funny the path stream of consciousness takes. I despised country music as a child. It was all my mother would play on the radio, so I rebelled and went straight for rock and roll. Her tears would well up to half the songs, there always seemed to be people crying into their alcoholic beverages, or losing loved ones, or cheating on their spouses. She would make us listen to the words, they were a 'lesson,' always something to learn from. I didn't want to learn from a song, I wanted to have fun, not think about what they were saying!

Of course, my attitudes have changed since then. The ironic thing is that as obviously sappy as those country songs were, the rock songs I was listening to were just as emotionally charged, just as much about love gone wrong as their country counterparts. In fact the more I think about it, the more it seems that the majority of songs out there are in some way about love, whether it be getting it, losing it, getting revenge over it, or simply not having it. No matter what genre, what artist, what part of the world it comes from, there seems to be this common thread. And here we sit, listening to it, singing along with it, reminiscing and agreeing with it. We know the emotions, we've been through it. It connects us, and it sells.

If I started listing song titles, I could probably go all night. We can all think of a song or two, or a hundred, I'm sure. My favorites? Well, my favorites change all the time, but let me think of some memorable ones...

"I Do" -Jude. I thought it was the saddest song I ever heard at the time. It's about a man who's gotten an invitation to an ex's wedding. He remembers what they had, but vows not to go so that she can move on in peace.

"Slow Dancing in a Burning Room" -John Mayer. This one came out when I was in the midst of leaving a bad relationship. It's basically about being in a self-destructing relationship. It spoke to me very deeply at the time.

"Til I Get it Right" -Joan Osborne. She's tried a hundred times, but she'll keep falling in love until she gets it right. I love this one, it speaks to the idea of never closing your heart to love, no matter how many times you've been hurt.

"Over Time" -Lucinda Williams. One of my all-time favorites. It's about getting over someone and knowing that it takes time to do it.

"Still in Love" -Armand Van Helden. It's about thinking your over someone, but getting those feeling back anyway and being totally confused by it.

"Heaven Help" -Lenny Kravitz. He's ready for love, so watch out. The green light is on and flashing.

"Burning Photographs" -Ryan Adams. This is on my 'anger management' play list. Basically, it's over, I'm tired of you, I'm having a 'burn your crap' party.

"Love Me Like A Man" -Diana Krall. You get the idea.

"You Said Something" -PJ Harvey. A romantic, overpowering moment on a 'rooftop in Brooklyn.'

I could go on and on, but we'll stop there for now.

What are your favorites?

A Test of Friendship (part 2)

To continue our story, we will turn the focus now from my former lover to my one true and justified HIV scare. Once we left the restaurant, I asked him if he thought I should be tested. I could tell from the look on his face that it would devastate him forever if I came up positive. His personality was such that I knew it would eat at him with guilt forever. He told me that the doctors at home had told me that he could have contracted it as many as ten years ago. We had been together in that time frame, so it was decided that I would get tested as soon as possible. There are strains out there these days that work much faster and make you much sicker, much quicker; but there was no point in taking any chances.

I took the threat seriously and made an appointment at the health department for a few days later. I made my partner at the time go with me to his extreme reluctance, but I didn’t want him to take any chances, either. The procedure was basic, taking some blood and waiting for a result, but the thought of the implications are what made the procedure so difficult. I was counseled by a nurse on safe practices and asked a series of questions in regard to sexual and drug practices. All things I was familiar with and nothing that surprised me. What went through my head were thoughts of being ill, losing my friend and family, never having sex again. It made me suddenly mortal. Death was suddenly a real possibility. I thought about what my former lover had gone through, what his life was like now, hardly ever leaving the house, not having enough energy to do the things he used to enjoy, taking so many medications he could hardly keep track, endless doctor appointment, feeling isolated from everyone. I didn’t want to go through that.

Everything came out alright in the end, I tested negative. I am glad I had the scare, though. That may sound funny, but it really sobered me up in regard to being safe and getting tested regularly. I am tested religiously every six months now, every January and July, and I am always safe in regard to my practices. There is no point in taking any chances, I know the consequences. A few minutes of pleasure is not worth a lifetime of pain and isolation. My former partner is always there to remind me, too, and that makes him a great friend. I just hope it doesn’t take a personal scare like I had to make others diligent in safety and responsibility.

The House Of Rufus...or...A Different Kind of Romance

“The Good the Bad and the Rufus,” he says as he explains his choice of backdrop and décor for his surprisingly well sold concert date at the Rhyman Auditorium in the country music capital of the world, Nashville, Tennessee. He is far from the usual honky-tonk cowboy that lines the streets of this town; but, then again, so is the crowd. His band numbers seven men dressed in vibrantly striped suit coats and pants. The crooner himself is the brightest of them all with rings on his fingers and bright silver shoes.

The crowd cheers loudly as he enters from the left and steps up to the microphone, belting away the first tune. Then he is off to the piano where his long fingers go to work on the second, third, and fourth, sometimes solo, sometimes flawlessly mixed with the bass, the banjo, the horn, the drums. The crowd is pumped up, ready to rock.

A ten minute break for costume changes. Something only a true queen could pull off, especially after the sudden energy he has created in the audience.

He reenters (fifteen minutes later) apparently direct from Austria in authentic lederhosen, remounts his piano stool and goes to work on tales of ended love, German gardens, and Paris streets. Then just as quickly he is off to the races again, a few Judy Garland tunes to satisfy the more astute members of the audience, something a little lighter, fancy free.

And then a surprise. He gathers the band on one side of the stage, himself on the other. “We are going to test the acoustics in here,” he says, and they abandon the microphones and start to play an old Irish tune amidst a sea of silence in the audience. And there is Rufus, electric free, belting out the tune under a spotlight, into the sky. It is a different kind of romance, one between the performer and his devoted audience. It is a tingle in the spine, a sense of wonderment that only comes from a live performance. Perhaps you’ve listened to the song a hundred times, it evokes a feeling, reminds you of a place, transports you to another time. Then you hear it live and your body suddenly chills. It is like magic.

He finishes his last few songs and the band leaves the stage one by one as they play through the final song. The crowd demands an encore, and Rufus returns adorning what appears to be nothing but a bathrobe. Laughter abounds and the energy in the room is at a new high.

And then another surprise. He sits in a chair in front of the audience, slips on a pair of heels and huge sparkly earrings (to the audience’s delight), drops his robe to reveal black stockings over well shaped legs, a black tuxedo top, and a pink blouse underneath. He puts on a black hat a goes to town singing “Come on, get happy!” A drag show in downtown Nashville, Tennessee. Welcome to America. Welcome to the House of Rufus Wainwright.

(In case you didn’t get it, I recently traveled to Nashville, where I attended a concert by the singer-songwriter, Rufus Wainwright. It was quite an experience.).

A Test of Friendship (Part 1)

True friends are hard to come by, but I have been blessed with a group that has proven honorable and true through some pretty hard times. One of my dearest friends is a former lover of mine. He is one of my greatest confidants. His story, as of late, is not a happy one, but I think it’s one that can definitely teach a lesson. We have known each other for six or seven years now, keeping in touch off and on through good and bad times in each other lives.

One of the scariest moments in my life came last summer when we began talking again after an unusually long hiatus in phone calls between us. I didn’t really understand the silence at the time. I figured he had met someone special and had become engrossed in the relationship as many of us do. Unfortunately, that was not the case.

I had made a few calls the fall and winter before to no avail or to very brief conversations that usually consisted of him being ill and unable to speak for long or actually being in the hospital and being unable to use his phone. I didn’t know what he was ill with, however. I knew he had been having health problems. He had hinted at a pancreatic problem but didn’t give many details. I didn’t really question it. I just tried to be supportive.

Several months passed, winter tuned to spring and then the heat of summer came bearing in. I got a phone call. He said that he had a doctor’s appointment in town (he lived abut an hour away from me at the time) and wanted to have a meal with me afterwards. I was on night shift at the time, so we worked it out to have breakfast once I got off work in the morning.

We hadn’t seen each other in quite some time at this point, and I could tell that he was very nervous about something as I walked up to the door of the restaurant where he sat on a bench waiting for me. We greeted each other and walked into the restaurant where we were seated and ordered coffee and juice. It became obvious that he was shaking a little and was having a hard to keeping my gaze. I was a little concerned, but I continued with the conversation as if nothing was wrong. We ordered our breakfast and when the waitress left, I asked about the doctor’s appointment. I don’t remember exactly how he said it or what words he used, but eventually he got around to telling me that he had been diagnosed with HIV and had nearly died in the hospital that fall. The short conversations suddenly made sense, as did the seemingly never-ending illness he was facing every time I called.

I was a little shocked, but I don’t think I showed it. My head didn’t really spin, I just sort of took it in as a fact, the way it was. I certainly didn’t get up from the table. He didn’t look like he had lost weight, but he had never been very big. He showed great relief after telling me, explaining that he hadn’t wanted to do it over the phone. He proceeded to tell me that nearly everyone else he had told had turned their backs on him. He had been seeing a man off and on in his home town at that point, and when he told him, he hung up on him never to call back even after offering to go with him to the doctor and pay to be tested. He was from a small town, and the news of his illness spread extremely quickly once he was admitted to the hospital. He became a pariah to many. He lost his job after missing work for so long and was in a constant battle with fatigue. He explained to me how the last months had been, wanting to die and feeling that there was no hope or future for him at all. He was at one of the lowest point in his life.

I really didn’t know what to do. All I could do was listen to his story and show my support. I certainly couldn’t turn my back on him. His only friend left was a childhood friend that he had known for years and had been kind enough to take him to doctor’s appointments and the like. It disgusted me to hear that people would be so callous as to just ignore him, even scorn him. He had been and is still one of the most kind-hearted people I have ever known. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. It didn’t make any sense to me.

I had a decision to make that day. I could have been like the rest of his ‘friends’ and even some his family by completely turning my back. I could have walked out of that restaurant that day, but that thought never even entered my mind. I was much more concerned that he was ok and that he was going to be alright. I didn’t have to do anything profound, all I had to do was listen to him and be a true friend; and I hope that’s what I have done in this case. We continue to see each other and talk on the telephone as often as possible. I am genuinely glad to hear from him and I hope that he is of me. He is still one of my greatest confidants; he can read my mood in a second and always knows the right thing to say. Things are looking better. He has more energy these days; and his daughter recently had a child, making him a very proud grandparent. It is good to hear him talk about it, to know that he is smiling again. His problems make mine look miniscule, and I know that if he can make it through what he’s been through, then I can make it through anything.

It took a lot of guts to tell me, especially the way he did. He was a man about it. He sat me down in person and told me what must be one of the hardest things to tell anyone, especially among the gay community. I thank him for that. It made our friendship stronger. I’ve known a lot of people who didn’t have the guts to say much less important things to my face, so I truly appreciate what it took to do it.

The scary moment came when I realized as we were walking out that I would have to be tested as well. It had been several years since we had been lovers, but the possibility was still there. I’m glad I didn’t think of that right away, though, so that I could focus on him when I needed to. We’ll save that part of the story. Look for ‘part 2.’

Inspiration

It would seem sometimes that the average gay relationship lasts about 18.2 minutes, or in other words, the length of a half-hour sitcom minus the commercials. How quickly some of us move from one person to another these days, bored with one, off to next. Every once in a while, though, there is a story of hope, a relationship that has spanned the years and proves that it can be done if you work at it and put in the dedication. My mother is a skeptic; she doesn’t believe it is possible. She is resigned to the idea that I will be alone my entire life. Thankfully, I have a little more hope than that. After all, two of my dearest friends are all the proof that I need that it is possible. They are my biggest source of inspiration, and certainly have been wonderful enough to get me through some very hard times.

They met at the gym of all places, which makes me love the story from the get-go, because it was not in the contrived reaches of the internet or at a cruisy bar. It was out in real life, doing real things, where things should happen in an ideal world. And from there, they went on to fall in love, care for each other, and build a life together. They’ve been around the world together and have made it work for 15+ years (and in gay years, that’s like 4 lifetimes!) despite the ups and downs that we all face. They might argue and fuss every now and then, but deep down there is a love there that is hard to find no matter who you are.

While it is not my place to reveal their personal lives in this public forum, the point is that it is possible to love and be loved in a lasting, meaningful way no matter if you are straight, gay, or whatever you might be. All you have to do is look around you a little and open your eyes. They are not the only stable gay couple I know, either. They are out there, living life just like everyone else. To know that there are people out there like them is major comfort to me, that maybe someday I could find that kind of love, too.

I am ever grateful that they have included me in their lives. I consider them both very dear friends. It is because of them that I am focused more on the positive aspects of life, not afraid to take risks and enjoy my life and the people I am with. I kept a motto taped into my daily planner for a while, it said, “Enjoy the people you are with, while you are with them,” which is something I had forgotten how to do for a while, so preoccupied with everything around me, everything that I thought was going wrong with my life. They are my words to live by now, and I do enjoy every experience I have, it’s all part of the richness of what life can be if you let it. And if love comes along at some point in that journey? Well, icing on the cake.

Thank you fellas, you are truly an inspiration. I am eternally blessed to have such wonderful friends. I just hope that everyone has someone they can count on as much as I’ve counted on you.

Perhaps I am Not Psychotic

I am in the midst of reading a book by Barry Levinson, and in it I have found a passage that struck me very deeply. It goes as follows:

Maybe you can never understand the significance of a moment. And that which you cannot define or explain will continue to play itself over and over again in your mind. The brain is like a computer, forever seeking an answer, and it’s possible that until the question is solved, the question remains on that screen in the back of your head forever.

Suddenly some clarity has entered my brain. After my last breakup, I was so confused for so many months that I played the scenario back in my mind over and over again so often that I nearly got sick of it. Nonetheless, the images and the thoughts would not go away. Now I know why. Well, really, I’ve known for a long time, I was just struck by how eloquently my own situation seemed to be described by this simple passage found in the middle of a book I just happen to be reading at the moment.

I’ve always found it funny how things like that happen, you read a certain passage, meet a certain person, or go to a certain place at a certain perfect time so that the events of your life gain sudden clarity or change paths as if in some preordained outplay of fated events. This one is no exception.

The problem with the break-up, the fundamental error in my partner’s choice to do so, was in his inability to give me a proper explanation for the break-up. His half-hearted attempt included words like ‘we both have very busy lives,’ ‘I’m not ready for a relationship,’ ‘I want to be your friend, I’ve never had a true gay friend,’ and ‘I need to focus on myself.’ All words we’ve heard before, but very hollow when compared to promises of our first Christmas together, assurances early on that he was ready for a relationship, the purchase of matching cookware (‘so that we’ll have two of everything when we live together’-his words, not mine), and numerous trips through newly built homes and furniture shops fantasizing about our dream home (again, his idea) only days before. Talk about ‘love disappearing overnight.’ None of the explanations given held any weight, and the more my ‘computer’ brain went through it, the angrier I became that the truth was not revealed, that I was denied a proper reason, a truthful answer for our separation, the one thing I begged for. The most amusing thing he said to me was that he ‘could have just been mean to [me] and made [me] hate him like he usually did with others he’d dated.’ Like this so-called friend thing was some sort of consolation. Thanks.

And, of course, the entire time I was going through this, the deeper it went, the more psychotic I felt I was becoming. But here, right here in front of me is the explanation I needed, the proof that perhaps I am not, in fact, psychotic in over-analyzing the situation. It’s a matter of a question without an answer, without a satisfactory solution that allows it to be put to rest. And certainly, I cannot be blamed for that. I asked for an answer and was whole-heartedly denied. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that there weren’t problems with the relationship, that maybe it was, in fact, not meant to be, and that maybe I was at fault for certain aspects of what went wrong. All I’m saying is that I wanted the respect that comes with telling the truth, no matter how much it hurts, especially when you are asked so directly to do so.

The sad thing is that I know what went wrong. I know the real reasons for the break-up. I just wanted him to say the words so that I could know for sure and I could move on knowing my own mistakes and feeling like everything had been said that needed to be said. If we’d been able to thoughtfully sit down and talk about it, then maybe we could have been friends, close ones at that. Maybe that was too much to ask, though. You can’t go from telling each other everything, opening your heart up the way I did, back to a casual friendship just like that. You have to work out the kinks. Friends are still open with each other; and, most importantly, friends are honest with you no matter how much it hurts. Holding back only leads to resentment, and such a sudden withdrawal as occurred in this case only leads to utter confusion.

In any case, I’m glad to know that maybe I’m not completely psychotic. If I couldn’t get that confirmation from my former fling, then I’m glad Mr. Levinson was around to shed some light. Thank you, sir; you’ve helped more than you know.

What Flavor am I? (And Definition Clarification)

One of my readers has posed a question in regard to my last blog entry. As I am quite flattered to have my first such inquiry, I am obliged to issue a response. Also, it seems some verbal housekeeping needs to be done as some of my language seems to have been lost on some of my readers, mainly those of the straight variety.

Let’s start with the housekeeping, get it over with. I should not have assumed that everyone knew the vernacular. My apologies. A ‘top’ is the male partner that, well, how to put this delicately….does the inserting during the sexual act. A ‘bottom’ is the one who receives during the sexual act. Or is that too delicate? In other words, the bottom is the one who takes it up the….surely you get the idea. And versatile, well that means he can go either way. Any others that come up, just let me know, I’ll be glad to define them.

Now, on to the question posed to me previously. In the previous entry, I listed several types of men that fit under the umbrella of ‘homosexual.’ And if you read the comments, you will see that I have been asked where I fall into this plethora of possibilities. I ponder over the idea of whether to tell you or not, or rather have you make your own decision on the matter. I would prefer to think that I do not fit into any category specifically and cannot be defined by any cookie cutter image of a man, but that would be the idealist talking. I suppose that there is a little bit of each flavor in me somewhere, although ‘leather-man’ probably wouldn’t fit, nor ‘bear’ (or cub), and I’m way past ‘twink.’ And I’m certainly not the ‘old fart,’ ‘bar fly,’ or ‘drag queen’ (I’ve only worn make-up once in my life, and that was for a school play. I had to ask the girl who put it on how to take it back off). That narrows it down, I guess. And since I’ve never been married, don’t claim to be bi, and have an equal number of male and female friends, that cuts it down even more. And I will whole-heartedly deny any claims to the ‘workaholic’ label. I’d much rather enjoy my life than spend it working myself to death.

In general, I’d say I’m more of conglomeration of the rest. The ‘professional’ (of course). I admit that I can be a ‘brand whore’ sometimes. I do go to the gym, but not five times a week, and certainly not to show off, but maybe there’s a little bit of ‘jock’ there. Ha. ‘Drama queen’ is one I’d rather not be associated with, but I can’t say I haven’t gossiped or been involved in a few dramatic bouts just like the rest of us. The inner ‘circuit kid’ comes out about once a month when I feel the need to dance to the latest dance tunes and techno in a half (if not full) drunken stupor. And I guess I’m part ‘dreamer,’ part ‘regular-guy,’ and part ‘loner’ at times, depending on my mood. Really, I just try to be as genuine and straightforward as possible; and it seems that I am becoming more and more of an open book as we continue on this journey. It’s a ‘what you see is what you get’ mentality, and hopefully that’s what comes across.

I don’t think anyone really fits perfectly into any category solely and specifically. We can joke about it, and hopefully laugh at ourselves; but we’re all unique people in the end, and that’s what makes life great. So beyond what’s here, I’ll defer to letting you decide for yourself what categories I fit into and what makes me, well, me.

Any further questions are certainly encouraged. I will do my best to answer them, and thanks for the interest!

What Flavor Are You?

Anyone who ever thought that every gay man could be categorized or stereotyped or typified, or whatever into a certain type of person…well, I’ve got news for you. We aren’t all Uncle Arthur. In fact, I can think of a number of subcategories under which to categorize our team. Let’s see how many we can come up with.

The Drama Queen- if there isn’t any, he makes it up himself.

The Leather Man- ass-less chaps, whips, and harnesses abound.

The Previously Married Man- lived the straight life, and then crossed over to the dark side. He either likes the marriage kind of life and finds a male counterpart to take his wife’s place or he goes out whoring to make up for lost time. In either case, he’s definitely tired of fish.

The Bi-Guy- in denial.

The Ultra-butch Man- spent so long playing straight, he doesn’t know any other way. He tends to watch sports, drink lots of beer, belch….you know, manly sort of things. Wouldn’t know he was gay unless he told you.

The Bear- hairy, chubby, and often incredibly cuddly. Often have a rough exterior, but soft inside. Great to be in bed with on cold winter nights.

The Cub- younger version of the bear.

The Twink- tiny little boy, under 20 or so, weighs less than a buck. He likes colorful designer underwear and showing off his fatless physique. Often hairless, even if he has to shave it off.

The Workaholic- always after the green. He doesn’t have time for a boyfriend, his work and travel schedule won’t allow it. A new car is more immediately rewarding, anyway, right?

The Old-Fart- somehow single at 50 or 60 (wonder why), but somehow thinks he can attract the boys under 25. Been through a sting of ‘em, but once they hit 26, they’re too old for him. His own mental maturity doesn’t reach past the age or 18.

The Drag Queen- often fits under the drama queen category as well, these boys like tits and often fly to Mexico to get them cheap. They have two names, and a wardrobe for both.

The Bar Fly- no matter what time or when you walk into the local gay pub, he’s always there at the bar, watching the guys go by and chatting up the bartender, who knows him by name.

The Circuit Kid- (or party boy) always at the clubs, dancing the night away. Drunk or high, life’s always a party.

The Prep- (or brand whore) even his glasses are Burberry. He never goes out unless he’s dressed to the nines.

The Jock- (or gym whore) 5 times a week or more at the gym, not an ounce of fat on him, and you could probably wash your clothes on his stomach. He tends to linger in the gym locker room showing off his body in either a jock strap or nothing at all.

The Political Activist- always wants to know if you’re going to the next fairness meeting, or fundraiser, or parade. And if not, why.

The Woman- usually a total bottom, he is friends almost exclusively with women and tends to prefer activities like shopping, softball, decorating, and home maintenance.

The Serial Monogamist- he may or may not keep them for long, but he only does one at a time.

The Whore- fairly self-explanatory. He’s been with everyone you know and then some, and even has some of it recorded on tape.

The Regular Guy- he walks among us, unnoticed. Your basic average Joe who happens to like a little sausage for dinner.

The Professional- your dentist, lawyer, doctor, accountant, etc. He keeps a professional profile at work, but can get down and dirty after hours.

The Loner- he’s lived alone for years, pokes his head out every once in a while to say hello, but otherwise keeps a low profile.

The Dreamer- ran off to New York to be a dancer, or California to make it big, or simply left his home town for brighter skies.

And then, of course, there are those that don’t fit into any to any category. They have regular jobs, live regular lives, fall in love, and make families just like the rest of us. We can laugh about it, but the point is, there really is no one type of anything, especially when it comes to people. What does it all have to do with romance? Nothing, I guess, except that with all these possible people, imagine all the possible couple combinations. It’s a virtual zoo.