Hey, how’s it goin’? Look, I know it’s only my first week, but… we should talk.
No, this isn’t about the fact that you saw me lifting and said, ‘Wow, Calhoun, butcher than ya look.”
We’ll get to that.
This is more about the fact that- well, there’s only one way to do this and it’s kinda awkward, so I’m just gonna rip the bandaid off.
I saw you on Scruff the other night. (For those of you that don’t know, Scruff is a gay social media app, like Grindr, but for dudes that like… well, actual dudes)
Okay, yes, we could flip this and ask why I was drunk and on Scruff, but let’s not miss the point.
You had your gallbladder out, like, two weeks ago! You’re still healing! Jeez…
Anyways, just wanted to express my concern, but ya know what? You do you, buddy.
Dear Grindr Guys,
Now, no one has mistaken me for observant in my 25 years of life, but I couldn’t help but notice something.
In your little “about Me” section, I almost always see the words “No hook-ups” or “Looking for LTR” (Long-term relationship, for those of you who don’t speak abbrevs) at the bottom.
Yet, you guys always seem to be the ones sending me dick pics…
I’m a great many things, but chaste? Not one of ‘em.
Not slutty, but not chaste. There’s a lotta room in between the two, amirite?
It just seems to me “No hook-ups” is usually code for “whichever way you wanna take me.”
I mean, it’s like the slutty Bat-signal or whatever.
I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that. Sex is great between two consenting adults.
I’m just saying, at least own it.
Cuz seriously, this “no hook-ups” thing, followed by some pictures of your downstairs parts, followed by the oh so romantic proposal of “into?” is getting old.
Dear Salvation Army,
You’re the homophobic ones and yet I’m the dick if I don’t give you any money.
How’d ya swing that? No, seriously, it’s impressive how you prey on a sense of compassion to guilt people out of their money.
But ya know what? I feel like we’ve done this whole song and dance before. I’ve scolded you and you’ve- well, you’ve not responded, but I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be happy with my… word choice. Yeah, that’s what we’ll call it.
Still, I thought you should know, you’re on the wrong side of a losing battle.
Even the Religious Right is on board with same-sex marriage now. Sure, there are some who are straggling, which is to be expected but, well, they’re kinda like rats fleeing a sinking ship.
So, Salvation Army, why don’t you get with the times? Stop reading the Bible so literally (especially considering it would prevent you from wearing those awesome multi-fabric vests when you’re ringing your bells. It’s in the same Book of Leviticus, look it up) and learn to adapt.
Or at the very least, don’t scowl at me when I don’t give you any money. Okay, maybe that was in response to me telling the guy ringing his bell, “I would give you money, but sorry, all of mine has ‘gay’ on it and I wouldn’t want you to catch it. Cold and flu season and all.” We could probably both stand to evolve on this one.
Dear Upstairs Neighbor,
Hey there, guys, lemme just catch you up real quick.
My name is Calhoun, I’m the new guy living in the basement apartment.
Alright, all caught up? Good. Now let’s get down to brass tacks.
Two of you are gay. Two of you are straight.
Us? Down here we make it easy. Big homo apartment.
But you guys, you just insist on being difficult, don’t you?
I mean, I have my hopes for which of you are gay and which are straight, but theorizing doesn’t really help any of us, now does it?
So if you could start wearing name tags… not with your actual names on them, no I’m actually good enough that I still remember them from our introductions. No, if you could wear name tags that state your sexual preference?
Yeah, that’d be great. Or maybe if I could acquire some gaydar? Nah, you guys should probably do the name tags thing… it’s less work on my part.
Dear Shallow Gay Men,
Originally, my plan was to confine this to the Los Angeles area, but for all its faults, LA is not the only home to the vapid gay man. While their migratory patterns attract a lot of them to Southern California, alas they are a problem everywhere.
That being said, I’m tired of you. Yes, you shallow gay man that shouts lewd things at me when I run. The very same shallow gay man that whispers and laughs whenever I don’t take the time to put in my contacts and go out in my chunky glasses instead.
The gay community struggles for equality and you and your catty friends sip mimosas at brunch and gossip.
If I didn’t dislike you so much, I’d almost pity you. I mean, it’s gotta be awful knowing that you contribute nothing to the world: that you only exist to make others look more intelligent by comparison.
Don’t get me wrong, I have my shallow moments too. I can appreciate a good-looking guy, but if he has nothing interesting to say? (A frequent problem of the shallow gay man, of course) There’s really nothing to be said about how he looks because he’s insufferable in every other regard. So take your withered defense mechanism of trashing others to feel good about yourself and enjoy the next few years you have of looking attractive to anyone, because I can guarantee it won’t last much longer and when that happens? Man, are you screwed.
Look, while I’m all for a suggestive name, I’ve always been a fan of the underrated charm of a little subtlety.
Oh, so you’re a gay bar named a euphemism for male genitalia? How daring! Nobody’s ever done that before!
Why don’t you take some of the money you’ve clearly spent on your Facebook advertising budget (seriously, every time I log on, I see Wang’s… okay, that one was a little funny) and spend it on a new creative team that can brand you a little better?
Yesterday, while enjoying lunch with one of my buddies, the topic of me being gay came up as you were walking by. Now, observers, to give you an idea how gay our waiter was, we’re talkin’ Kinsey six, with at least three drag costumes in his closet, but a really nice guy.
Still, when you heard, you spun around in disbelief. After staring at me slack-jawed for a few moments, you managed to utter, “you are not.”
Naturally, I laughed. I may not be a club-loving, Madonna-worshipping, sex-in-the-bathroom-having gay stereotype, but I assure you folks, I like men.
After you pranced off (the man does kinda prance, this is not poetic license) and we had a good laugh, you returned to your state of shock and awe.
Again, you said little more than “you are not.”
Still gay, dude.
This back and forth went on for the rest of the meal, during which I endured prolonged glances, occasional tussling of the hair, and an unexpected free glass of orange juice.
But back to my question. Seriously, what is so hard to believe about me being gay?
I may not lisp or walk around with a limp wrist, but I’m gay in the bedroom and isn’t that where it counts?
So besides the unnecessary attention and the unwarranted skepticism, I’d like to know, what’s it matter to you that I’m gay? I don’t mean that in an overly hostile way, since, ya know, being gay got me free OJ. It just seems a little weird is all.
Dear Queen Latifah,
Give it up already.
We all know. Seriously, it’s okay. We won’t judge you.
Well, as long as you’re one of those fun lesbians like Ellen, not one of the mean ones like Jodie Foster.
Anyways, I think we all know it’s been a long time comin’ so why don’t you take those Birkenstocks out of your closet and proudly wear them in public? Wait, is that an offensive stereotype?
… ya know what, it’s fine, maybe skip the Birkenstocks. I never really liked Birkenstocks anyways.
I dunno, just go to an Indigo Girls concert or something.
Dear Homo and Hag,
Yours is truly a relationship that will last throughout the ages. Well, that is until something with a 30-inch waist and decent arms comes along… but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
The fact of the matter is, when the Religious Right is taking about homosexuality being unnatural, they are undoubtedly referring to the relationship between a fag and his hag.
After all, you really think the likes of Newt Gingrich can understand why a man would hang out with a beautiful woman and not try to fuck her? Such things are beyond him.
But the Religious Right may not be far off. Not about the homosexuality thing. They’re way off base there. But the complex dynamic between gay man and straight woman? It’s kinda… bizarre, if you think about it. Especially when you consider the co-dependent nature of most of these relationships.
So I’m gonna tell you what every Judith Light Lifetime movie will tell you. “If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it’s yours. If it doesn’t, it never was.” Inspirational shit, right? Basically, deal with the fact that you’ll both be alone at some point. It’s healthier that way.
And for God’s sake, stop calling TiVo-ing Grey’s Anatomy and eating 94% Fat-Free Orville Redenbacher popcorn “date night.” It makes us all look bad.
Dear Fran Drescher,
I like that you can turn the personal tragedy of your husband coming out to you into something funny.
I mean, your new show is supposed to be funny, right?
I got that idea from the laugh track, but ya know, I actually have yet to find something genuinely humorous in your show.
Truly, the idea of putting up with your nasally laugh and lowest-commmon-denominator humor is enough to turn any straight man gay.
But please do yourself a favor and stop debasing yourself for an ounce of fame. I mean, you’re on TV Land for God’s sake. If you’re gonna whore yourself out, at least do it on Lifetime!