This is a blog, for the lonely...

Being single and gay in New York City is not easy. It's filled with twists, turns, temptations and, inevitably, heartbreak. After a while, being single becomes a way of life. You start accepting the Saturday nights alone as the norm. You find yourself being the third wheel more often than you'd care to admit. There's the dreaded, "Why don't you come over and have dinner with us?" pity invitation. And everywhere you go, it seems like there are only relationships: The couple kissing on a wall late at night, the minimalist lighting candle-lit dinner for two displayed in the window of an ultra-chic restaurant -- is that what I am supposed to look like? Is that love? And of course, the hand-holding couple blocking your way on a crowded sidewalk. You hurry by, annoyed they weren't considerate enough to notice the effect of their hand-holding, but really, you wish it were you. 

Us... it's funny. Being single... you start remembering the previous "us" that you yourself used to be a part of. Even if that us wasn't the best, you start wishing you were in that us once again, just to feel less... me, myself and I. 

Lately, I've been spending more and more time with myself. Ironically, when you are in a relationship, you sometimes wish you had more time to yourself. 

It's not so bad, though, ensuring one's own sanity by spending time with that one person you should always be able to count on... yourself. What is it they say? If you can't love yourself, how the hell are you going to love someone else? 

This "me" time has entailed trips to visit old friends, long mid-day naps, midnight movies with myself just to avoid the throngs of irksome hormone drenched teenagers whose narration of a film ultimately ruins the experience, and reading books.  

Despite the me time, winter in NY is the worst time to be single. Tis the season to hibernate. This hibernation includes curling up under blankets watching movies on Netflix, enjoying home-cooked evening meals and glasses of wine, splurging on an exotic getaway just to sit by a pool and catch a tan... yet, when you're single, you're forced to prepare for the upcoming summer. This means, becoming a gym bunny. Braving the elements to walk to the local Equinox, or, in my impoverished case, NYSC. 

It's that, or get fat. 

I've been avoiding of late the gym, and those other gay forums: those other jungle captivities where we gays prowl for mates: the bar. 

This weekend was no exception to any of the above. I was single and, whether as a result of the cold, or the massive migraine stemming from the five hour examination I took on Saturday, I stayed in. Sometimes you just have to spend some time all alone, with yourself, a good book, and a glass of wine. And that's what I did. What's the alternative? Spending dollars upon dollars on drinks at a bar that looks like any other bar? Having inebriated, frivolous conversation? Other temptations?

The weekend must end...

When you're a teacher, life is never completely predictable. Every day... every hour holds unexpected surprises. Monday morning began as any typical Monday. I groggily awoke, staring at the blue projection of the time on my ceiling, debating the day. My morning routine had included Starbucks, but an unfortunate rendezvous with a ticket-happy traffic officer has forced me to become reacquainted with my Mr. Coffee. I probably should have taken a previous cue from not one, not two, but three happenstance run-ins with the Ex, but I didn't. One of these run-ins occurred at Starbucks en route to work a few months prior. 

I went through my day incident free, with the 9am exception in which a hyper-active student attempted to drive through me at warp speed. Upon blocking her entry into my classroom, she exclaimed, "Come on!" Knowing this student, as I do, I decided we weren't going to have 'this' today, nor were we starting the week this way. "Do you see me smiling?" She 'sucked her teeth.' "Excuse me, you need to calm yourself down..." she turned around at this point... "... and turn around and face me, without the attitude, please, because I have more attitude in my one little pinky than you have in your entire body, so get it together." At this she turned her body, faced me, slowly raised her gaze to meet my unblinking one, and waited. I then said, "Thank you. Now, let's try this again. Good morning," to which I extended my hand and waited for her to shake it. She responded, calmly, "I can't, I have too much in my hands and I'll drop my books." "Fair enough..." She entered. 

Fair enough. 

Every other student usually gets a handshake when they enter. Or a high five (hand clap). 

The day continued. I rarely gain an opportunity to take or make calls during the day. At lunch, I used the opportunity of reprieve to make check my voicemail. I noticed I'd received several voicemails from the same number. I called and checked... after listening to several older voicemails (I had voicemails), I finally got to the number which called throughout the day. It was my doctor. He called to tell me that my annual blood-work came back, and, bluntly, explained I tested positive for Chlamydia. Oh, joy. Just in time for the holidays. This hand clapper had the clap. 

But, I had to scratch my head. Who was party to this... holiday present? Sex is often a topic that isn't much discussed, but for the moment, let's pretend the Puritans landed elsewhere. I couldn't remember who was responsible (aside from the obvious me, myself and I). I decided I must have had this without realizing it for some time (how many weeks?). I would have to now take the time out to go downtown to my pharmacy and pick up the bitter prescription. 

The day progressed as usual: staff meeting, crying student after school, impromptu G.E.D. class substitution, to which I was personally mortified (how did our educational institutions fail these literally illiterate adults?). I forced myself to take the drive downtown. 

My pharmacist handed me the prescription with the slyest smile, "Don't worry, baby, it's only one time. Knock it right out." "Thanks, ma'am." 

I decided I needed a drink. Why not? Being single allows these things doesn't it? It allows those who fail to return calls to not do so... it allows those who send mixed signals to do so... and it certainly should allow those of us "me, myself, and I's" to have a drink when we find out with a Thunderclap that we have... the clap. 

I walked over to Meatpacking, stopping at a Church to pray. I prayed. I prayed for my friend. 

Cold nights in Meatpacking is high heals, fur coats, and cars filled with single, straight White men seeking their mates. I decided I'd find my friend, David. David works at a restaurant called Catch, a swanky place where the doorman looks like an Armani model and escorts you to the elevator, which takes you to the second floor, where the first level of the restaurant is. When the doors opened, I almost gasped. "So this is where the money is," I heard myself whisper. From wall to wall, men and women ate, drank and mingled in designer couture. For a moment, I forgot it was Monday, and almost sat at the bar. 

Meanwhile, David was nowhere to be found. I left. It was time to seek sustenance. I decided on a more suitable, low-key Thai place. En route, I called C. C is a new friend who didn't seem to mind that I had C, and asked if he could see me that evening. I declined. But I began thinking, being single in New York, what won't a single guy do to not feel... lonely? 

I sat in the Thai restaurant and it occurred to me, I was the only single guy there, eating alone. To my left, a gay couple munched on Pad Thai. To my right, a very attractive young couple pretended to eat, and, in stereotypical fashion, she feigned interest in his vapid, self-indulged conversation. Both were clearly models. 

I found myself staring at a woman who clumsily came in to pick up her take-out. She noticed me staring and began acting a way that, foreign to me, I attributed to invitation. Her body language suggested that if I'd gone over and talked to her, I would have gotten a date. She even did the classic, 'look back' upon exiting the establishment. I perfected this move! Little did she realize...

I stopped by Starbucks for a Chai tea and drove home, windows down, engendering the illusion of freedom, even if just for the fifteen minutes it took me to drive home. New Jersey and the George Washington glittered over the dark Hudson to the left of the West Side Highway, and to the right, tall sky scrapers invited intrigue and speculation. "Moves Like Jagger" came on the radio. Next, some sentimental song. Then an even more sentimental Mariah Carey song, which reminded me of the close friend I said a prayer for earlier. 

And as I drove home, wind through my hair, Chlamydia in my belly, antibiotic in my bag, and Mariah on the radio belting, "When you left, I lost a part of me / it's still so hard to believe / come back baby, please, cuz' / we belong together..." I couldn't help but let the tears in my eyes go, and smile a little. I may be single. I may be lonely. I may be poor. I may have an STD. But, in that moment, I realized: I am me. I know who I am, I'm not pretending, I have nothing but love to give and receive, I have goals and direction, I'm adaptable, I'm curious, and I'm comfortable being alone. I think my friend would be happy to hear that. And after he gave me a clap on the hands, he'd smile, "I can't believe you have the clap. You whore."

When you're single, and even when you're not... every day is a new day. I wonder what tomorrow will bring.