Bon App(s)etit

As someone who has been on the journey to find a partner for over twenty years -- with no luck -- I often wonder how different my life would be if I'd been born in a different era. Being thirty-five in the age of social media, it feels like an already miniscule pond is even smaller. It doesn't help that the area I live in far from a gay metropolis. Sure, the surrounding areas -- Saginaw, Midland, Flint -- have a bigger gay community, but since I'm pretty much a hermit, it doesn't benefit me much. Two years ago, I went to Pride in Bay City hoping that I'd meet some guys, if not get a few phone numbers, but was disappointed when no one really batted an eye at me.

Social media has made it a lot easier to meet new people, but it's also made dating so much harder in many other aspects. When you have a seemingly infinite number of options, it's hard to stick to just one. Gay culture is predominately obsessed with youth and beauty, so when you can swipe left or right on a guy based simply on his looks, you are forgoing the experience of getting to know someone for more than his appearance in exchange for instant gratification. A newer, better, hotter option is always a click or a swipe away. The personal touch has been removed from the equation.

Grindr bills itself as a gay dating app, but the truth is it's all about hookups. While I try to avoid hookups -- they exacerbate my social anxiety -- I occasionally succumb to my more basic urges out of sheer desperation. As a man in my relative prime, I need something more than my hand to fulfill me sexually. I've never been a big hit on Grindr, at least in my area, but it seems like the guys are becoming more selective as the years go on. When I started on Grindr as a baby gay -- nineteen or twenty -- I was about 140 pounds; at 5'11" that definitely made me a twink. Twinks -- small, skinny gays -- are the most traditionally sought after type of gay, at least in my experience. The problem was, when I was a twink, the only guys that wanted me were in their thirties, forties, and above. I didn't want to have my first sexual experiences with men significantly older than I was. One of the most frustrating things about Grindr to me is the lack of consistency. If I completely shaved my pubes, men would complain that they didn't like it; if I grew them out, they bitched about it; I've found that some hair is more universally acceptable, but everyone has their own unique idea of what is deemed an acceptable amount. With the more widespread acceptance of the trans community, my chances with guys on Grindr have become even slimmer, as a lot of the guys that I would be into are simply looking for trans-women. Then there's the frustrating obsession with masculine versus feminine. While I think I tend to be more feminine for the most part, there are times that I am deemed too masculine for the guys looking for femme; conversely, I am considered too femme for the guys looking for masc. Then, of course, there's the DL guys who won't show face pictures. That has always irritated me to no end. While on the one hand, I respect how hard it can be to come out, I don't understand how someone can expect to get laid without showing their face. One point I always try to make with these guys is that if I did agree to meet up, I'd see their face anyway and be able to take a picture if I really wanted to. Also, Grindr has a cool feature where you can send an expiring photo that cannot be saved or screenshotted; in 2025, there is no excuse for not having a face pic. I like that Grindr's interface works on distance, so I can see who is in the area based on where I am, but I hate the toxicity of it. Everything comes down to looks and sex. Even the guys who claim to just be looking for friends are full of shit; nine times out of ten I'll message one and either get ignored or blocked. If you're just looking for a platonic friend, why does it matter how hot I am? The double standards are insane. I must have pissed someone off at some point, because one guy I messaged on Grindr told me that someone had told him that I was an alcoholic and addicted to pills; neither of those accusations is true. Sure, when I was in my early twenties, I liked to get drunk for my birthday, but I'd hardly consider than an alcoholic. As far as pills, I don't even like taking my Zoloft; I often have problems with pills getting stuck in my esophagus. The gays are cutthroat!

There are many dating apps available to use as well: Tinder, Match, OkCupid, POF (Plenty of Freaks,) Bumble, Hinge, Taimi, Facebook Dating... In one way or another these apps have helped me connect with guys, but unfortunately, the majority of the guys that I match or connect with are not in my area. It wouldn't be such a big deal if I wasn't so averse to traveling. Sure, I've met guys who have been willing to come to me, but in the long run, it isn't feasible. No one is going to want to drive to me every time. I could kid myself and say that I'd be willing to do the driving in the spring, summer, and fall, but deep down I know that isn't true. Fifteen, maybe twenty miles, sure, but I would not want to drive more than a half hour to be with someone. My mom always says that if you want something badly enough, you're willing to drive for it; not me. Maybe I don't want it as badly as I think I do. The thought has crossed my mind multiple times over the years that maybe I like the idea of being in a relationship more than the actual reality of being in a relationship and what that would entail. I already feel as though my free time is limited as it is; would I really want to give up the creature comforts that I've developed after years of being on my own, for the sake of company and potential orgasms? At thirty-five, I'm pretty set in my ways; I'd be willing to compromise on some things, but others are a hardline for me. I don't want to leave my cats, even for an overnight stay. I've lost two cats in the last two years -- one each winter -- the last thing I want to do is come home from a romantic getaway and find one of my precious babies dead on the floor. Seeing as three of them turned ten this year, the chances are increasing by the day.

When my Cersei died back in February, she'd been fine the night before. I came home from work, ate my dinner, smoked a bowl, and then was getting ready to hop into the shower when I found her laying on a mat by the shower. At first, I thought she'd just made herself a new little nesting spot since she was not too keen on the newer additions to our clowder, but the longer I looked at her, I realized that she wasn't breathing and she looked stiff, as if she was carved out of wood. It still hurts me that she died without me being there. I didn't get to tell her I love her one last time, or snuggle her. She was my first rescue and she had a deep attachment to me because of that. Even when the newer cats were around, she still came up onto the bed to be with me, as pissed off as she was. If I came home to find Romana -- my favorite -- dead, I'd lose my mind. I'm already dreading the day she crosses the Rainbow Bridge; I was there when she was born. She sleeps with me practically every night; if I'm in bed, she's curled up with me, purring away happily. I have been there for pretty much every day of her life for the past decade. Some people might think that it's weird and unhealthy to be as attached to my cats as I am; maybe they're right, but at the end of the day they're all that I have. I don't need friends or family in the same way that I need my babies. There was a guy I was talking to on Snapchat once who got deeply offended when I told him I'd never love him -- or anyone -- as much as I love my cats. He thought that was ridiculous, while I thought it was ridiculous that he was expecting to come first when we'd never even met in person.

With my social anxiety, the thought of meeting my significant other's family makes me sick to my stomach. I already have a hard enough time meeting new people: do I be myself and risk scaring them off by being my authentic weird self, or do I try to act normal, which just makes me look even more crazy because I don't know how to be normal? The pressure of getting someone to like to me in a romantic way is immense enough without adding in his family too. With most people, I've learned to not care if they like me or not, after all, why should people who play such small roles in my life have such power over me? But, when it comes to a significant other's parents/family, that's a completely different story. If things go well, these are people that I would potentially see quite regularly, especially on holidays. These are people who have known my partner way longer than I have and presumably want only the best for him. I'm not saying I'm not a nice person, but I also understand how I come across to people who don't know me well. Those who have stuck it out and whom I feel comfortable being myself around tend to fall in love with my crazy antics and sassy personality, but it takes a while to get to that point. I fear that if I ever did have a partner that wanted to introduce me to his parents I'd blow it at that first meeting and the relationship would be sabotaged. I've never been, nor will I ever be, a normal person. I wouldn't be surprised to find out that I am somewhere on the autism spectrum. I'm fully aware that it would take a person of remarkable kindness and patience to put up with me and my bizarre idiosyncrasies. I was an only child until I was twelve; I've never had a serious relationship; I'm used to doing what I want, when I want, full stop. Integrating other people into your life is difficult enough for normal people; I can't imagine how I would cope. Sure, in the beginning I'd be so excited and relieved to have someone actually love me that I'd jump through hoops to make him happy, but once the contempt of the familiar started to set in and the shininess wore off my new toy, I can't help but wonder if I'd retreat back into my hermit ways. I'd be perfectly content to never leave my apartment again; if I could work from home and get all my groceries delivered, I'd be in Heaven. The outside work is cold and scary; in my sanctuary I am safe and comfortable. It's not uncommon for me to put my phone on silent and/or turn on Airplane Mode so that I am completely unreachable; there are days that I don't want to talk to or see anyone. I use my alone time to recharge my social battery for the work week when I am forced to be around people -- and not all of them people that I want to be around.

The apps have done a lot for people like me who aren't go-getters, but they're also a hindrance as well. I can connect with someone online way easier than I could in person because online I can be whomever I want to be. I can hide my insecurities and neuroses behind a fake persona. When the interactions enter into the real world, the fantasy dissolves and in its place there is only the cold, harsh truth of reality. Some guys that I have met in person are actually as kind and attractive as their online persona, but some have been the opposite. Some guys are impatient, snappy, condescending in person, not to mention the lack of personal hygiene. Online, you can't smell the other person's B.O. or bad breath, you can't see the pile of rotting pizza boxes and Monster cans shoved into the corner of their room. When it comes to illusion versus reality, reality is almost always a disappointment, at least in my experience. You can't really know a person until you've met them and spent significant time with them.

Another downside to online dating is that you don't ever know how many other people your person is talking to. This is true in the real world as well, but the divide that online dating provides exacerbates the lack of commitment. There have been numerous times that I've connected with a guy online, we exchanged numbers, made soft plans to go on a date, almost always even went so far as sexting, and then suddenly the guy is angrily responding to my text saying that he has a boyfriend and that I need to leave him alone. When I first started my dating journey, the idea of talking to multiple guys at once was unfathomable to me, but as I've gotten older and learned how to play the game a little more skillfully, I've grown to see the benefit of it. It never hurts to have options, but I'm also not callous enough to even insinuate the possibility of more if I'm only wanting to exchange nudes or sext. I don't like leading people on; I've always found that honesty really is the best policy. I'd much rather be honest and miss out on seeing a guy's dick and ass than get to see it all and then hurt him when he wants to go on a date and I have to crush his hopes and dreams. Under my cold demeanor there beats a heart that really does care about other people and does not want to hurt anyone in the ways that I've been hurt.

In a perfect world I could just conjure up my soul mate: tall, thin, dark hair, brown eyes, impeccable hygiene. Someone who exists solely for when I want/need attention, and then conveniently fades into the ether until the next time I have a yearning. In that scenario I wouldn't have to worry about being cheated on or not fulfilling my partner's own wants and needs; he'd exist simply to make me happy, and in doing so, I would make him happy. Our personalities would be completely compatible; we'd have all the same interests and dislikes; we'd never fight. If only life were that simple.

At the end of the day, I am very much someone who wants love. Sure, I lean more toward the fantasy, Hollywood version of love, but I do want it. Part of me is too afraid to step out of my comfort zone, open myself up to possibilities that aren't currently presented to me. After all, I can't get hurt if I'm not really out there in the world, right? But conversely, if I continue to languish in my safe space, I know that I will never get to experience what it's like. I'll always fantasize about it and wonder what could have been. I don't know how I'd handle an actual break up; I don't take rejection well, but then again, who does? Part of me fears that I ever were to have a relationship and it did end, that I would just retreat back to my Fortress of Solitude to lick my wounds and never come out again. Bones break, but they can be healed; a broken heart can far more painful and even though hearts heal as well, they don't ever heal exactly as they were before. With every heart break the foundation gets more weathered and cracked, like a coffee mug that has been broken and glued back together numerous times; while in theory it is put back together, when you actually look at it, it may have the basic shape as before, but the cracks cannot be repaired, the chips are permanent.

I'd like to believe that somewhere out there in the wide, beautifully chaotic world is a guy who is tailer made for me, just waiting for us to cross paths. I know that that isn't true, but I keep that fantasy alive in my heart because it gives me hope, it gives me strength, it helps me bounce back when I do get my hopes crushed and my heart chipped. I suppose that only time will tell if there is a guy out there that I can love enough to co-exist with and break out my shell for. Stranger things have happened. If you lose your faith, what's left? Without hope there is nothing to keep you going through the hard times, when all hope seems lost and the darkness seems insurmountable.