A dejected Jordan unscrewed the light bulb and we went to bed.  I woke up early the next morning, initially uncertain of my surroundings.  Then I remembered everything.  I crawled up, gathered my things, and crept out of bed.

And then I saw them: the poppers.  Now, I didn't NEED them, but I saw an opportunity to cause trouble, and I couldn't resist.  I grabbed the bottle, put it in my pocket, and got out of there.

I was going to have the cleanest VCR in all of West Hollywood.

ABOUT: TALES OF WEST HOLLYWOOD
Seeking a change in his life, the author moved to his own apartment in West Hollywood in 2008. The column is a look at the life of this single 30 year-old who's enjoying his life while casually looking for Mr. Right…or Mr. Right Now.

For this week’s Thirsty Thursday tale of debauchery, I didn’t have to reach too far into my bag of tricks….just as far back as my Palm Springs getaway this Memorial Day weekend.  It was just me, a couple of friends, and the rest of West Hollywood.

On Sunday afternoon, after a day of lounging and drinking by a few different hotel pools, my friends and I made our way to a beer bust a few miles away.  The bust was, well, kind of a bust, but we had fun anyway and had a few drinks in the process.  After waiting quite a while outside for the cab we’d called, one finally pulled up into the lot.  We flagged it down, and just as we were getting in, a guy jumped out of nowhere to try to get into it.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” we yelled.  “That’s our cab.  What are you doing?”

The man, attractive, mid-30s, apologized.  “I’m really sorry.  I’m in a hurry to get back downtown.  Could we split it?”

“Well, maybe.   What’s it to you?” asked my friend Vince.

“I don’t know….I’ll pay for the ride, he offered.”  We climbed into the backseat of the cab and put on our seat belts.  I turned to Vince.

“I think that’s fair.”  Vince shook his head.

“You gotta do better than that.”

“Like what?” the guy asked.

“Blow my friend,” said Vince, gesturing to me.

Now, we were a little tossed, but certainly not that far-gone.  Still, I looked to the guy, curious to his reaction.  He looked over, sized me up, and said, “Sure!”

The driver, silent up until this point, turned around and gave us his two cents.

“I’m all for it, too!  Go ahead, guys.”  Off our stunned faces, we took off.

I wasn’t sure exactly how this was going to play out.  I can’t say I’ve ever gotten head in in the back of a taxi.  Driving my own car, in a movie theater, in a public park….uh, maybe.  But this was uncharted territory.

I was in the left seat, Vince in the middle, and the guy on the right.  After an awkward pause, the guy slid his hand over to my crotch.

“What do you want me to do?” Vince asked.

“Uhhh, change places please?!”  They quickly switched seats, and the guy unzipped my pants and started his business.  I looked up to see that the driver was fixated on his rear view mirror.  Awesome.

“Enjoying the show?” I asked.

“Yes….don’t stop.”  Okay, so this was already officially one of the weirder moments of my life.  But the guy was also doing a really good job, so I couldn’t complain.  And my friend was there, which was a little awkward.  Ba dum bum.

We continued on for about a mile.  The driver then received a call from the dispatcher.  Apparently someone named William had called the company, complaining that his cab never arrived from that location.  The driver turned around, stared for a moment, and then asked if any of us was William.  My guy came up for air for a minute.

“I’m not William!  Maybe YOU guys stole William’s cab.  Wouldn’t that be --“ 

The driver turned around and cut him off.

“Um, excuse me, sir.  Shouldn’t there be a dick in your mouth right now?”

“You’re right,” said the guy, and he went back to work.  #bestcabrideever

ABOUT: TALES OF WEST HOLLYWOOD
Seeking a change in his life, the author moved to his own apartment in West Hollywood in 2008. The column is a look at the life of this single 30 year-old who's enjoying his life while casually looking for Mr. Right…or Mr. Right Now.

I am a firm believer that one person’s trash is another person’s treasure.  Look no further than the success of thrift stores such as Buffalo Exchange and Crossroads.  Living in a big city like LA, these places are loaded with almost-new designer clothes.  There’s nothing wrong with most of these items; their owners were just either bored or wanted to trade in (or up) for something different.  

This also holds true for the dating world, particularly in West Hollywood.  There’s a limited dating pool here, and with the advent of Facebook and Grindr, an already small world has become microscopic.  

Last year I went on a trip with a group of friends, and there was a newbie among us.  We all got to know him a little bit that weekend, and over the next couple months, he went on some dates with a couple of us.  This guy, Trevor, caught a great deal of flack for his actions.  “He’s just making his way around the whole group!” someone would say, probably frustrated they hadn’t been included.   “He’s a cock tease!” another person would cry.  Trevor couldn’t win.  It’s as if there were some imaginary rules he should be playing by – if you meet a new group of people, there must be little to no befriending or dating as a result.  Trevor was either being too promiscuous (mind you, he wasn’t sleeping with any of us) or not slutty enough, depending on the measuring stick.

Trevor and I wound up going out at some point, and despite the drama surrounding the situation, I was excited to get to know this good looking, bright, charismatic guy.  We had a nice dinner for our first date and made out in my car for a while afterwards.   The conversation was a little slow, and I didn’t exactly feel us clicking, but I definitely wanted to give it another shot.  

For the next date we went bowling – certainly an original idea – and we were having a good time.  I bowl every few years and I’m extremely inconsistent – I’ll throw a turkey followed by four gutter balls.  We had some good laughs about that.  

After dinner, we perused items in a Bed Bath & Beyond store.  “I don’t think you’re having a very good time,” Trevor said to me, out of the blue.  He wasn’t too far off the mark.  We weren’t really clicking on a romantic level, and I felt awkward, though I was trying to hide it.  “No no, I am,” I said.  Now it was even weirder.  

We exited the store and got some coffee.  One of our mutual friends had recently gotten a haircut that made him look like a certain lesbian journalist with her own show on MSNBC.  I had Photoshopped said friend as this TV personality, and I brought the image up on my phone, sure that I’d get a laugh out of Trevor.  I held the phone up and waiting for his reaction.  

All I got was a blank stare.

“Who is Rachel Maddow?” he asked.

My mind went into overdrive.  I’m a hardcore political junkie.  I realize not everyone is, but there’s a certain level of awareness, particularly for a bright guy such as Trevor, that I have come to expect.  

I started instantly trying to make excuses for him.  Maybe he’s being silly and pretending we’re on Jeopardy!  Yes, that must be it.  I gave him the clue, and now he’s just providing the question:  “Who is Rachel Maddow?”  Yes, Trevor.  That is correct for $400 and control of the board.

But then he said it again.  “Really, I don’t know who that is.”

I try not to base judgment on any one single incident.  I’m not Jerry Seinfeld or Larry David.  But for me, political awareness, at the very least, is a necessity.  Rachel Maddow, like her or not, is a champion of so many causes that are near and dear to my heart – health care, income inequality, salvaging Social Security, marriage equality.  Rachel is so smart, so funny, and so accessible.  She’s been on the scene for over four years now. At least know who she is.

The lack of chemistry, the awkwardness, and now this – I knew it was time to throw Trevor back into the sea.  While he was a catch in many ways, he wasn’t what my pole and I were fishing for at that time.  

I happened to post this on my Facebook (blocking it from Trevor) the next day:  “Is it terrible to stop seeing someone because they don’t know who Rachel Maddow is?”  Dozens of ‘likes’ and comments later, the consensus was that it was kind of harsh for most people, but it was probably a good idea since it was me.

A couple months later, one of my good friends met Trevor, and they instantly connected.  Again, many members of our shared group were up in arms.  “He’s at it again!  When will he stop?”  Honestly, we need to encourage each other to get out there and connect.  We spend so much time in our bubbles, on our phones, oblivious to the big world our there where our next best friend or boyfriend could exist.  

I ended up dating a friend of a friend, who I’d known for some time, a few months later.  There was an instant connection – physically and emotionally – and it was a short-lived but very satisfying affair.  On our first date, we got to know each other better over yogurt, and then spent a few hours making out on his sofa.  

At one point we came up for air, and my date mentioned he had been ‘Falking’ (Facebook stalking) me earlier in the day.

“I just want you to know something,” he said.

“What’s that?” I asked, still very swept up in the moment.

“I know who Rachel Maddow is,” he said with a smile.

While things didn’t ultimately work out with this guy either, it hasn’t discouraged me from returning to my local thrift stores and rummaging through the racks from time to time.  I always keep an open mind when it comes to trying on vintage jacket or pair of pants; you never know which one will be the perfect fit.

ABOUT: TALES OF WEST HOLLYWOOD
Seeking a change in his life, the author moved to his own apartment in West Hollywood in 2008. The column is a look at the life of this single 30 year-old who's enjoying his life while casually looking for Mr. Right…or Mr. Right Now.

After grabbing some beer at the nearby 7-11 so that we didn’t look like complete mooches, we found our way to where he was staying, which was a very chic, modern house with a beautiful backyard pool and hot tub.  Justin had several friends also staying at the house, and I quickly found myself getting to know Dan and John, a beautiful couple visiting from Vancouver. 

Turns out it was Dan’s birthday, and we were joining in the celebration.  The alcohol was free flowing as we all got to know each other better.  Things started getting really friendly between the Vancouver couple and me, and we found ourselves in their bed somewhere after the fifth round of margaritas.

After a steamy encounter between the three of us and a shower, Dan, the birthday boy, insisted on driving me back to my friends’ place.  (They had since left for another party.)  We pulled up to the apartment complex, parked, and proceeded to make out for a bit.  Dan then shot straight up and let out a yelp.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He pulled a coin up and placed it on the dashboard.  “I was sitting on this quarter!”  We had a good laugh.

Dan then put his hand on my knee and leaned in a little closer.  He suddenly looked very serious, as if something was weighing on him heavily.

“I’m not quite sure how to say this, so I’m just going to come right out and ask…” he began.

“Okay……”

“I don’t want you to be offended, it’s just something that was on my mind this afternoon….”

Dear lord….what on Earth could this guy I’d met just hours earlier be drawing out like this?   Did he have some post-game commentary on our sex-capades?  Did he find a suspicious-looking mole while washing me up in the shower?  Did he see me eyeing that houseplant as we were leaving?!  (I did NOT take anything….how would I have hidden it on the ride home?)

“Just spit it out, Dan.”

And then he spit it out. 

“Are you a prostitute that my boyfriend hired for my birthday?”

My mouth dropped down to my lap, over my seatbelt, and finally to the floor.  Dan could see I was caught off guard….just a bit.

“Well it’s just, you know, you’re my exact physical type, and it’s my birthday, and you just kind of appeared out of nowhere…”

This question had immediately sobered me up.  Did I come across as particularly slutty?  I was part-offended, part flattered.”

“Say something.  I mean…..are you?”

I looked him right in the eyes.  “Yes, yes I am.  And your boyfriend forgot to pay me.”

Now it was Dan whose jaw dropped.  “Oh god, how, how much did he offer you?” 

I watched the panicky expression, his eyes bugging out of his head.  I couldn’t torture him any longer.

“Nah, I’m just messing with you,” I said.  “I’m friends with Justin.  I brought people with me to the house. Why would you ask me that?”

He looked uncomfortable.  “I don’t know…..It was just a great birthday gift, that’s all.   You were a great gift.  Please don’t be mad.”

I unbuckled my seat belt.  “I’m not.  But, you should know, all my sex is pro boner…”

He laughed, gesturing at the still-visible bulge in my pants.  “You don’t have to tell me that,” he said. 

I smirked at my Freudian slip, then reached for the quarter he’d left on the dashboard.  I got out of the car and leaned in through the open window.

“Pro bono,” I corrected myself.  “All my sex is pro bono.”  I held up the quarter before walking away.  “I’ll just consider this my tip.” 

ABOUT: TALES OF WEST HOLLYWOOD

I hooked up with Ben on a cold winter’s night, fishing him out of a crowd on the sidewalk outside Fiesta Cantina at 2am.  He was handsome, fun, and eager to please beneath the sheets.  

“You are THE best kisser,” Ben kept telling me.  I mean, I’ve placed several times at State Make out Competitions, but I’ve never gone to Nationals.  

A few weeks after we met, Ben texted me (we had exchanged numbers that night) and asked if I’d like to do that again or have dinner, or both.  I laughed and replied that I liked his vibe and that we should go to dinner.  

Over sliders and beers at 8oz Burger, Ben and I got to know each other better.  This Renaissance man had a Master’s in Education from an Ivy League school, ran marathons, and was an alternate on last summer’s Big Brother.  I wasn’t quite sure if I was feeling a love connection, but there was definitely something there.  He hadn’t lived in LA for too long and was just acclimating, making friends and getting to know the area.

A week later, Ben took me to one of his favorite chain restaurants down in Long Beach where we stuffed our faces with nachos and a flight of seven beers each.  Ben was a character; he engaged the waiter in all of our conversation and made the guy sit and have a beer with us.  I was having a blast, though I felt us settling into friend territory.  I was uncomfortable because I didn’t know how he felt about that.

Ben went away for a few weeks on business but called, texted and Facebooked a few times. When he sent a text trying to set date number three upon his return, I knew I had to say something.

I really didn’t want to jeopardize what could be an amazing friendship with this wonderful man.  Was I thinking too highly of myself that he’d be crushed if I put the kibosh on another date?  I decided to be honest, to go with my gut, and to tell Ben the truth:  

I had herpes.  

No!  Not really.  I texted Ben that I had met someone (sort of true at the time) but that I thought he was amazing and I wanted to hang out when he got back.   As soon as I sent the text, I wondered if that was worse, the fact that I had brought another fictional person into this.  But there was no going back after I pressed ‘send.’

Ben issued a pretty cold response about us needing to return books we loaned to each other once he was back in LA.  I figured that was probably the end of that, and I was sad.

A few weeks later, Ben messaged me about a TV show we were both into, and he suggested we grab a drink sometime.  We set a plan and met up with mutual friends one Tuesday night, and to my pleasant surprise, it didn’t feel awkward at all.  We ended up downing a couple pitchers of beer at Motherlode and then making our way to Rage, where several of the contestants from Rupaul’s Drag Race had gathered.  

Ben, a huge fan of the show, pulled me aside and told me that his favorite dancer, Raja, was there and that we had to gush over her.  

“But I haven’t been watching the show!” I protested.  

“Just do your best,” he said, tugging on my arm.

We rushed over to Raja.  Ben introduced us (as if he knew her intimately) and let her know how much she was loved.  The booze must have started kicking in because I was suddenly all over this contestant.

“Raja!!  Raja!!  I can’t tell you how much your last performance moved me….I have never cried so hard in my life!  We love you so much!!!” I went on.  Even Ben was impressed that I – the more reserved one of the two of us – would go to these lengths.  Raja was touched.

“And I can hardly see your Adam’s apple!” I added.  Luckily, she laughed that off; I knew I’d probably gone to far enough lengths at that point.

I took Ben to a taping of the show I work on the next week, and we began having TV nights and other hangouts regularly.  He even asked me to serve on a panel with another friend of his (and a celebrity guest) to set him up on a date the other night.  I was just touched that Ben would trust me with such a decision, especially considering the way in which we met.  

The guy that the panel and I selected turned out to be a phenomenal match.  Ben called me after the date and we talked for hours about the experience and about how wonderful the date had gone.  

It just goes to show that when you meet someone, whether it’s a date, a hookup, or just someone in passing, you never know where it’s going to take you.  Ben and I went from one-night stand to semi-awkward dates to extraordinarily good friends.  

How often do you get that from someone you met at a Sidewalk Sale?

Seeking a change in his life, the author moved to his own apartment in West Hollywood in 2008.  The column is a look at the life of this single 29 year-old who's enjoying his life while casually looking for Mr. Right…or Mr. Right Now.

Dating and/or hooking up online can be a nice way to pass the time or boost one’s ego.  However, there are some rules I’d like to lay out that I wish everyone would follow:

• DO put up a face picture or at least have one readily available.  It’s 2011, people.  A nice torso is meaningless if there’s nothing attached to it.  Also, profile pics of landscapes are just lame.

• DON’T only post photos of yourself in hats and/or sunglasses.  That receding hairline and those crow’s feet are going to come out eventually.

• DO include your age (and the right one at that).  Shaving a few years off can be tempting, but save yourself the embarrassment of being questioned later or having to break the news yourself.  Not including your age makes you look like you have something to hide.

• DON’T specify that you’re only into a certain ethnicity in your profile.  Everyone is entitled to a preference but spelling it out reads as hateful and just tacky.

• DO be reasonable in your expectations.  Not everyone is going to respond to you, just like you (most likely) won’t respond to everyone.  It’s not a dinner party in someone’s living room; it’s the wonderfully grey area of the internet.

 ABOUT: TALES OF WEST HOLLYWOOD

 Seeking a change in his life, the author moved to his own apartment in West Hollywood in 2008.  The column is a look at the life of this single 29 year-old who's enjoying his life while casually looking for Mr. Right…or Mr. Right Now.

I’ve been known to knit pick when it comes to dating. 

Anyone who doesn’t know the difference between too/to/two, you’re/your or their/they’re/there isn’t going to last very long in my world.

I once chose to end things with someone I was dating because he wasn’t interested enough in politics.  (He balked when I could identify my senators but not the cast of the Real Housewives of Atlanta.) 

I had issues with a guy I hung out with whose head was more octagonal than round.  (What?  His face looked like a stop sign.) 

I dated a guy who growled when he was turned on (which was about every waking moment).  It’s one thing if you’re endorsing breakfast cereal; it’s another when you’re trying to enjoy a nice dinner.

I’ve always been particular about liking a guy’s voice, so when I went out with a guy who sounds like a cross between Kermit the Frog and a Valley girl, it, like, totally ended quickly.

In college I broke up with my boyfriend because he played out a series of disgusting pranks on his roommate.  What sort of pranks, you ask?  I’ll tell you.  This gentleman pleasured himself and spooned the *results* into his roommate’s face wash just for the hell of it.  A little funny?  Yes, but the poor kid didn’t do anything to deserve it. 

Sometimes I wonder if I’m being too choosy because I’m far from perfect; in fact, I know I can be perfectly annoying and eccentric at times. 

But you know what?  When it’s right – when it’s really, really right – I’ll know, and these Seinfeld-like observations will just melt away.

ABOUT: TALES OF WEST HOLLYWOOD

Seeking a change in his life, the author moved to his own apartment in West Hollywood in 2008.  The column is a look at the life of this single 29 year-old who's enjoying his life while casually looking for Mr. Right…or Mr. Right Now.

I brought a guy home with me from the bars one Friday night.  Cute guy, we were both a little tossed, and he seemed anxious to get back to my apartment.

Once we got through the door, we started making out voraciously, pausing only to kick off shoes and toss items from our pockets.

“So what are you into?” he asked, unbuttoning my shirt.

I never quite know how to answer that question when put on the spot like that.  There are the standard sexual positions in the gay world, of course, and making out, which is key.  But running through a laundry list of the others?

 “Regular stuff,” I said.

“Yeah, me too,” he replied.

We continued kissing and tearing each other’s clothes off.  And then he uttered eight little words that I’d waited my whole adult life not to hear:

“I want you to pee all over me.”

Jesus Christ.  I pushed him off me and, once he gathered his things, he was out the door.

Maybe I should get more serious about running through that check list.

And so ends another tale of West Hollywood.

ABOUT: TALES OF WEST HOLLYWOOD

Seeking a change in his life, the author moved to his own apartment in West Hollywood in 2008.  The column is a look at the life of this single 29 year-old who's enjoying his life while casually looking for Mr. Right…or Mr. Right Now.