The Homeowner: Still trying to figure it out

By Mike Prevatt

There are a few quasi-revelatory things on my mind this week, so I thought I'd throw out a few random topics as opposed to waxing on about one in particular.

• I went to a party thrown by a lesbian couple last weekend. This is my second lesbian party, so now I feel experienced enough to comment about that culture, so to speak.

Most of what people--namely, gay men--say about lesbians is largely untrue, as many myths were somewhat debunked at this party. For starters, the shindig did not end before 10 p.m. In fact, I left before it ended. Also, it wasn't a bunch of girls talking about vagina, as I had been previously warned. I may have been the only person to mention pussy, and it was (mostly) in reference to the household cat. Lastly, the host/DJ did not play songs by Pink, the Indigo Girls or Joan Jett. So, there you have it.

However, lesbians really do love Birkenstock sandals. At least half the party-goers were wearing them, and I'm not talking just the girls. So pervasive is the entrancing power of Birkenstocks that most of the boys--gay and straight--in attendance were also wearing them, and this was in Los Angeles, home of the flip-flops. Some people were wearing those, too. I may have been the only participant wearing socks. Of all the things to make me self-conscious...

• Besides freelance writing, I tutor kids, and one of my clients recently told me he had a persuasive essay due soon, and so we needed to devise a deadline. I was like, cool, and asked him what his topic was. He said he wanted to argue the case for same-sex marriage.

I just about shit my pants. The seventh-grader is not only this jock-like rich kid who lives in an exclusive community, but he goes to a Catholic school. He recently had to write a 10-page punishment essay on bullying. He's pretty much the sort of kid I tried to avoid in my middle school years. And here he is, having successfully pitched a thesis to his teacher about how gay couples are entitled to the same marriage rights as straight couples. Furthermore, he already had a couple he knew who he planned to interview for the paper. At this point, I must've stopped concealing the surprised look on my face. "Oh, they're family friends," he said. "We go over and make pizzas from time to time." No shit.

I doubt he's doing it to impress me, as I'm not grading his paper and I don't discuss my private life with clients. I guess there's something to all that commentary and polling about Generation Y being far more gay-tolerant than any other age demographic. And it looks like I'm the one who has to keep more of an open mind.

• Back in January, I said this would be the year I'd fall in love. Well, I should have kept my big fat trap shut, because at the rate things are going, I'm ready to throw in the towel. It's probably just as well--if I ever got beyond a second date, I'd probably have an anxiety attack. (Then again, eating yogurt a day before its expiration date gives me an anxiety attack.)

I seriously don't know how you partnered gay men managed to do it. I have tried meeting guys at gay hangouts, straight hangouts, online, offline, through friends--you name it. I met two different guys this past month--one who answered a personal ad of mine, and one whose personal I answered--and they both produced disappointing results. Which is to say neither seemed very interested in me. And, being gay men, both had their own vague ways of informing me of this.

Few people go through life without getting passed up by those they're pursuing. I can accept that. However, get rejected enough and you start to point the blame at yourself. After the second of the aforementioned guys had all but rushed us out of Baja Fresh and me into my car, I remember having the worst feeling in my chest, and it wasn't post-burrito heartburn either. I started picking apart every fault of mine I could brainstorm, and I had no trouble finding something to obsess over, from my body frame to my conversational style. At some point, I couldn't distinguish the cause of my sadness--was I upset from the date or someone else's possible perception of me? I calmed down some time later, but the whole day left me exhausted on several different levels.

Since then, I've been reading countless screeds online by local gay men in their 20s who have all but given up looking for a soulmate. I remember one fellow's passionate posting--it wasn't a plea, but pure rant, and it was beautiful in its anger and frustration, and not just because I felt everything he was writing. I sent him a brief message of agreement, not expecting to forge some bond, mind you, but because at that moment, I finally felt a whole lot less insecure. And something tells me I should lay off the boy hunt until I can shed most or all of this unhealthy apprehension.

The Homeowner appears biweekly. Send your comments and nude pics (especially if you look like Joseph Gordon-Levitt) to oughtabeinporn@yahoo.com.