• voices •
OREGON S LGBTO N EW S M A G A ZIN E
N O VE M B ER 11, 2011
31
T # T
S a m e F e e lin g s, O p p o s ite T im e s
Many things work as typical harbingers of
autumn. O ur summer vanishes in the blink of
an eye, attention turns toward costumes and
parties, daylight grows scarce— and all your
friends seem to shack up, marking the official
end to a- season-long search for comfort and
warmth during cold, wet nights. Add a Portland
exodus that’s gaining momentum (seriously,
what’s in the water?), and you’ve got a poten
tially disastrous end-of-year mix for the single
ladies among us. Fortunately, there are ways to
keep company—and survive—without renting
U-Hauls. Call it an autumnal guide to dating.
Grindr, the grass-is-always-greener app
your recently hitched friends covet more than
ever, rarely fails. Your coupled friends snatch
away your phone during dinner, demanding
access so they can “see who’s new, who’s on,
w hat’s happening.” It’s of little consequence
your only “high teas” (euphemism) of late con
sist o f multiple lunchtime rendezvous with a
ruggedly handsome, seemingly partnered—
maybe married— man who refuses to disclose
his real name.
To satisfy curiosity, you might rifle through
his things while he’s showering off your DNA.
Faster, he ju st turned off the water. You find
nothing (not even a wallet), and before de
parting, he whispers this sweet nothing in
your ear: “If you see me on the street, you don’t
know me.” You do, naturally, see him on the
street— in line for a queer film fest, actually—
and kindly oblige. But you partake in seconds,
thirds—determined to acquire knowledge.
(And to keep him guessing, you like to leave
last year's Red Dress getup, a camisole, on
your bedroom floor.)
W hen electronic approaches bore, turn to
reliable nights out—your favorite being once-
monthly, last-Tfiursdays Cafeteria, the brain
child of an insanely talented LunchLady (who’s
also moving) held at the city’s best dive bar,
Vendetta. At Cafeteria, you see the expected
droves of friendly faces, packed shoulder to
shoulder, wall to wall; you’re neck-deep in
strong drinks and stronger music. There, a
friend, who also happens to oo-own the bar,
introduces you to a boy who’s new to town.
You engage, briefly, in small talk and your
hopes creep up, so slightly—until the other gay
piranhas smell blood and converge en masse onto
the new boy from the eastern part of the state.
As you’re elbowed and shouldered away, tram
pled beneath a horde of ravenous men intent on
being the last ones aboard the remaining life
boat, you momentarily bemoan the loss o f a
space available— it’s all chance, everyone’s
merely engrossed in the work-like tunnel vi
sion Gym evokes.
Recently, my mother told my friend—who
cuts her hair— that I am prone to giving way to
complacency. Before you go accusing my moth
er of not loving me, let me elaborate: She says
dedication to familiarity makes it challenging
for me to alter my routines (euphemism). I
think she was talking about work. Regardless, I
wondered how this applies to my adventures in
dating. Has an infatuation with routine, with
comfort, hindered my man-related fortunes?
W hy can't I pick up and try new cities like my
more adventurous counterparts?
Elizabeth Gilbert— of Eat, Pray, Love fame—
contends everyone's like this, consumed with
emotional landscapes, consciously and subcon
sciously wondering about connections missed
and made. Perhaps she’s right. Regardless, I find
solace in the fact that most everyone I know
stumbled into their pairings, a dearth o f con
certed effort. Dumb luck. O f late, in my periph
ery, serious relationships have emerged from
Grindr dates, online hookups and casual intro
ductions at parties (the latter prompted a move).
So perhaps a fair amount o f complacency—let's
call it ease— isn't so detrimental after all. JW
chance. But you remember there’s always Mari-
con at Matador—just a few days away.
Sometimes you don’t have the energy for
long, intellectually rigorous conversations on
G rindr and you need refuge after dance-heavy
late nights. Enter the gymnasium: the best
stress reducer not involving soda water and
lime wedges. After months o f flirting, you’ve
embarked on a meaningful courtship with
weights and entered a part o f Gym you’ve
never really explored.
W hile deciphering foreign, nuanced weight
room code, you’re wondering why the cute guy
you danced with at Cafeteria is so boring and
aloof—and uninterested— at the gym. You la
ment when the chasm between drunken, af
fected personality and sober counterpart is so
damn wide. (And you wonder about yours.)
Maybe it’s supposed to be all business;
pressing meaningful conversation there is like
trapping your neighborhood barista behind
the counter. Everyone just wants to move
along and get home. So perhaps it’s futile
wondering why gentlemen decide to stretch
right next to you or climb onto the elliptical
right next to yours when there’s plenty o f other Email D A N IE L @ JU SO U T .C O M .
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