The Hunger Games

Yesterday, I offered myself as tribute. Not in the cool way, where you sling a bow over your back and shuffle through rugged terrain in hopes for survival, but in the lame way. The lame way where you go online and change your status to “single” and prepare to face the unknown forces of the Hunger Games known as “dating”. Equally scary, I assure you.

And as if dating wasn’t difficult enough, dating involving gay men is even more difficult. Gay men have huge egos; egos that are proportionally correlated with their ever-increasing self-esteem problems. You date one guy and you absolutely fall in love with him, but he doesn’t like you – you rationalize it in your head, play aesop’s fable and tell yourself he wasn’t that hot anyway, the grapes were sour anyway. You date another guy and have no interest, but the other guy is head over heels for you – you attribute that to your perfectly polished neutrogena-poster skin, teeth whitening products, and hair that could withstand a tropical rainstorm. There really is no satisfying gay men! It’s like we all belong in this crazy puzzle known as life but there are no two gay pieces that fit together (and I don’t mean that in the literal sense where 2 penises = no fit). Is there a fit? Should there be a fit? And must there be a fit? Maybe the fit is beyond what we’re looking for.

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