The First Friendly Marry-Go-Round. Pt I

Published on 9 October 2024 at 16:18

This blog post highlights two of my first experiences trying to make friends both straight and a gay. Two items on the list in The Purpose.

“Life comes for all of us. And it comes hardest for the ones who think they’re above it all.” —Blanca Evangelista, Pose

The following is my first attempt at making friends with a genuine connection. This is a great deal harder than it used to be. There are many factors to consider when trying to befriend a stranger: 1) intention; 2) friend group influences; 3) maturity level; 4) communication styles; and 5) the definition of simple English words. For example, my communication style is typically very blunt, to the point that I have made people cry before. I try to dial it in on most occasions (this is a me problem), but I have come to realize that my bluntness can be a good measuring tool for other's reactions to boundaries.

 

Over-explaining myself when no doesn’t mean no.

I was excited when the opportunity to make a Fellow Gay friend presented itself, but I was daft about her ultimate intentions. It started with a seemingly innocent invite to a local run club from a female neighbor in the building I was living in. I merrily went with her, because I do like running and had a genuine desire to make friends. On the first day, I spoke to Fellow Gay and thought she would make a great friend. I was tagged in a photograph on the first club meeting and quickly became the topic of conversation, unbeknownst to me. The female neighbor said that I was being requested as a return guest the following week. In my mind, I thought “Yay! I can do this, it is not that scary.” Well, turns out that it is scary and full of unmarked land mines.  Girl, soooooo confusing.

 

The second week I attended the run club, I was invited to more outings and another run club on a different day. It began to spiral out of control when a couple of the girls in the group started hinting at the Fellow Gay being interested. I do know how to communicate and I thought I made it clear that I did not want to date her, or anyone. I had received invitations to go out and have drinks and attend birthday parties. In my mind, all of this is platonic. Two girls would put forth their best fake personalities and throw unflattering compliments my way, just to see. During one of the evening outings, Fellow Gay and I broke off to have a drink at another bar. The conversation quickly turned down the path of the typical questions one would ask another if they were interested in a possible relationship. I tried to be courteous and stated that I was not relationship material and that I was not interested in dating anyone. [For context, I had this conversation with Fellow Gay three more times, and twice with each girlfriend that we shall reference as Wannabe Valley Girl and Butch.]

 

I went power shopping with Wannabe Valley Girl and obtained a gift for Butch, a wine glass set from Anthropologie. During the shopping trip, Wannabe Valley Girl was making odd statements like “Maybe you and [Fellow Gay] can give her the gift together.” Once she made the third statement, I said bluntly “I thought I had made it clear that I did not want a relationship with him and am not open to any type of relationship, other than friends.” Pretty clear to me, but not so much to others. Wannabe Valley Girl then asked if I would make up my mind before the Europe/Adele trip, I replied with “I have already made a decision” thinking this would be relayed.

 

I did not notice what was going on until I attended Butch’s birthday party. I tend to shy away from birthday celebrations, as I have not celebrated my birthday with a party for fifteen years. I wanted to be intentional and show that I was dedicated to being a friend. Little to my knowledge, the girl’s and Fellow Gay had a secret plan. During said party, I was wieldy offended by the statements and assumptions. Once the presents were opened, we adjourned to the inside of the worn, one-grape vineyard to have drinks. I was the designated driver, so I mingled and spoke to people I knew. The comments that I heard are as follows:

 

“You know he is a bottom, right?”

“My husband has a question for you. Husband: What happens when you are the bottom and are holding in poop, and you use poppers?”

“When are you just going to ask him out?”

 

Butch asked me if I was going to ask him out, once I started my reply her face fell and she mouthed “shit.” I knew at that moment, that these people were not trying to be my friend, they were trying to match the Fellow Gay and me. Not even an inkling of respect for my own words, almost a “forget what he is saying, he doesn’t know” type of ordeal. Now that I have processed and reflected on this, I think that this group of people is desperate for a relationship and has very little confidence in their abilities to state their intention to a desired mate. The nerve of these people is to completely ignore my own words and continue down the path.

 

Then I noticed something, the word “no” in this circle meant “yes” or “keep doing what you are doing.” This was a completely new concept to me.  Do I jump ship now and call losses?

 

I did not jump ship, I naively decided to go balls deep into my first European trip with Wannabe Valley Girl and Fellow Gay.

 

The Adele Trip to Europe.

Before going on this trip, I sat down with Fellow Gay and agreed on a plan. We would fly out separately, but return on the same flight. We would stay together in London and he would get a place we mutually agreed upon and put it on his card. I would put the stay in Germany on my card and we agreed upon a hotel suite. We would then have Wannabe Valley Girl reimburse each of us. I asked if he would go to gay bars with me and he agreed. I stated that the only three things I wanted to do were: 1) see a red phone booth; 2) visit the Royal Botanical Garden; and 3) go shopping. This all changed the day before departing.

 

Wannabe Valley Girl was in France with her phone off. Once she turned it back on, she immediately said she did not like the place I chose and would not stay there, Fellow Gay jumped ship, too. Once I arrived in London, the agreed-upon place that had three bedrooms magically became a two-bedroom flat, and guess who shared a room? That is right, Fellow Gay and myself. The day of my arrival, Fellow Gay started making unusual comments like “I want to go to a happy ending masseuse”, and “desperate times call for desperate measures.” I did not connect the dots until I returned to the States and discussed it with my therapist. During the London stay, he would reject going out with me, because Wannabe Valley Girl had a crush that would not acknowledge her existence, even though she had not spoken a word of this to the crush. When we went out to explore, all of my requests were ignored or I was told to “run and snap a shot.”

 

After the rejection of going out had occurred, I went out on my own and had a great time. I then decided that I did not feel comfortable in their presence, nor could I trust a word that was said. On the last night, Wannabe Valley Girl said randomly, without provocation “You know, you two are different types of gays. Fellow Gay is more of a family man. You are more of a pretentious gay.” My reply was “oh, I liked hearing that, but don’t care about your opinion.” Again, I did not put all this together until I returned to the States.

 

The flight out had some bumps to it that solidified that the only reason I was asked to join them on this trip, was because Fellow Gay could not afford to pay his way and she needed someone to foot the bill. The Uber ride to the airport made my jaw drop.

 

Once we landed in Germany, it was 11:30 pm. Fellow Gay is German and speaks the language, I do not. We were going to the same central location, Central Munich. The flight was a little over an hour and I was holding two water bottles of pee. Once we landed, I ran off the plane in hopes of passing customs quickly (once in Europe, customs is a scan of your passport and the doors open. It is automated) and peeing, before they deboarded. I ran to pee and let out an Austin Powers pee, with the sounds. When I walked out of the bathroom, I was shocked. No one was there. Was I in a time hop? Surely they would not abandon me in a country that I had no clue how to navigate, especially after saying repeatedly this was my first time in Europe. I stood there for a minute thinking that they would magically appear. Then it sank in, I was alone.

 

I started to panic as I thought “How would I navigate a large city in the US?” There are always trains at the bottom of large airports. What is the international symbol for a train? I grabbed my checked luggage and started to cry, panic, and walk slowly. I was looking for symbols of a train, an American that I could follow, or a police officer to ask. After walking for about thirty minutes, I found the train kiosk, it was in German. I stood there for about twenty minutes hyping myself up saying “You create software, look at the prompts, and try to logically follow the flow.” Then an English-speaking German said “What the fuc*” to the kiosk.” I looked at her with excitement and said “Please help me, I can’t figure this out. I am trying to get to Central Munich.” She did so with a smile and said “Stop crying, people will see you’re a tourist and rob you. Get it together.” I knew what I had to do, which felt oddly familiar. After some sniffs and wipes, I obtained the ticket and boarded the train for an hour and thirty-minute ride.

 

Once I arrived in Central Munich, I started to panic again, as I was three floors underground, in what I would consider the largest metro station I had ever seen in my life. When I got to the top floor and the cell phone reception came back, I started to shake and couldn’t control it. I was in awe at the sheer size of trains, busses, and subway darts all in one place. I ordered an Uber, even though my hotel was just 3 blocks away. I stood outside with my luggage with taxi drivers, locals, and the homeless staring at me as an easy meal ticket.

 

Once I arrived at my hotel, I dropped to bed and texted my best girlfriend and said “Can I call? I am panicking bad and cannot calm down. I need to hear a familiar voice.” She immediately called me, I explained what happened. We started talking about other things and within ten minutes she had me laughing.

 

For context, this was the first time I was out of my apartment’s four walls in three years. I had become Bob Willey. This was a crash course in “I feel great. I feel wonderful. Baby steps.”

 

I woke up the next morning and panicked again. I know how to calm myself and set out to find a gym. I needed to throw weights around and let out my feelings. I slowly walked and was respectful to the city's inhabitants, knowing I was on their turf. I allowed myself to breathe and walk around early morning so I could explore with minimal human presence.

 

We arrived in Central Munich two days before the concert. Wannabe Valley Girl stated in London that we would meet daily for exploring and dinner. I was ghosted the entire time. I did not hear from or see the two until the concert started the following Friday. We did not speak until the end. Wannabe Valley Girl had to sell her fourth ticket to her Airbnb owner to make her money back. When they walked up, I moved so I would not be sitting next to them. I had already been scolded by my Wannabe Valley Girl for encroaching on her emotional outburst in London and knew that I was going to cry at this concert. At the very end, she waited for people to exit, came up to me, slapped my inner thigh thrice, and demanded to be paid for the Airbnb and the Uber. My response was not nice.

 

For the remainder of the stay I decided to push my limits and see what I could do on my own, or if I was still channeling my inner Bob Willey. I Googled German Beaches, found one, looked for a route, and took it. The train was one hour and forty minutes, then a bus for forty-five minutes. Then a five-mile walk. I found the beach. I was so proud of myself for not panicking once. Not once. Mr. Bob was no longer with me for the day. My body relaxed.

 

Once I was back in the States, I was able to fully relax and start processing everything that occurred. I immediately scheduled two sessions in one week with my longtime therapist. During the first visit, I was a little loud, yelling in fact, the details of the trip and absolute disdain for the two poor excuses of humans. During the second visit in a week, I was a lot calmer and possibly dismissing my feelings. My therapist looked me straight in the eyes and said “This was a traumatic experience. Did you know this is how she was, before going?” I replied “No, I would have shielded myself a bit more. Do I need to get used to people doing this to me?” My therapist said “No. Not!” I started to cry and just sat there for a minute.

That night, I watched all of the YouTube videos that a female CIA agent posted about her service. She stated multiple times that the way to overcome a traumatic event and fear is to repeat the event with a different outcome. So I sat out to do just that.