“Three’s Company” (from l. to r. Nick Fauble, Michael James Schneider, Cesar Marquez)

First appeared in PQMonthly

You know the scene: Kirk and Spock face insurmountable odds against a supercomputer, or evil androids, or an alien with a twisted morality. Then Kirk, in his swaggering wisdom, asks the computer a question that shouldn’t have an answer, or commands his bridge crew to do an illogical performance that will confound the androids. The computer halts, the android freezes while doing “the robot”, and our noble crew takes advantage of the confusion to make their escape while they leave behind a flustered mess of smoking, charred circuitry.

This is the scene in my head after I asked him, “Hey, are we exclusive?” I expected him to say “nah, but maybe later” or “sure thing”, but instead he threw me a curveball. Rich looked at me with his baby blue eyes and said “Sure, for now. I’ll want to open it up later though.” What? Didn’t I cover this base when I read his dating profile? “Um, when does that happen exactly?” I asked tentatively. “When we have a strong enough emotional connection.” “Oh yeah. Sure. Of course”, I stammer as my brain literally starts melting from the seeming logic problem that it’s confronting. Continue reading →

Disclaimer: I don’t consider it particularly noble or funny anymore to post photos of screenshots of private conversations on dating apps. Nevertheless, this series of posts strikes a chord in a lot of people, so I have kept the screenshots in.

So I’m standing there in front of the bathroom mirror in my apartment the other day with my shirt off, trying to take a selfie with my phone. I’m heartbroken, because swimsuit season is coming and my naked body looks like it’s covered in cargo shorts. I’m jockeying for a better angle, and then I drop my phone, which has a stupid-heavy case. It hits the glass soap dispenser on the way down, shattering it and terrifying my cat Ned, who has come into the bathroom to maybe drink some toilet water. He’s startled and knocks some decorative stuff off the top of the commode into the toilet bowl.

After he runs out of the bathroom through the pieces of glass, tchotchkes, and a possibly broken phone, I take a long look at myself in the mirror. How did it get like this? I think. What the hell has happened to romance and dating?
Continue reading →

“Unfriending Ned”

So I wanted to let you know something. I unfriended you on Facebook today. And you. And yes, despite my reservations, you too. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, even though it’s just social media, and in the end it’s only pixels. I wondered for some time why we were even online friends anymore. I wondered if I was still friends with you so that I could see your life, but that’s definitely not it: I blocked you from my feed afterwards. Maybe I blocked you because it stung a little when you posted something joyous and frivolous the day after you hurt me. No, that wasn’t against any dating “rules.” It was just tacky as fuck of you. I haven’t looked at your page since then.

I realized I was still friends with you because I found value in you seeing how great my life has become since you hurt me. I wanted you to read my book or wish you were hanging with me in my awesome pad. But I quickly realized how narcissistic that was. In the end, I don’t give bad people the benefit of access to my life. You broke the social construct of decency. So I pressed the button, and I felt fucking fantastic about it. Wait, what’s that? You’re surprised? Okay, here’s why: Continue reading →

“Date Night” (from l to r, Michael James Schneider, Michael James Schneider; manipulation by Tucker Cullinan)
 

Self-awareness is a terrifying and wonderful thing. So is self-loathing. One is great for growth and change, and the other is good for…well, it’s good for self-deprecating blog posts. One thing I’ve learned in this last couple years of being single is how to down an entire box of Franzia in one evening that it takes a lot of guts to date. I mean, it’s basically parading your entire, horrible, broken self out there and hoping that someone else loves your sad life and lumpy, misshapen body.

But what happens when it’s one too many rejections? With all the rejection I’ve had these past two years, the real common denominator isn’t that I’m attracted to only jerks (because I’m not anymore), or that I’m into something weird like ButterSports (because I’m not but God that sounds delicious). The universal factor is me. If there’s nothing wrong with the world, maybe there’s something wrong with me. So I took myself on a date, and it went about as well as you could expect. Continue reading →

(from l. to r., Michael James Schneider, Ned)
 

I’m the single guy who actually, secretly loves Valentine’s Day. Like, to say “I heart it” is an understatement. Who wouldn’t? Spring is just around the corner, couples are walking around hand in hand, and then there’s me. Struggling with my groceries after another day at work, going to my apartment in NE Portland, open the door…and there’s my cat, Ned, mad that I haven’t fed him yet. He’s all the man I need. Probably all the man I can handle. And you know what they say: the first cat is always the gateway cat. Continue reading →

from l to r, James Schneider, friend

 

Fourth in a series. Here’s Part 1, about how I’m using a hookup app to find husband material, here’s Part 2, where I learn a life lesson from my worst date ever, and here is Part 3, where I try to break my bad dating habit a lot of people have. 

Also, here’s the Date With Myself, and Happy Valentine’s Cray.

“The one amazing thing about being single for so long…” he typed, then paused, hands poised over the keyboard. Mike stayed this way for several hours, then muttered “Ah, fuck it”, shut the computer off, and went out to go to a dive bar. “Jesus, take the wheel” he muttered into the first of eighteen whiskeys.

Ok, slight exaggeration: I’m trying not to be as profane lately, so I just said “Ah, darn it.” I think this past year and a half of being single, the longest time in my life I’ve ever been single (NOT THAT I AM COUNTING OR ANYTHING), has made me more insecure and full of self-loathing self-aware and introspective than ever before. With that has come some pretty great epiphanies about what makes me tick, and has helped me step back and break (or indulge in) patterns in the guys I date.

One pattern I realized made me aware of the phenomena that’s becoming common in the dating world, that of dating someone much older or much younger. I’m starting to chalk this up to learned behavior and formative influences, patterned on a male figure that’s important to everyone, everywhere. It’s not our first boyfriends, or our bestie in middle school. It’s the first man we ever loved: it’s our fathers. Continue reading →

“Love Is A Battlefield” -photo by Summer Olsson (with all due respect to the brave people who have *actually* served)

 

Third in a series. Click here for Part 1, about how I’m using a hookup app to find husband material (and read about my sordid dating history), click here for Part 2, where I learn a life lesson from my worst date ever. Here’s Part 4, where I put forth that age is just number, until it isn’t.

It’s about damn time us single people gave ourselves some credit. I mean, we’re out there on the front lines of this battlefield, right? We’re the ones dating people with questionable hygiene, shaking off every unreturned text, and grimacing through every wedding invitation. No, I’m not going to pretend it’s some noble higher calling, this singledom. It’s not that big a deal in the scheme of things. It’s not Syria. If you’re reading this, you probably have it pretty good. We should all practice being a bit more grateful for what we’ve got. Haha, just kidding, the barista got my americano wrong this morning so I shouted “Steam this, you pissy bitch!” and threw my hot coffee in his pretty mustachioed face. And what does “banned for life” really mean anyway?

For a while my theory was that I had a weird form of invisible leprosy that only other single guys could see. I have quirks and idiosyncrasies, just like everyone else. I’m afraid to hear my own heartbeat. Every time I hear the phrase “underwear bomb” on NPR I giggle. And I sometimes (often) pretend I didn’t hear what you were saying, just so I can buy myself time to come up with a more thoughtful or funny response. Recently, though, I looked even deeper to see what really makes me tick, what really gets me going when I’m attracted to someone, and maybe why things don’t work out in the end. I don’t know what I expected to find, but it wasn’t the dark, foul-tasting thing I eventually uncovered. And then every friend who is single, gay or straight, who I told about it nodded and grimaced: they felt the same way. Bear with me while I set the table for you: Continue reading →