“And just like that …” the Sex and the City franchise lost a little bit of its magic.
I don’t bestow that title lightly. I’ve watched every episode of SATC three, maybe four times over. I follow an Instagram account solely devoted to the fashion and politics of SATC, Every Outfit on Sex & the City. On the last date I went on, we ended up in his bed watching … you guessed it, SATC (Season 1, vintage).
So what has this 20-something gay boy so obsessed with a show about four middle-aged white women dating and sexing around the Big Apple? …
Yesterday, I went to the doctor’s to get a full STI test done.
I’m totally comfortable talking to my friends about the sex I’m having, and I even write about it on the internet sometimes, so why did this feel so … off-limits?
As my brain ruminated over that very question on the walk home from the scene of the crime (AKA my doctor’s office), I wondered if other LGBTQ+ people ever felt this way.
All I could think was that if my High School Sex Ed classes were indicative at all of how we treat LGBTQ+ sexual health, then we’re in serious trouble. …
My lease is up in about a month and a half, and until just a few days ago, I had no idea what I was going to do when that last day came.
What changed? Well, I figured out who I’m going to live with.
What didn’t change? Everything else — in a real estate market as fast-paced as New York City’s, you really can’t start looking for your next place until you’re at most a month out. Trust me, I’ve tried.
It wasn’t until my soon-to-be roommate landed her dream-job and confirmed that she could move across the country into an apartment with me in lower Manhattan (a yet, hypothetical apartment in lower Manhattan, mind you) that I realized how much the uncertainty of it all had been getting to me. …
Not to sound like a total PV gay, but it’s true: Up until yesterday morning, I was getting ready to pack my bags for Baja California.
My two friends and I had hatched the travel plans over the summer — I guess in desperate hope that things would have been better by now on the Covid-19 front. Obviously, things didn’t quite pan out like we (and the rest of the world) hoped.
Nearly a month ago now, I started my first-ever Substack newsletter, That’s Gay.
Three issues in, and I posted a newsletter titled “Let’s talk about sex, baby! : Breaking down anal sex taboos by answering my own questions.”
Recipients of this newsletter included any and all strangers on the internet, any of my Instagram followers that cared to click on the link I shared (ranging from close friends to the kid that sat next to me in Middle School third period English), and — to save the best for last — my mother.
In fact, I went through several stages of posting-a-potentially-risky-article-on-the-internet-itis that I think a lot of writers will be able to relate to. …
“But then we should stop texting now,” I messaged my new Tinder match — the very same one I had just learned one message prior was going to be out of town for the week. “Otherwise we’ll get bored, have that awkward text burnout, and never meet up. Hit me up when you’re back.”
Well, I would say that I would, considering I just did, but truth be told it was way out of character for me.
Although I’m not the biggest fan of texting over a dating app (I’m of the “you don’t really know them until you’ve met them in person” persuasion), I would rather text than do nothing at all. …
When I was in Pre-K, I was never the kid to get sent home with a “doesn’t play well with others” note on my Spongebob sticker-covered report card.
If I had a penny for every time I was separated from a friend in class, told to focus in the middle of a lecture, or yelled at for laughing in the back … well, let’s just say I’d make a lot of rare coins collectors quite envious.
So what does not being the “doesn’t play well with others” kid and my inability to keep my mouth shut in math class have to do with running? …
Stop saying 2021 is going to be an amazing year. You don’t know that, and I don’t want you projecting all over my subconscious — you’re getting its hopes up.
No, 2021 may not be an “amazing year”, and why should it be? Time, the universe, and the spherical floating rock we live on owe you, me, and your grandmother's five hairless cats absolutely nothing.
But on the off chance that it does — if there is a sentient being out there somewhere, getting high on shooting stars and knitting sweaters out of cloud fluff —
Just ok, just average, just a “what year are we in again?” kind of year. …
Calling all writers — 2021 is almost upon us, and the time has come for us to retire our trigger-happy keyboard fingers and go on a little click and scroll cleanse.
It’s time we *gulp* read what we preach.
I have a “writing more than I read” problem. I suffer from a severe lack of reading what I preach.
No matter how comfortable I get with writing more I never seem to get closer to reading more.
No, this isn’t because I don’t have any more time to read — many hours spent watching Netflix easily make the cut — but because I’ve started to value writing more than reading. These days, when I read an article written by another writer, all I can think is, ‘Hey, I could write something like this. …
On the first day of 2020, after getting over my champagne-induced killer hangover, I decided to do something I rarely do: I actually wrote out my resolutions for the year.
I didn’t know then what 2020 would soon come to mean — a global pandemic, mass protests, financial turmoil.
Even though I made these resolutions in the total ignorance and complete bliss that was the end of 2019, I like the idea of letting your intentions frame your story. …