Monday, July 2, 2012

Happy Gays And Bread Crumbs Always Get Me Down

There's a young gay couple on Twitter I've been following for a few months. They came highly recommended by one of my favorite bloggers who specializes in spotlighting followable men on Twitter, and who has proven himself in the past to have impeccable taste in such matters. But I digress.

Both are professional, extremely handsome and adorably sweet together. Obviously fresh in love, I added them directly to my "buds" list so I wouldn't miss a single update. And I didn't. Each tweet came like a piece of candy straight from Grandpa's pocket. Warm and sticky, gradually dissolving my tooth enamel and impairing my body's ability to recognize its own insulin.

It didn't take long for me to notice that these guys were really beginning to get on my nerves. And this disturbed me. I'm a nice guy. I think of Twitter as my happy place. Friendship, fun and flirtation in its purest form, free of the drama and conflict that keeps me from investing in Facebook. Superficial, sure, but that's part of the appeal. The instant I find anyone rocking my happy Twitter boat, I feel no compunction in making them walk the plank.

But these guys have been nothing but adorable. If I unfollow them, then I have to admit to myself that my problem with them lies with me. That I've grown callous and cynical to the point where I find young love disdainful. That any day now I'll start yelling at the neighbor kids to get off my lawn. And stay off!

Plus, I'm afraid if I unfollow now, I'll miss their potential public crash and burn. It's the same reason I watch NASCAR. Or that I would watch NASCAR if it happened to be on and the batteries in the remote were dead.


The last time I was served breakfast in bed, I was sixteen with mono. And it really doesn't count since it wasn't served to me in bed so much as left outside my door with a knock followed by rapidly retreating footsteps.


Have I mentioned they complete each other's tweets? Pretty cute, huh. That's how I and the rest of the Internet know that on the next day, they went to church and gave thanks for each other. Right about here for me is where they passed "confectionary" and pegged "high-fructose".

I've been giving a great deal of thought as to why their tweets seem to bother me so much. I've already considered and ruled out jealousy. I'm in a satisfying relationship and just last week we started our fifteenth year together. You can't really tell from looking at us now, but I guarantee you we started out every bit as insufferably sappy.

Maybe that's what bothers me. When JB and I first got together, we fell off the map for several months. Our friends thought we got abducted by aliens. We were so into each other we never had time to tweet about it. I know, Twitter didn't exist, but you certainly didn't see us dialing into AOL and AIMing it from the rooftops.

Our feelings for each other required no external validation. Not from our friends, not from our families, and certainly not from strangers. It never once occurred to us to seek it.

Nah, that doesn't have co-dependent written all over it.
As much as it makes me cringe now to remember, I actually went through a phase where I'd sing love songs to JB in his bed. The Carpenters. Yup, afraid so. "Close To You", from start to finish.

Fast-forward fifteen years. Now the only birds that suddenly appear are twitching on the ground outside our picture window.

What happened? When did "We've Only Just Begun" become "Don't you have a trip to Abu Dhabi or something?"?

Reality happened, that's what. And I don't mean that in a negative way at all. That fresh, goggley-eyed, honey-dripping phase of a relationship is an important part of the bonding process, but it's unsustainable long term. The hotter the relationship, the sooner it'll burn out if it doesn't make the crucial transition from all-day-in-bed-but-not-sleeping to "I got an early meeting, how 'bout we double up tomorrow night?"

I foresee this ending badly, probably in a televised courtroom setting.
Three weeks after we started dating, I finally talked JB into spending the night at my place. I'd gone to Pier One the day before to buy one of those breakfast-in-bed trays. The kind where the short legs fold down to sit over the lap, like I'd seen in practically every television show since I was a kid. In the morning I quietly slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him, and I started cooking.

As I carried the tray -- complete with a long stemmed rose in a vase -- into my bedroom, JB sat up with a look of dismay. "You eat in your bed?" he asked incredulously as he jumped to his feet and began flapping the blankets, as if he could actually see the Fritos he imagined must be there. He launched into a dissertation about nocturnal hygiene, something about crumbs and the bugs who love them. Just as I was about to ask what the hypothetical bugs thought about his semen on my headboard, he added "Oh... and I don't really care for french toast."

This incident marked a subtle turning point in our relationship. Later that morning, eating our cereal at the dining room table, talking, laughing and further exploring our different takes on the simple things in life, something happened.

Reality happened. That was fifteen years ago and I haven't looked back more than ten or twelve times since.

When bf imagines sleeping on bread crumbs sprinkled over
reproductive fluid: /\/\/\/\/\/\/\_______________________.


UPDATE: For the latest on Twitter's most adorable gay couple, jump to Artificial Sweeties.

3 comments:

  1. great post, Pac... Lots to think about

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  2. Yours is a more real life relationship. You just know there aren't two guys tweeting - it's one 450lb guy who's been a shut-in since 1987.

    I'll take your and JB's interactions anyday.

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  3. Agree w/ Blobby's assessment, and I echo Wonder Man's comments; great post. Love the humor and touching sentiments you shared.

    The BF and I are more inclined to bicker over paint color than fawn over each other. Not sure what that says about us, but I'm too happy living my real life to work so hard manufacturing an imaginary one. Plus, I sort of already did that when I was growing up and living in the closet. I found it was ultimately very unfullfilling.

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