As I work on completing the novel, I thought that you may enjoy a sneak peak. I am currently on chapter 22, and hope to be done by the end of the year. But until then, every once in a while, I will send a chapter your way. So here you go!
Preface
Alone on another Saturday night—ugh! That moment when you realize that you’re over thirty and everyone else seems to be in or finding longterm relationships, getting engaged, or married. Realizing that you are past your prime, in gay years that is. If you know anything about the gay community, you know that as hard as it is for a heterosexual woman or man to find a relationship after thirty, it is exponentially harder for a gay male because his own community rejects him as desirable, unless he is ripped or rich. It’s a truth that is very real, but few want to address it. My desire is for this novel to (1) keep you entertained with my self-deprecating dark comedy (2) provide thought-provoking situations and (3) spark a change of greater acceptance of those who are over 30, do not have gorgeous hair, nor are a size small in the gay community. Along the way, you will get the hilarious benefit of vicariously experiencing my dating life (or lack thereof, really).
Okay. So, you may be wondering what possesses someone to sit down and write about this rather personal subject. Essentially, completely disrobing for the entire world, revealing the good and bad. For me, it’s a cathartic process that allows me to organize my thoughts in ways that I sometimes have difficulty expressing otherwise. Prior to having a desire to write this novel, I had kept up a prolific blog and social media (and still do) that contains my thoughts on cinema and themed entertainment, I’ve written a few screenplays and published my my graduate thesis turned book on the relationship between cinema and theme parks (a’chem, you should read that book too). I’ve always enjoyed writing, but never thought of doing it for the purposes of a novel until now. A few years ago, while my former roommate Savannah and I were eating lunch, I was complaining about being single as I often did. She pointed out that I should channel my energy into something constructive instead of just complaining because I might learn something about myself or others in the process.
At the time I started this novel, I was still a full-time graduate student with a main job and a few side hustles. So how was I going to find time to write a novel??? Needless to say, there was not a lot of free time. But I had always been a master of scheduling my time in such a way that I maximized my Monday-Friday to have mostly open weekends. Since I started this novel, I’ve actually graduated with my M.A., work in creative services for a well-known live entertainment company and teach screenwriting at a respected university. The idea behind my mastery of scheduling my time was making sure I had time to date. I thought, if I ever found someone to date that I would like to have my weekends free so we could plan amazing adventures together. Unfortunately even to this day, I have rarely had the pleasure of spending a whole weekend with any guy that I have ever been out with or briefly dated. Thankfully today, I am still a master of organizing my time, but found a hobby in figure skating. And work with my coaches every week. I love every minute of it. It has the indirect benefit of taking my mind off guys because I am focused at growing as a skater each week. The direct benefit has been one of psychological and physiological health. I wish I had a hobby back then, but no time like the present.
Before hobbies and a career, I had lots of time on the weekends with which to do something besides complain that I couldn’t find a date and sit on Grindr and OkCupid all day while watching horror movies. My roommate encouraged me to just write down my thoughts and see if it inspired me to write more. For someone whom, at the time, was mostly concerned with academic writing, I was not too keen on the idea, but I gave it a shot anyway. And you’ll be glad that I did.
But I digress. This isn’t one of those stories where I use the next however many pages to complain about my love life and look for sympathy. It IS, however, a story in which you have the prerogative to laugh at my misfortunes. The same events that angered, pissed me off, or hurt me are the same ones I am going to take control of and bring some laughter into your life. And, if this becomes a best seller, then all the guys who are in here will scream FUCK! Because they could be sharing in my fortune or celebrity, but instead are pulling fifty-hour weeks in theme parks, working in menial retail or restaurant jobs, or simply still depending on others to drive them around due to their lack of a car. But, had it not been for all the assholes I have dated or been out with, I would probably not be writing this story, and YOU would not be about to laugh, cry, yell what the fuck, and empathize. Most importantly, you will find the following events to be very entertaining and your morbid sense of curiosity will beg for more.
At this point, you are probably thinking that I am going to take you on a long and boring journey from my childhood through adulthood, but I assure you, this will not be another painful narrative in the vein of the waste of film Boyhood. However, I must set the stage so you can learn about what makes me tick. For this, it’s only necessary to really go back to my life during undergraduate school.
Chapter 1
To quote one of my favorite philosophers, “picture it, Sicily—uhh—I mean Augusta, GA, 2008. I was working at—oh wait—you don’t even know my name. I’m Ryan. Anyway. I was working for the Medical College of Georgia (now known as Georgia Regent’s Medical School) as a property manager—sounds boring, right? Yes, it was! But, for someone who was just working on an Associate’s degree at the time, it was a great job. It is important to realize that at this time, I was not out. I mean, on some level, I was out to myself; but for all intents and purposes, I had not fully admitted to myself, let alone others. Since I have not asked anyone’s permission to use their names, I will replace all the names in this book with other ones. Of course, I will do my best to pick out names that capture my memory of them. Not long after I started my position at the university, a new staff member came on board. He first caught my eye when I was walking past the conference room where he was seated for our weekly meeting. His name was Wakeup Call. What, no good? Well, you’ll see why I think of him in this way. But to make the story flow smoother, we will call him Bryce (always liked that name).
Bryce was a recent post-graduate from William and Mary with undergraduate studies degree from Columbia. And the assets don’t stop on the academic level. He had a fair complexion, slender, medium height, with a beautiful head of jet-black hair and gorgeous green eyes. I had no idea why I was attracted to him, but I was. This was an uneasy feeling because I felt the instant infatuation I had was wrong. Despite my brain telling me that my blood racing for this guy was wrong, my heart was telling me that there was something natural about this. I just knew that I had to make him a friend of mine.
During this time, I was really struggling in my math class at the community college I was attending. This was after having earned an F and D in college algebra prior. Since Bryce had a Master’s degree in a science-related area, I figured that he must be good at math. Eventually, I asked him if he would be interested in tutoring me in math for $20 a week. Being the nice guy that he was, he agreed. I was hoping that he was going to offer to have tutoring at his place, but we ended up agreeing to go out to eat once a week and go over my math homework.
This professional relationship continued for the duration of the following semester and a friendship grew from it. There were a few times that a group of us from the office would hang out and go out for drinks or catch a movie. It was really fun spending time with him. But, my conscious and subconscious were about to take off in two separate directions faster than ABC distanced itself from Rosanne. Following the close of the semester when our weekly tutoring sessions also ended, I decided to get him something as a token of my appreciation. Over the course of the time we spent together, I learned that he did not own a DVD player. Since the prices of DVD players had dropped significantly over the years, I decided to buy him one and leave it at his office door. This would become a decision that would greatly impact my life.
So, I went to Target and picked up a DVD player that was reasonably priced so that he wouldn’t feel bad that I had spent a lot of money. I decided to be cute and wrap it up and address it to him. Since not many people knew his middle name, I used his full name is the addressed to section of the wrapped package. Here’s where I failed: instead of putting my name on the package, I just wrote “me” with a smiley face. Before you think that it was all cute and stuff, here’s how it went down:
I had just finished getting my hair cut at the salon and received a call from Bryce. I answered it in my usually cheery voice and then that’s when all hell broke loose. Here I was thinking that I was doing something cute for someone who helped me pass my math class and I was being accused of causing major trouble. Before I could say much of anything after “hello,” Bryce asked me in a very stern voice if I had left a package for him outside of his office door. I replied yes. Then he proceeds to tell me that it was treated like a bomb and for me never to give him anything again and he asked me to not talk with him again outside of work-related information.
He hung up the phone, and I was crushed. I started balling my eyes out and got into my car. Part of me wanted to drive into oncoming traffic because I just felt like killing myself. How could something so nice turn into something so horrible? Deep down, I was confused and scared as to why this was affecting me as negatively as it was. I was upset that I caused problems. But what was strange is that I was even more upset that I ruined my friendship with Bryce. It was so utterly crushing that I seriously thought of committing suicide. Since I worked in a medical university, I contacted a coworker who was an instructor and medical professional. I poured out my heart to him and explained that I felt that I was a danger to myself and possibly others. He asked me if I thought I was in danger of doing anything immediately, and I assured him that I did have my wits about me enough not to do anything.
The following morning, he and I met in my office and he asked me if I wanted to speak to his wife that was an RN in the emergency medicine department. I agreed and he set up a meeting for us during lunchtime. We met at the Zaxby’s just up the road from the university and she and I sat down and chatted. After a long conversation, I agreed to check myself into the ER before I was forcibly checked-in and Baker Acted. I was so scared because I had never felt like I was going to lose my mind before. Thankfully, since my friend’s wife was my ER nurse, she made sure the check-in was painless. I met with the doctor and he began to question me about what brought me into the ER. The doctor asked if I wanted her in the room with me, and I told him that was fine. I felt comfortable with someone I knew.
I explained the situation and did my best to convey why I felt the way I did. The next question the doctor asked me would stick with me for a long time. He asked me if I considered myself straight. And, I responded, “well, of course.” It was at the moment that the doctor looked at my friend’s wife with eyes that conveyed a feeling of disbelief. I thought nothing of it at the time, but I can completely understand why he conveyed that feeling in the room. Following my triage, I was moved to the classic padded room where I would remain under observation for several hours. During his time, I found myself exploring my feelings for Bryce and if it really was more than regular old friendship. Needless to say, I was convinced that my feelings were not beyond friendship and that I must be subconsciously struggling with something else.
A condition upon my release was that I would see a psychiatrist for medication and follow up with a psychologist afterwards. As someone who’s always struggled with weight (until the last few years), I was not too keen on medication because many psychiatric meds are prone to causing weight gain. I was finally sent home, but really felt like there was something wrong that needed to be diagnosed. For all those who have ever joked about the padded room—I’ve been there—and although it’s fabulous material for a joke, it’s definitely no laughing matter to experience it. However, I think stories like that can be the basis of great self-deprecating humor. And, when you’re not blessed with incredible good looks or a killer body with a great metabolism, one’s survival can be dependent upon the ability to make others laugh.
I was obviously late getting home, and my parents were inquisitive as to where I’d been. There is no way in hell I could tell them about what happened. After all, I’m supposed to be the stable child. Looking back, maybe it would have been best to talk with them about my experience. But, even though I kinda new I was gay on the inside, I really convinced myself that there is no way that I could be. So, I proceed to see the counselor and take my meds. Never having been on meds before, I could definitely feel the affects of the medication on my energy level and demeanor. It was like everything was okay no matter how bleak. Knowing that I did not want to become dependent on antipsychotics, I took the medication as instructed and was off of them after six months.
After a psychotic breakdown at work, you can imagine that they began to look for ways to fire me or pressure me into resigning. Well, they found one. Okay, now to understand this, let me explain. The guy I had a subconscious crush on at work was a big New York Yankees fan. Directly across the hall from his office was one of the department heads—he was a die hard Red Sox fan. After a baseball game in which the Red Rox beat the Yankees, the supervisor came into Bryce’s office with Bryce’s Yankees ball cap on his cock. There was a huge shit storm after that. Professional and sexual lines had been crossed in a public institution. After I got wind of that, I just knew I had to do something. After all, I still had this weird attraction to Bryce even though he made it apparent that he never wanted to see me again.
Since my department has a contract with the FBI, I decided to call the FBI and tell them what was going on so that they do not get attached to the scandal. Needless to say, when the department was looking for a way to fire me, they went through phone records on our company Blackberrys and found the DC area code on mine. After a few different meetings, it was decided that it would be best for me to resign. The only reason they didn’t fire me is because I had a lot of dirt on them. I was permitted to work for three more months as I look for another job. It was during this time that I decided I was going to pursue my bachelors degree after finishing my Associates that December. I had heard many ads on the radio for a great film program at Southeastern University in Lakeland, Florida. I concluded that I wanted to go to SEU for my degree and I could live at my grandparents’ place about 60 miles away. This decision would prove to impact my life far more than I could have ever expected.
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