Tactfully Replaced

We all have our image problems. Girls certainly have more than guys what with the high gloss magazines telling them they're fat, chestless, and alone. But guys have their share as well.

Some of us have no fashion sense, others have bushy caterpillar eyebrows, while others have nipples the size of petri dishes or dinner plates. Thankfully, my nipples are small, my eyebrows tweezed, and my style impeccable. However, i am not without my physical flaws. My nose is enormous and shark-like, I have a droopy eye, my eye lashes are so long that they push sunglasses right off my face, I have a mole on my belly that grows a giant black hair overnight once a month, and I have large, hairy hobbit-feet, small hands, and thin hair.

An ex of mine that I dated when living in Astoria, New York City pounced on every opportunity to point out these flaws. In fact, after a particularly brutal berating from this fiend, I asked him point blank what DID he like about me? His answer was grounds for an immediate separation.

"Well...I like that you're average looking. Cute guys know they're cute and are arrogant. Ugly guys are boring and try to compensate with personality. You're average-looking and you know it. It's refreshing."

I do?

I was pretty much speechless after that. What does one say when your significant other calls you average looking? That your best quality is your average looks? What does that say about the rest of the package? I don't fancy myself an adonis, but I like to at least think I'm mildly attractive. At least in a dimly lit restaurant or a dark bar I look cute.

Needless to say, our relationship crumbled quickly after this little pep talk. Whether I'm attractive or not, I at least want someone who thinks I'm cute. We decided to stay friends and have remained so even after I left New York for Boston. After not hearing from him for months, I decided to give him a call and see how he was doing. Our conversation went like this:

"Hi Joe, it's Josh. Just calling to see how you're doing. It's been a while."

"Hey Josh. Good to hear from you. I'm doing well. Started seeing a great guy."

"That's great! What's he like?"

"Well, he's 28, tall, skinny, Italian, creative, and shy at first but really funny once you know him."

"Sounds like someone else I know." I said jokingly about myself.

"I guess so..." He continued on. "He lives in Astoria and he's a graphic designer for a nonprofit company."

"Are you serious?" I asked incredulously.

"Yeah, why?" He replied oblivious to the similarities between this new man and myself.

"Nothing...keep going."

"He likes Mel Brooks movies, wine, Apple computers, and Chinese buffets."

"Okay now you're just messing with me." I laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"Nonprofit graphic designer? tall and thin? Spaceballs? Wine? Buffets? Lives in Queens?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Remind you of anyone?"

"What are getting at?"

"You're dating me!" I raised my voice, awed by his unawarement.

"No I'm not. He's really cute." He said nonchalantly.

"What's his name?" I hissed. "Josh?"

"Very funny. His name's Steven."

"What's his sign?" I continued on.

"I don't know. His birthday was in May."

"A taurus?"

"Maybe. Why? What are you?" He asked.

"What do you think? I'm a taurus!" I spat.

"Are you jealous or something? You shouldn't be. You should come meet him. You'd really like him."

"No thanks. I don't like looking in the mirror."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He growled.

"Nothing."

I know it was a silly thing to be mad at him for his new boyfriend. I should have been happy for him. What pissed me off was being replaced by a more attractive version of myself. Isn't there enough competition out there from entirely different people without me having to compete against a prettier me?

I eventually did meet Steven. He's everything that Joe described. He was very nice, and he actually seemed to like me very much. Maybe we're not so alike after all.

Seasonal Tact

The last three people I've heard talking while on the elevator have all been complaining about the weather. Standing there nonchalantly with my earphones on but my ipod turned off so that I can hear every word they're saying, I listened to them rip Autumn a new one.

"I hate the Fall!" they complain. "It's cold in the morning and hot during the day."

"I never know what to wear."

"I'm sick of wearing brown for 3 months."

"All the trees are dying. Raking them is such a pain."

"There's too many college kids around now that school has started."

Etc. Etc. Etc.

Call me crazy, but I love the Fall. How can anyone not love it?

The air is crisp and clean. It feels like snow is coming, but it isn't yet. The leaves on the tree-lined streets are shedding their cumbersome weight in firework displays of red and gold. The leaves on the ground make the nicest crunching noise as you walk all over them--like biting into a head of lettuce. The ground gets so saturated with suicidal leaves that it looks like a red carpet rolled out before you.

Students go back to school, triggering "Back to School Sales" that everyone can enjoy--student or not. Dorm furniture--ripe for the taking--fills the streets after trying in vain to fit in closet-sized rooms.

Perhaps my favorite part of Fall--the part that makes others cringe while I giggle with delight--is the fashion.

The bright fashions of Summer are boxed away in basements in favor of more sensible earth colors. Browns, golds, and reds appear on mannequins in store windows. Short shorts, hairy legs, and cleavage stand aside to make way for smart, touchable sweaters and khakis. No jackets needed yet, unless it's for style's sake.

My dark hair, pale complexion, and feces-colored eyes are perfectly complemented by Fall colors. Not only that, the cool Fall mornings and warm days require careful clothing planning. Layering is your friend. Layering is a gay man's dream. It allows for a mid-day wardrobe change. Leaving the house in a t-shirt covered by a fuzzy pull-over sweater, I return home with my t-shirt on and my sweater in my man-purse. When the sun peeks out in the afternoon, it's my cue for a costume change. 2 outfits in one day! What's not to like?

My only bad Fall experience was during a dentist appointment. Wearing my infallible t-shirt/sweater combo, I sauntered into my dentist's office only to discover that his heating system was on the fritz. It was my first dentist appointment in three years. I had never met this man...this "Dr. DeSoto" as they call him. Walking into his office was like skating into an igloo. My nipples stood at attention and could be seen through my multiple shirt layers.

Acting like nothing was wrong, he shook my frigid hand and ushered me into his torture chair. I couldn't tell if I was shivering because of the cold or out of fear that he would chastize me for not going to the dentist in three years--that I had mouth-rot, that my teeth were so riddled with cavities they all needed come out immediately, that they don't have any veneers to replace them with and so I'll have to gum my way through life.

"Let's see what we have here." He muttered into his mask and yanked my mouth open.
I could see my icy breath rising from my gaping maw. While he was prying around my mouth with some sort of incendiary device, I got the chills. He tapped on one of my tusks to check for decay and I shivered, biting down on his fingers. It wasn't on purpose--at least I don't think it was--but he was too busy screaming and bleeding to accept my apologies. He ran to the bathroom to wash off.

Sitting there on his operating table, I was getting a case of the cold sweats. My t-shirt was soaked to my skin, my palms were wet, my hair stuck to my face. I leapt up and started pulling my sweater over my head, desperate for some air. It got tangled on my melon head on its way off. Struggling mightily, I couldn't remove it. It got further lodged and twisted.

I heard footsteps approaching from the bathroom but couldn't see anything. Trying to look casual I went to sit back down in the chair but missed and sat on a tray of dental tools instead. Crashing to the floor and taking the tools with me, I flopped around on the ground like a seal, bare-chested and exposed.

"What are you DOING?" I heard the silhouette of DeSoto shout.

"I'm sorry!" I yelled into my shirts. "I was cold! I mean...hot! And nervous!"

I struggled to my feet, crunching on some tools and hitting my head on the overhead lamp causing it to swivel into a cabinet with a crash.

"We're done here! Please leave!" He boomed.

It took me several minutes to find the door, but I did leave and never came back. It took me two more years to go to a new dentist. I had three cavities, gingivitis, and a loose filling. It was still an improvement over my last visit.