I like can't even with my T Swift obsession. I love her. I mean I have a number of divas that I connect with on spiritual levels:
Kelly Clarkson is the diva that basically wrote one song that captures every feeling I've ever had - "Since U Been Gone."
Kesha (RIP $) is who I think I am when I drink too much and stagger around and have the best time at parties. Of all the divas her songs about inclusion seem the most real to me, probably because she's drunk when she writes them and that's when everyone seems the most tolerable (see Oktoberfest post).
Iggy Azalea is just Iggy. Gurl worked her way up and is now weird and awesome and all over the radio.
Then Taylor.
Tay Tay.
She just, somehow, has captured the entire essence of being blandly interesting, single, and having feelings (?) You hear her songs and are like "that feeling I've had before." It's not like a profound Sam Smith-good-lord-I-just-want-someone-to-love-me feeling of "Stay With Me", but it's all the every day feelings of just stuff...and more importantly, things.
Remember "You Belong with Me"? Somehow anyone who ever had even a little unrequited love in their life GOT THAT SONG. AND IT HAS A HAPPY ENDING. AFTER A KICKASS KEYCHANGE!
And let's not forget "Love Story." Anyone who's ever had a crush on someone GOT THAT SONG! AND IT HAS A HAPPY ENDING. AFTER A KICKASS KEYCHANGE.
Wait... I’m sensing a pattern.
But it's not just happy feelings. There's sad ones too. Like red - loving him was red, losing him was blue. Anyone who had ever felt red and blue GOT THAT SONG. No happy ending, sorry.
I have literally listened to her new album 100s of times. I know because "Shake It Off" alone has over 300 listens.
I think most people who know me, know I'm a Shake It Off kind of guy. I like dancing and fun and staying out too late and going on too many dates. But the album obsession goes beyond just Shaking It Off.
One night a few weeks ago I was meeting for drinks with my friends. My one friend had gently suggested that he thought he and his doctor friend would hit it off. This set off a "Love Story" mentality in my head.
HERE COMES THE KEYCHANGE!!
So we go out for drinks and meet and my two friends go to the bathroom at the same time. The guy and I talk and I'm like, "This is it. We're gonna hit it off."
What followed was us talking about start up tech companies. He pulls out his phone and shows me that he works for this tech start up. One of his Instagram photos is he and this hunky spokesmodel posing by a sign for the company.
"That's my boyfriend," he said.
Then shit got "Red."
Like, it wasn't just that we weren't going to get married/engaged outside a castle, it was that this guy was a hot doctor who made lots of money and worked for a volunteer start up and was dating a really hot model and lived in New York and uggghhhhh...
I think I probably looked physically defeated when my friends came back. More of the hot doctor's friends showed up and I just couldn't even.
I excused myself and headed home.
To listen to T Swift. Her song "Clean" is about letting yourself be clean from the fears, frustrations, and hurts of the past; it seemed especially relevant at the time.
Sweater Symbiosis
When I was in Istanbul on vacation I went to Zara. I never shop at Zara because nothing really fits me and it's like I-should-have-studied-finance expensive. But, in Istanbul, because of the exchange rate shopping at Zara is half off. This means that I didn't feel bad about buying vanity clothes that basically are way too tight and are only suitable to wear to homosexual establishments on weekends.
While I was there I spent just over 100 bucks and got a pair of jeans, a sweater, and a dress shirt. The pants are basically jeggings but the dress shirt is okay. The sweater...
Oh, the sweater...
So basically one day I forgot that I got the white sweater in Istanbul at Zara and it isn't in my standard Express dress shirt size pattern. I put it in the bag and put it on after the gym in the morning. This is important because had I put it on at home with any other clothing options, this sweater would have stayed in my closet, probably perpetually. So I put on the sweater, walk to the mirror to put in my hair product and think,
"Oohhhhh... Nooooo..."
This sweater is basically a snow-white second skin. In addition to this, it also had some sort of symbiotic power with me. I mean, don't get me wrong, I work out and am in good shape, but this sweater gave me cleavage, made my shoulders doubly wide and added at least 2 inches to my biceps. Part of me was like, "Tedd, you look good. Like ruhl good." But the other half was like, "Tedd, this sweater is going to make
everyone think you're crying for attention. You're singleness is making you act out."
So I just suck it up because I have nothing else to wear and inside my head I wonder if I'm just overreacting to how the sweater makes me look.
My perception was proved correct, however, the minute I walked into work.
"Tedd! You look like a Danish ski instructor!"
That was comment #1.
"Tedd, that sweater..." = #2
Had there have been any other people at work, it would have solicited more responses, I know this because I am in the kitchen getting some food and a straight dude just stared at me. Like not a sexy look but a "wow, that sweater is something else look." And by "something else" I mean extremely homosexual.
I sit down next to my work wife and am like, "I should not have worn this sweater. It's way too tight."
Throughout the day the comments and compliments kept coming. Straight dudes, straight girls, everyone had something to say about the sweater. I had all sorts of plans after work, so I couldn't go home and change, either. It was post-work dinner with a college friend, then a poetry reading, then drinks with some friends.
At this point I want to say that I don't think it's bad that people said things, it really as nice. BUT IT MAKES ME THE MOST UNCOMFORTABLE. At breakfast after the straight dude stared at me I broke out into one of my good ol' cold sweats that signal one of my anxiety attacks. I hate being the center of attention and having people notice me, even if it's for positive reasons. To be honest, I think it goes back to growing up and being made fun of. I just want to melt into my surroundings and be ignored.
My therapist probably thinks so, too.
The only person who didn't say anything was my college friend I met for dinner. Our conversation was devoid of any reference to the sweater or its power.
At the poetry reading, for some reason, I expected it to be darker. I was like, "Haha, sweater! You won't have any power in the dark!" But the room was, in fact, lit up completely by fluorescent lights.
My best friend from the MFA program just walked up to me and goes, "That sweater."
"Yes," I said. "I think I'm going to go home and burn it."
After the reading I went to my final stop of drinks with my friends. One friend just laughed and applauded when I came in. Our good friend who tends bar says, "That is the gayest sweater I have seen in my entire life."
The only thing that saved me was that we were meeting one of our friends and his out of town gay friend, who had on a sweater of almost equal gayness as mine. I was worried that if their gay, symbiotic powers joined forces that it would be the end of western civilization as we know it.
Luckily, it didn't. But don't worry, the sweater is tucked away. She's only coming out this winter when it's after dark and the only destination is Sidetrack.
LA Fitness is the Devil
So a few months ago, I had this gym problem. (The author said also complaining about food stamps and tax breaks for the poor.)
But no, really, as a single gay man, a gym problem IS A REAL PROBLEM. In my further attempts to not die alone or with a bedraggled older cat lady at my side, I’ve tried to stay in pretty good shape. In the summer it’s not too bad, but as fall approaches Chicago, you gotta be ready for anything.
So, my gym membership expired in August, and I had 1 month between getting a new membership at my work gym, where we were moving in a month, or vegetating on a couch for a month. I got a Groupon for this super trendy gym in River North (a part of Chicago full of straight douchebags). This gym was amazing – it had low lighting, judgmental trainers, and played really thumpy club music. Thumpy club music to the point where I would actually Spotify songs inbetween exercises.
Well, the glory days of this gym faded into nothing. My work postponed moving for another month, so I had 2 months of being gymless.
This led me into the Mephistophelean hands of LA Fitness.
LA Fitness is basically the Aldi’s of gyms. To be honest, it’s where I’d go if I didn’t have a gym right next door to my current office. I’m not a gym snob, and LA Fitness has everything, but it’s cheap and the people who work there have more muscles than brain cells and have a hard time articulating themselves in compound sentences.
So I went in and signed up.
“What want? Gym? Now good? Gym?”
I’ve just seen the movie Congo, and basically the staff is like Amy. Like, the idea gets across, but it’s mostly, “Why are you repeating everything?”
So I went into the cubicle section of The Fit and met with a trainer.
“Want 3 month, 6 month, 12?”
“3 – I think.”
“Then sign up 2 month, get 1 month free, cancel next week.”
“Wait what?”
“Sign, cancel! Sign cancel – two weeks!”
Before I could even say anything, this trainer had taken my blood and writ my name on a contract, ala Ursula the Sea Witch.
I didn’t want to cancel immediately, and to be honest The Fit isn’t super expensive, so I figured I’d ride it out until my membership there expired, then I’d move to the new work gym. PERFECT!
Well 90 days later I knew my membership was expiring so I tossed my key tag and signed up at the new gym.
It was just a chance a week later that I noted a charge on my credit card bill for LA Fitness.
“Forsooth!” I cried. “I only signed a 3 month contract!”
[Somewhere off stage a sea witch cackles.]
Yes, you sign a 3-month contract but UNLESS you cancel then it goes on and on until you die.
Well, I was over this, so I called the gym the next day.
“Hello. Gym. Bye-bye gym?”
“Yes, I’d like to cancel.”
“Give me number.”
“I threw away my key tag.”
“Oh. No cancel online. Come in – it easy! Come in 9-5 Monday through Friday.”
By this time I was pissed off about the whole things so I say:
“I HAVE A JOB. I WORK. I CAN’T GO TO THE GYM IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY!”
“Cranky man! That all I do.”
Click.
Once I go off the phone I shook my head. My coworker is like, “What was that about?”
“I’m trying to cancel my LA Fitness membership.”
“Oh, yeah. They’re evil.”
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