All in Good Timing

... Florida? He lives in Florida?

This, of course, being my reaction to a Facebook-stalking session of an ex, myself pretentiously gasping out loud while dressed in sweatpants and cupping a Manhattan on a Tuesday night. The guy I'm referencing, you see, was always the snobbish type -- nothing could be taken at face value, and everything was cliche. Florida? Pft, that's reserved for two-dimensional 65-year-olds in Boca Raton, I can imagine him telling me. Snottily. Jokingly, too -- with a smile that would make it sound endearing, even. But still snotty. Like, "mucus everywhere" levels of snotty. Hence, why we're not holding hands and slurping a spaghetti noodle from opposite ends of the table under the moonlight.

And now, there he is. One big ol' pompous queen gracing the clear-water beaches of America's beacon locale of retirement. And the funny thing? I love Florida.

If I'd brought up the fantastical prospect of living there four years ago, he would have ... well, to be quite honest, I just wouldn't have brought it up. I'd have scoffed at the notion, too. Not because I felt the same way, but because I was a placating, self-conscious twat who knew zilch about what it meant to be in a relationship, date, etc. (Not to discredit everything I've blogged about during that time -- we'll pretend all of that was right on point, y'all.)

My point being that time changes people. The truth is that I wouldn't lie about that now. And apparently, he wouldn't deny it either: Florida is kind of awesome. Disney World? Hello, nostalgia! South Beach? Salutations, beach bodies of the world! Universal Studios? Fucking rad, yo. Stripped of all of his hauteur, I can't think of a single thing that would have kept me away from him. (OK, so there was a slight body odor -- but that's workable.) I could have -- gulp -- actually been with this man.

Though my whiskey burns particularly strong at the thought, I'm inclined to believe that some things really are that simple.

I know, I know: I'm not saying anything new here. Timing is everything. That's a staple of the post-break-up, friend-consoling roundtable. But it also happens to be pretty goddamn accurate. Of the handful of men I've dated, I can point to each one and, without hesitation, say that the timing of each either made them more attractive to me than they would be now or, as is possible with Florida Guy, completely doomed the relationship from the moment my foot kicked dirt up from the starting line.

Is there a moral to be found here? Yes, and no. The long and short of it, is that the odds of finding someone on a parallel timeline as you are pretty doggone slim. I'd have an easier time trying to find real jewelry on QVC. But if you can -- in your inevitable trajectory of Tuesday-night drinking and Facebook-creeping -- point to someone you've since lost touch with (and interest in), and muse to yourself if it just might have worked today, then rejoice. Pal, there's hope for you yet. But also don't kid yourself during your next date when you chalk up a bad personality to bad timing: Be whoever the hell you want to be in a relationship, and dictate your love life by the merits of character first and foremost. Timing changes circumstance, not compatibility.

Meanwhile, I'm stuck with the harsh reality that as I'm here soaking up the bitterness of my Manhattan, he's off sunbathing in the saccharine sanctitude of his Miami. In which case, Father Time's got one helluva sense of humor.

Flying to dangerous heights

Let me preface the oncoming story with these thoughts: I like a guy with bravura, a guy who can take life by the balls and translate that bad-boy moxie into a rush of sexual chemistry. It's dangerous, it's adventurous, it's sexy. But what isn't sexy, is a bloke who puts on the facade of "daring" while holding his inner bat-shit hostage until sex.

This, ladies and gentleman, is a tale of great journeys. A tale of finding yourself, and discovering your inner courage. It's a tale of love, lust, loss, and an all-consuming heartbreak devastating enough to last a lifetime.

...Just kidding, it's actually about the worst sex I've ever had.

***

There are moments in life when I find myself in-between dating cycles and solidly staking my turf in the land of cat ladies. For the most part, these moments are my favorite - I'm not "hung up" on any particular person, there's no one I'm desperately (and pathetically) yearning for, and I feel confident in solely existing with me, myself, and my iPad.

But that don't mean a boy doesn't dream.

In these moments, I fantasize about the types of men that "could be," but never seem to become a reality. The typical fare come to mind - the erotic heroism of police officers and firemen, the "come meet my parents and propose right in front of them" doctors and lawyers, and the hip club-owners everyone wants to bang when they're out and about but don't because it seems dangerous in the "I don't want Chlamydia" kind of way. Now, I generally accept that most of these dream men won't walk into my life and move on with my rom-com marathon accordingly; but when one does, you'd better bet that I'm all over him like a gay fem-bot on Beyonce.

Thus, when I stumbled upon an airline pilot - the profession that ranks pretty low on my list, but is there nonetheless - I wasted very little time before throwing on my best undies and attempting to make a landing even Cap'n Sully would be envious of.

Sadly, aside from holding a profession I found sexually alluring, Pilot Guy wasn't the dream man I had anticipated. His apartment, while quaint, was subject to an annoying beeping sound from an alarm setup that consumed me with "Tell-Tale Heart"-esque neurotic annoyance. The apartment itself, meanwhile, was disappointingly decorated with predictable airplane memorabilia and plain furniture that would make Martha Stewart cringe and Beaver Cleaver's mom jump for joy.

And sitting next to him on the couch, striking conversation and trying to compete by exuding the best "I'm interesting too" persona I could muster, I could suddenly see tumbleweed roll by as he delved into soporific discussion about an insurance plan with his new airline and a rant about his former writing ambitions. Out of all the stories that could have been told by a pilot who soars the skies every day and travels to faraway places as frequently as the average American orders a Big Mac, I got stories about insurance plans and his failed attempt as a writer. The Fates have a catty sense of humor.

And, most horrific of all, the man served me coconut-flavored beer. Coconut. He could have been boasting a burly lumberjack outfit and chest hair that would make any "Bike Stop" frequent drool, and he still would have seemed emasculated to me in that moment.

But even as his pilot charm was slowly wearing off, I was determined to fulfill at least one fantasy.

I don't generally kiss and tell (erotic details), but the short-lived experience that came next was one that still makes me queasy when I happen to pass by the building. A pilot is supposed to be good at steering to a destination, but this guy was off by miles. I might also add that I'll never understand the appeal of shouting random derogatory comments during sex as if you've just been diagnosed with a crippling case of turrets - but perhaps, like coconut, it's just not my flavor.

My walk of shame home moments later was just that: a walk of shame. "Two hours of my life I'll never get back," I thought, recounting the night's events.

But all the same, I learned an invaluable lesson about fantasies I won't soon forget and hope to pass on: The journey really is better than the destination.

The Rules of Party Attraction

Anyone who's anyone knows the game of party-hopping on a Saturday night, and anyone with a condom in their pocket or a yearning heart has their sights set on the night's crowd, seeking the time of their life. Lights, camera, dry hump on the dancefloor: Don't let your perfectly groomed hair and snazzy clubbin' get-up go to waste.

To the dismay of single folk everywhere, making the most of a party is a multi-step process more laborious than your mind might realize as you click "Attend" to RSVP on Facebook for the shindig you've been obsessing over. Beyond the surprisingly hefty amount of time spent preparing for a party (hair, outfits, make-up, cocktail hour beforehand - the whole sixty-nine yards), the checklist of matters to take care of upon walking into a party seems almost endless: Greet your gracious host, say a brief hello to those few people you recognize ("Oh, it's simply been too long!"), check your things in, and then assimilate into the crowd to get your groove on before you're quickly branded as the loser standing alone in a corner grinding against the wall.

From there, it's a matter of sex smarts and plastering enough smiles and sultry eye glances on your face to permanently fixate your expressions in one position for the entire night.

The simple goal here? Don't look like a goober.

What I've recently come to realize, is that there's a legitimate reason why the popular phrase "catch of the day" exists in the [gay] dating world. At some point in your party experience - and it's normally very early on in your time at the party - you're going to inevitably find yourself escaping into a corner that gives you a panoramic view of the selections of the night, and you're going to scout the lake for the biggest fish, the smelliest one, the ugliest one and, if you're fortunate enough, the tasty, mouth-watering one.

And at this point, it's a matter of casting your line, and reeling it in.

As a result of some fruitful, enlightening discussion with one of my fellow party-goers, I've come to a (somewhat) life-changing realization that there are, in fact, four types of people you will encounter during your "fishing trip":

1. The guy who's just not that into you. Sadly, you will be incredibly and inexplicably attracted to this person, but their sights are set on someone else. Perhaps it's the lighting, or perhaps you just look like shit that night, but it's not going to happen - no matter how many drinks you grab for them or how many buttons you unhook down the line of your shirt. It's best to realize who this person is early on, so as to not waste valuable time on those who you don't actually stand a chance with. Get over it.

2. The second guy who's just not that into you. It shouldn't come as a surprise that there are more than one of these characters in existence at a party. If you run into this person twice in a row, your stroke of luck has probably ditched you for another party. But if you happen to casually stumble upon this person and acknowledge that they're going after another person fairly quickly, there might still be a chance for your sexual fortune.

3. The guy who's really into you, but makes you want to projectile vomit your cosmo. No, it's not a bad batch of cosmos or spoiled lime juice, it's that guy who won't stop staring at you while you're drunkenly grinding on your best friend. The easy way to tackle this, is to run to the other side of the crowd in hopes that they won't follow suit or will stumble upon a different dud stud to be infatuated with. Otherwise, you might try to hook them up yourself; or if you're suave enough, intentionally talk to them and make yourself seem about as appealing as Charlie Sheen on Twitter.

4. The guy who is "just right." OK, so it's not quite as romantic or ideal as the tale of Goldie Locks, but spotting this catch is the moment you should really whip out the net and dive it into the water. And contrary to what some might advise, "playing it safe" with this person is the absolute worst tactic you can employ. Instead of striking up conversation about what they do, talk about who they do. Instead of discussion about their day, talk about the events of the party. That doesn't mean appeasing them, per se, but do be politically affluent enough to know when you're being a kiss-ass. Just like a job interview, emphasize your skills.

As you strut your way into your next party, do try to be conscious of the four-person rule, and for the love of God, don't stand in a corner by yourself the entire night. Bring your fishing rod, and be prepared to get in the game - no matter how long you may end up waiting for a bite.

Cybersex and the City

A racing heartbeat, throbbing loins, and a thoroughly flushed face forced onto the strong shoulder of your partner as their lips massage the contoured nook on the side of your neck. Blood rushes through your body, your eyes roll to the back of your head uncontrollably, and a pulsating sense of pleasure overcomes your body from head to toe, leaving you satisfied like a dog having finally snatched an out-of-reach bag of treats.


These are all experiences you don't get with cybersex.

When the inventors of Skype and Google Chat were concocting the blueprints of their services, I can only wonder whether they realized the trends they were about to start. No doubt, their envisioned experiences by the average person involved army wives interacting with their hubbies while on deployment, or mothers and fathers greeting their child that had just left the nest to begin anew in college. But did the vision of lusty touching and seductive stares cross their minds when they tested their video chat programs?

The world may never know.

It goes without saying that cybersex is akin to being the new phone sex: everyone does it, but no one wants to talk about it. When you're chatting with your friends about "getting laid" last night, you're more than likely alluding to physically "getting it in" after a wild night out or a late-night rendezvous with a Grindr whore guy. But recall the last time you had an in-depth conversation over martinis about having an orgasmic sexual encounter via Web cam? If you can muster up an actual recollection, you're far more progressive (or hopeless) than you probably realize.

My intentions as a sexual being are never to achieve sexual gratification through an indirect manner, but then again, my sights are so rarely set on just sex, that the cyber phenomenon only recently occurred to me. My recent travels took me to a Web chat with a student from the University of Pennsylvania (yes, one of those) who, like anyone else scouring the Web at 2 a.m., was looking for a little gratification of his own.

As I have the rotten habit of doing, I indulged in his bad flirting and creepiness for the sake of curing my boredom and embarking on my version of the "research" process. But curiously, his intentions for the evening went right to the Web cam - no mention of "coming over to watch a movie," no implication that he wanted to hop in bed with me, just a Skype invite from some loser with what could be the least sexy screen name on Earth. In the end, the "cyber" experience wasn't necessarily damaging, but it did leave a bit of a sour taste in my mouth. And my general rule, is that if I'm going to leave an encounter with a sour taste in my mouth, it's going to be a literal one - not a metaphorical one.

After experiencing a little more of the online dating scene than I care to admit, and reading through this particular person's messages, I've come to realize that the Web has completely redefined sex and - more alarmingly - the flirting cliche. Responses to simple, innocent introductory questions predictably draw forth the ever-popular, "Oh, I'm just laying in bed" answer, which in a modern day context translates to, "Oh, I'm just hard, horny and looking to have sex." The "Is that a gun in your pocket?" line would, sadly, come as a breath of fresh air put next to the brilliant lines some of the men in Philadelphia have come up with. Somehow, the world has become too half-hearted and sex-oriented to even attempt placing wit and humor into hook-up scenarios. And now, even more devastatingly and mind-bogglingly, we've managed to take the physical contact out of sex.

Yeah, try imagining that one.

It is my opinion that the journey is almost always more sense-heightening and satisfying than the destination, and for that reason, analyzing cybersex only leaves me confounded. By no means is it unhealthy by nature, and it can be enjoyable if enacted with the right person under the right pretense, but I can't help but wonder if it has left the sexual world lagging like dial-up in the 90s. After all, this act of glorified masturbation puts forth no sense of incentive: why work hard for something you can do yourself, anyway?

As fun as cybersex may (sometimes) be, I don't appreciate its social inept interactions spilling into real life scenarios. Allowing cyber hook-ups as a temporary substitute for sex is one thing, but using such a sloppy method of "sex" as a new sexual go-to? If approaching someone in a public setting for sex donning PJs, messy hair and a piss-poor attitude doesn't make you attractive, why would it make you studly during a video chat?

Please, folks, take my advice and try to aim for the "birds and the bees" and not the "nerd and the cyber sleaze."

Words you never said, in a text you never sent

Left alone in a dark room with nothing but your thoughts, you recount the things you might have done differently, and debate all of those unsaid words swirling through your mind like a tornado that never touched ground. One moment, you tell yourself you made the right decision, and that moving forward without the baggage is the best route. In another moment, you ponder whether that last text you sent – or rather, didn’t send, may have made the difference.

It’s a funny, funny world of communication we now live in.

Never has it been easier to interact with someone than it is today, and yet more and more, those words that we can feel slipping off the tip of our tongue still slide back into the back of our throat, thrust into an abyss of no return. Perhaps it’s because the choice to express emotion has been simplified to a text box and a “send” button, or perhaps it’s just because we don’t feel the need to take chances in the way we used to.

Finding myself in a bit of a predicament with my own texting experience, I received an out-of-the-blue message that left my eyebrow raised but my heart churning with excitement. It was the kind of text message you envision getting, but realistically convince yourself won’t happen. The text’s surface message was simple, but as most texts also are, complex in its hidden meaning. It goes without saying that no one judges a text based on its content as much as they do its context, and this was especially true of this case. My id dared me to indulge in the opportunity, but my ego saw me playing it safe and responding with words that I knew held no meaning, regardless of their context. The latter has left me contemplating how my love life might be different with a more ambitious response, with this case as well as the countless others that remain untold.

All of which begs the question of what you do with these texts that result in a racing heart and an apprehensive pair of thumbs; what you do with these hidden messages that lurk behind an actual message like a panther eager to pounce but suppressed by long-term tactics.

Our love lives are full of roads we’ve either bypassed or completely blockaded with “caution” signs and police sirens screeching with sounds of warning to steer you away from a desperate scenario. There are texts we ignore that could have developed into something more with a little more risk-taking, and conversations full of potential we intentionally lead down the path of simplicity out of basic anxiety. They’re all interactions with variables, with unrealized outcomes we may always be left to wonder about.

I once wrote a love letter to a person I was involved with, and found myself tempted to send it, knowing that the particular person appreciated handcrafted and heartfelt materials. I had the letter written, folded, and ready to go in an envelope, before something shouting deep within me sprang to consciousness and stopped my hand from slipping it into the mailbox. Sometimes, I wonder how that relationship would have evolved had I actually sent that letter. More recently, I consider how many more of these heart-protecting actions I’ve unknowingly taken, and particularly whether those words I’ve left unsaid in text messages have actually changed my life in ways I may never understand. Never has mankind had more opportunity to take a chance on someone, to put themselves out there with a few pecks from a twiddling thumb, and yet so infrequently do we take advantage of these opportunities to truly become close with someone.

It’s hard to determine whether an unsent text message (letter, email, whatever it may be) represents the life-altering scenario you envision in your mind, but it is nonetheless true that these represent chances not taken, and roads left unmapped. In some cases, it’s understandably just not worth it to take the chance, but as you’re driving down your road of mind-boggling love and infatuation, consider for a moment that your life is not limited to the roads laid out before you. As you drive yourself past these exits and pit stops, remind yourself that the road is your own creation, with a boundless array of unpaved roads left ahead of you that remain a mystery but hold the potential to be the most fruitful. Consider it a Columbus state of mind.

In the end, I beg this one thing of you: don’t leave yourself drowning in the words you’ve never said.

Have a question you want answered by Brotherly Lover? Send an email to brandon.baker@temple.edu or a tweet to @BrotherlyLover.

Five Reasons to Not Look Like Shit While in Public

I don't mean to channel the same uptight, prissy gay man stereotype you'd likely see in a Hollywood movie with a sass quota, but it would be great if some of Philadelphia's populace could do the city the great favor of not looking like shit all the time.

I get it: some of you are college students who wear sweatpants to class for convenience sake, some of you haven't done laundry in three weeks because you don't feel like journeying to the bank to get quarters, and some of you say you just don't have the money to invest in looking bang-able on a daily basis.

But get this: if the welfare girl on the street can afford maintenance of her weave, the SEPTA change machines can still spit out quarters, and your jeans can still button, you too can accomplish the great task of not looking like you walked out of a tornado. Even Dorothy managed to keep her hair in place after enduring a wind storm and crushing a gross-looking bitch witch with her hinterland house.

But I also get that looking good for your peers requires some incentive, so let's take a stroll down Alluring Avenue, where you just might find the cross street leading to Copulation Corner if you play your fashion-savvy cards right.

1. Walk it like you've got it. Newsflash: even if you don't look like Enrique Iglesias or Heidi Klum, that doesn't mean you can't fool the world into perceiving you that way. Feeling as good as you look is an essential part to changing the mood in the air. If you just rolled out of bed, don't walk with a hunch that conveys to the world that very fact; hold your head up high and walk with a strut. Mind you, "strut" does not equal "gay limp"; march down the street with confidence in your body and your known assets. Even if you don't find yourself all that desirable, someone else inevitably will - no matter how terrible you might look.

2. Don't be afraid to dress up for no reason. There's nothing shameful about wanting to look good. Take notes from Ryan Gosling's character in "Crazy, Stupid, Love"; he's a guy that knows what he wants, knows how to get what he wants, and also knows where to get it. Sprinkle in some conviction with your good-looking self. And if that's not enough motivation to get you to slap on that sweater you normally reserve for really nice events or tight pair of jeans you're embarrassed to squeeze into, think to yourself this: "What would Carson Kressley do?"

3. Even fate can't save a frumpy fool. If you're one of those "closet faters" who believes in the cosmos eventually leading you to your soulmate, consider that even your predestined beau may not want to "tap dat" if you're donning over-sized bluejeans and a coffee-stained t-shirt that screams "my backwoods mommy on crack dressed me this morning."

4. You never know where your libido will take you. Don't assume your hoo-has or your dark side are going unnoticed today. At any moment, you may find yourself in a promising encounter, which means you need to be prepared. Your sex drive is about as predictable as the boom-bust stock market; invest some time and effort into your body in case opportunity presents itself. It's like sticking cash under your mattress in case of an emergency.

5. Don't let the weeds cover the soil. Just because you're a pathetic loser in a dry spell and haven't had sex in more than a year, the world doesn't need to know that. Let Philadelphia - or whatever area you live in - know that your sexually radiant glow has not evacuated your body. You alone have the unique ability to control your aesthetic image communicated to those around you.

Or, basically, just don't look like shit.

Questions? Comments? Email Brandon Baker at brandon.baker@temple.edu or send a tweet to @BrotherlyLover.

'Why so single?'

There aren't many questions I get asked by people that throw me for a loop or irritate the hell out of me, but there is one that continues to swerve into my consciousness and circulate an endless loop of question marks around my brain.

"Why are you still single?" he asks as his eyebrows curve downward with puzzlement and his eyes meet mine.

From my point-of-view, there are a million questions I could ask in response. "Why do you care?" is the first bold rebuttal that comes to mind, though even I can't tell you why my first instinct is to take offense.

My actual response could either be viewed as much kinder or much more passive aggressive, depending on how you look at things. I answer with a smile and a glance to the side, 'You're not the first person to ask that question, and you surely won't be the last.'

And while he took the hint and backed off the subject of relationship statuses, I got the sense that he assumed I was somehow repressing some deep character flaw or erecting a wall of defense against insecurity with my vague answer. As it turns out, a person's not allowed to be single without a reason.

I never cease to be amazed by the men I meet who manage to do a complete 180 on their feelings about relationships after only one date or a briefly engaging conversation. The date starts with, "Well, I'm not really looking for anything long-term," and transforms into "I'm looking for the love of my life" within a few hours of "clicking" after only a semi-decent coffee outing.

Apparently, the key to finding a partner is to lie and claim to not want one at all. Are single people really just lying to themselves to feel better about their lifestyles, or are we genuinely comfortable with our status - societal stigmas and all?

A close friend of mine, who I will refer to as "Julie" for the sake of this blog entry, has a habit of saying one thing and doing another. She will declare in conversation that she has "written off" men, and by the time we next meet, have a plethora of dating stories to divulge with the eagerness of a hyena hunting down Simba.

It's not necessarily that Julie is a hypocrite or a fragile human being, it's more that it makes the idea of 'single and fabulous' that much less legitimate to the reigning members of the world. If you're single and happy, draw a line and stay on that side until the cosmos commands otherwise. If you're a dating addict that breathes new life upon indulging in a flowing stream of encounters, stick with it and hope for the best. There's no shame in wanting love, but don't pretend that you're a Miranda when you're actually a Charlotte. (Forgive me for the Sex and the City reference - I was bound to make one eventually.)

I don't know why I'm still single, and at some point it's better to realize that it just doesn't matter. I would rather endure the awkward moment of being asked the question on a date and loftily dodge the entire conversation than bother wasting time analyzing the details of why I can't find a person that sticks. Finding a "reason" for being single is nothing more than a scapegoat for the veiled insecurities you hide behind your hardened exterior - or at least that's how any vocalized explanation is destined to be perceived.

Live and learn, single people of the world: you don't need a reason to be single, and the closer you come to embracing your own identity as a singular being, the closer you may even come to never having to face the "single question" ever again.

Questions? Comments? Want to share your own calculated response to "the single question"? Brandon Baker can be reached at brandon.baker@temple.edu

Trouncing the trollop treatment

The definition of what makes you promiscuous seems to be distinctly different depending on where you travel in the glory hole that is the Keystone State. If you're a south-central Pennsylvania inhabitant, being on the prowl at Wal-Mart with a muffin top and a box of condoms lazily tossed into your diaper bag (sans baby daddy, of course) stand as strong indicators that - most likely - you're a bit of a hoe-bag. Traveling a little bit northward into the heartland of Central Pennsylvania will see a similar story being told - minus the baby and the diaper bag, and plus an eye-rolling "oh, you really think I'm cute?" ditsy attitude proudly boasted through a weekend bar crawl in the faux-urban depths of Harrisburg.

But Philly - well, anyone who lives in Philadelphia can tell you one thing about Philadelphian standards when it comes to sex: there aren't any.

At the very least, what level of sexual engagement is acceptable in our fair city varies between its different sections and numerous, wildly contrasting social groups. And while the latter is true almost anywhere you may find yourself, it's found to be especially true in the case of a city whose basic social identity is best defined as not having one at all.

Is it the "City of Brotherly Love"? Or, perhaps, the "City of Brotherly Sluts"? Who can tell.

I had a passing conversation with an Italian man from Long Island recently, who claimed to be looking for apartments in South Philly and attempting to take in the scene of the city in the process. Unsurprisingly, he didn't seem to understand the social breakdown of Philadelphia, but commented that he hopes Philadelphians prove to be less "slutty" than New Yorkers.

The poor, clueless bastard.

The word choice of "slutty," which immediately takes me back to my grade school gossip days of pointing to the bimbo in the back of the classroom who would intentionally leave her training bra at home, is what caught me off-guard. Why is it that, like our preceding high school years of whispering about the town whore, we still use sex-negative terms like "slut" to define the guy or gal that partakes in a fun and friendly one-nighter?

Granted, this guy struck me as immediately strange to begin with, particularly following his mid-conversation, out-of-left-field comments about wanting to "transfer his masculine energy" to his partner during sex. (Right, because a gay "bottom" must be in dire need of his partner's macho-man "energy" - OK.) Nevertheless, I'm baffled that even a New Yorker would treat the sexually active with a finger wag and a "tsk tsk."

Once upon a time, I would have told you how much I resented Philadelphia's hypersexual and notoriously non-committal batch of singles, but today I write as a Philadelphian who has seen the light. Living in Philadelphia and having a sex life doesn't make you a "slut" - it makes you human. Pretending sexual desires don't exist and ignoring impulses for the sake of avoiding being called "the S word"? That makes you naive.

Now, I'm not advocating hopping on the first guy that buys you a drink (there are diseases to be concerned about, after all), but I am declaring that sexual positivity is nothing to be ashamed of, and certainly is not something to be described with those dirty words our parents would formerly wash away with soap. (Perhaps our parents had the right idea for the wrong reasons?)

Modern studiers of sex and relationships consider "the hook-up" to be the new "first date," only turning into something deeper after the sexual test has been passed. In that case, Mr. Italian Man may find himself alone with his hand for longer than his libido desires, as the brotherly lovers of this fair city are loud, proud and ready to pounce.

PROFILE: Talkin' smack with the brain behind 'Gossip Gay'

Crying in the bathroom of the club over a broken heart? He's lurking in the stall next to you. Selling your body on the streets for a quick buck? He's around the corner with a camera. Posting a changed Facebook relationship status with your sugar daddy? You'd better bet it'll be on his blog within the hour.

Philly's now infamous gay "celebrity" blogger Kyle Shemelia has become somewhat of an anomaly in Philly's gay scene. He's the first of the city's gossipy gays to actually lay the hidden cards of the rumor-prone on the table with absolutely no desire to apologize for any harsh criticisms, public exposes, or Facebook creeping that some might consider borderline disturbing.

Shemelia's popular blog "Gossip Gay," which began as an experiment last June, has garnered more than 157,000 page views since its virtual conception and amassed a whopping 232 individual blog posts, some of which have been written by a selection of guest writers, but have mostly been written by Shemelia himself. To say it has been a runaway success might be an understatement.

"The night that I posted [my first post], I woke up to 8,000 views the next day," Shemelia says.

The blogger, who isn't afraid to label Lindsay Lohan as his role model and names television cult hit "Gossip Girl" and the trash-tastic "Burn Book" from the movie "Mean Girls" as his inspiration for the blog, seems to find success with the exact things critics pan his blog for.

A quick chat with some of the blog's readers instantly draws forth harsh descriptors like "filth" and "despicable," but Shemelia remains unfazed by his so-called "haters."

"They secretly want to be on there; they just want to make a big deal about it," he says. "They like the attention."

Shemelia says he receives as many as 25 to 30 emails per day, some of which provide "scoops" and others which (as might be expected) provide commentary on the ethics of the blog.

"I find insults about me to be... I mean, I don't like them, but I don't cry or get upset about them," Shemelia says. "I guess The Burn Book was pretty mean about me, at first."

The Burn Book, a copycat blog which arose as Gossip Gay's direct competitor and has since been removed, notoriously crossed a controversial ethical line that, to date, Shemelia has not: the posting of nude photos of local gay men intended to be private.

"I didn't like it," says Shemelia, declaring his own set of moral boundaries. "I asked him to take them down; I don't like to use naked pictures of people."



All the same, Shemelia admits to having his own set of favorite gays to pick at with scandalous pictures and write verse-like posts about, likening his blog to an ongoing local soap opera.

"I love posting about Tyler [Michael]," he says. "Gossip Gay, at this point, kind of has characters... everyone else in the show is an extra."

Shemelia cites his Facebook news feed as his primary source of information, expressing frustration in response to critics who condemn his posts as invasive.

"Everyone talks about everyone anyway; sometimes you just see something on your news feed and think it's funny," he says. "Quotes that I use... I don't just make this stuff up."

Despite negative feedback, Shemelia wears his blogger identity with pride, but not without the occasional hesitance of moving forward.

"I've shut it down [before], and I've gone through times where I haven't posted about anything," Shemelia says, additionally confirming that the blog is currently on hiatus. "I've thought about getting rid of it, but I like having it; it's my baby."

To be sure, Shemelia is a thick-skinned blogger not unlike the Web's reigning "gossip queen" Perez Hilton, who has faced similar attempts to have his blog fumigated by those discontent with his site's material. He posts with not only the same Mean Girl malice he references as his inspiration, but with the same amount of tactful calculation that keeps him on top as Philadelphia's own Regina George.

"It's hot," Shemelia says of his blog, in an attempt to sum it up in one word. "It's all what I see, hear, and what people [say when] they call in to me."

And asked whether he would expand his creeper-turned-researcher blog to a Perez Hilton-level platform given the opportunity, Shemelia had only one word to say:

"Definitely."

Have questions or feedback? Brotherly Lover Brandon Baker can be reached at brandon.baker@temple.edu

Confessions of a Grind-a-holic

You're laying in bed, bored to tears and ready to press "play" on your iTunes copy of "All By Myself," when you hear a distinctive "bloop" emote from your phone and/or tablet. Suddenly, things are turning around. The bloops keep on coming, your screen lights up with red circles in the corner of multiple scandalous (and sometimes comical) profile pictures, and you're left not only feeling great about yourself, but enamored and somewhat addicted to the alluring game of flirtation.

Yes, folks, we're talking about Grindr.

It hasn't taken long for dating dynamics to evolve with technology; the Western world has gone from participating in the relationship/dating-oriented online realms of OkCupid and Match.com, to becoming even more self-indulgent with casual mobile apps like Grindr and Blendr, which bypass the reading of profiles (which, admittedly, most people don't read anyway) and get right to the point. Within three back-and-forth messages with a person, it has typically already been decided what will happen. You will a) have sex, b) go on a date, or c) continue to flirt, but never actually engage in any in-person activities. The first is the most likely, the second is exceptional but possible and the last is probably the most entertaining aspect of the application(s).

Admittedly, I've quickly become a bit of a Grind-a-holic myself. It isn't very often that I actually meet people I interact with, but I continue to be fascinated and drawn-in by the unknown factors presented by a person whose identity is a complete mystery beyond their "stats" and profile picture. More unpopular, my curiosity is strangely piqued by those creepy, picture-less folk who typically are revealed as 50-year-old men who opt to skip the process of uploading a picture and instead fish for younger men in hopes that they will, essentially, be their self-esteem building tools. Note that I find these people worth mentioning because of the strange number of picture-less people I find that are closeted or discreet rather than sugar daddies - they're the "catch of the day" when they actually turn out to be good-looking, interesting individuals who happen to be on the down-low. Aloof, nonetheless... but intriguing.

Allow me to share one risk-taking experience I found myself involved in on a slow-moving Independence Day eve last summer, an experience that may make you rethink getting together with that curious person who continues to channel messages into your phone:

***

I sat at my desk on an unseasonably cool summer night, browsing through YouTube videos in an attempt to distract myself from a seemingly endless feeling of boredom. Hearing the hub-bub outside of my window didn't help, and I was left with an urge to do something - anything. "Anything" translated to creating a Grindr account, which I hesitantly did with no real intention of pursuing a get-together, but with every intention of using the app to keep my mind entertained.

An hour later, however, I found myself engrossed in conversation with an archetypical South Philly Italian who could be likened to - judging by the profile picture - the bulky "guido" appearance of Ronnie from Jersey Shore. Not exactly my type, but enough to keep my attention. By this time, he was already interested in meeting, which immediately struck me as sudden and, to a degree, sketchy. However, his nonchalance about seeing me that night mitigated much of my uneasiness, causing me to give in to his pleas and march my curious self south of Snyder.

Passing by a sea of Italian-style barbeques and parties, I safely knew I was no longer in the Philly territory I was familiar with. If it was a preview of what was to come, I was unsure of whether my adventure was actually one worth continuing. But pressing on, I finally found his home, stepping onto his dimly lit porch and reaching to press the door bell. Before my forefinger could mark the button, he opened the door, beckoning me inside.

Unfortunately, with the lighting minimal and my not-so-sensible self already a little buzzed, I didn't catch a glimpse of what he looked like until I crossed the threshold. Before me was a man whose spiked hair had been replaced with a dyed-black, receding hairline; a man whose pearly-white smile had turned into a set of chompers that might be better suited for an 80-year-old smoker; an elder whose smooth face had transformed into a wrinkly, contoured surface that made him look less like a lover and more like a father.

But he had beer, and I had time.

I sat down on the couch across from where he looked to have been sitting before I'd arrived, surveying my surroundings, which consisted of a dusty living room full of aged furniture, a kitchen that was loaded with empty beer bottles and boxes and a putrid smell of dogs that I still can't exorcise from my sensual memory.

But still, he had beer, and I had time.

He quickly grabbed me a drink and sat down, embarking on a Q&A session that promptly turned into the beginning of his memoirs. He expressed his life regrets and continued hopes within less than an hour of conversation, delving into the details of his rebellious teenage years (he claimed to have fathered two children and have lived on his own by age 16), and spending a careful amount of time on exploring the troubles of his many failed relationships. One such relationship, which he elaborated on with a special focus on his general willingness to "give," was with a former Temple student whom he gave plentiful amounts of money to and "supported through school." Naturally, the guy dumped him the second after he graduated. All the while I sat, a Temple student myself, understanding his intentions but - surprising even myself - not particularly caring. Why?

He had beer, and I had time.

Or at least I didn't care until the fifth beer came around and his lips took aim at mine. As I turned my cheek and his kiss landed to the left of my nose, he immediately inquired why I was so "guarded." Humored, slightly embarrassed, and becoming increasingly uncomfortable, I shrugged it off and excused myself to the restroom. I was becoming irritated with his tactics of deception and, finally, had decided to further excuse myself from his restroom back to my boring old bedroom.

I'd had enough beer, and had wasted enough of my time.

I bolted down the stairs, rushed to grab my things, and wished him a good night while narrowly avoiding another awkward sexual advance. Sobering up and beginning to feel anger swirl in my stomach like butterflies-turned-dragonflies, I went home and wasted no time deleting my account, continuing into a deep sleep to eliminate my stewing frustration.

I still receive messages from him every holiday.

***

This isn't to say that Grindr is a useless tool; the app serves its purpose for those seeking no-strings-attached encounters that are entirely and blissfully superficial. But for the innocent, naive user who believes in their ability to score a romantic date from the app, kindly turn off your phone when you find your trigger-happy finger an inch away from the "download" button.

I promise you, the free beer isn't worth it.

Why a New Year Should Never Mean a 'New You'

When the glitter and the Dick Clark stutters settle from the glamorous festivities of New Year's Eve, party-goers are left hungover, bummed about their inevitable return to work, and - for whatever reason - more self-conscious than ever. I'm here to shout it loud and clear: never develop a new you for a new year.

Our culture makes bank on the idea that we're not only (abruptly and dejectedly) imperfect beings when January 1st rolls around, but it counts on us admitting to being fat slobs, having the mind of a bumpkin and being more willing to sleep with the next thing that walks around the corner than Lindsay Lohan is to show her vagina to the world. The reality, is that new years should never be about starting anew; they should be about continuing all of those good things otherwise left behind in the prior year. What you need is not a new you, what you need is a better you.

Mind you, when I say a "better you," I don't mean that you should pick up the phone and order a Total Gym; I mean that you would be better off focusing on the things you know you already do well and nurturing those things rather than pretending you're interested in having Chuck Norris abs or making yourself "more organized." (Let's be honest, those folders are going in the trash the very second February rolls around.)

What's worse, is no one seems to be encouraging the "new you" for any of the right reasons. QVC is not selling you its workout machines and magic diet plans to make you feel better about yourself, they're selling it to you with the promise that your husband will love you more, or that you might finally pick up that guy at the bar who may have thought your muffin top wasn't quite as cute as your face. At the end of the day, like just about everything else in the world, it's about sex.

Similarly, the idea of you changing your entire physical appearance and emotional framework in a month's time is about as likely as any SEPTA platform evolving into King's Cross Station in the next ten years. It's not going to happen, and it's going to lead you through a disheartening loop...only when you make it full circle, you're going to be faced with a lonely Valentine's Day and an unopened box of Godiva's leftover from Christmas.

I am instead going to embolden the "better you" part of my theory: it's much easier and certainly more productive to challenge yourself to better the aspects of your personality and skill set you already know you're proficient with. In some cases, it may mean merely reevaluating how you view certain angles of yourself, and looking at those angles in a sharpened light.

For example, I have never claimed to be the most put together or systematic individual. My room is often a disaster zone, with clothes spread across my floor and an uncleaned wine glass sitting on my desk (admittedly sometimes for more than a week). Surely, I could opt to clean the glass and hang my clothes in the closet, but doing so isn't something that necessarily satisfies what I want, it just satisfies an imaginary person who I might envision criticizing me for maintaining a different lifestyle than what they lead. Lately, I look at my empty wine glass (or martini glass - I've been in a cosmo mood as of late), and approach it with a different mindset - a smile, even. The little bit of wine hunkered toward the bottom of the glass reminds me of my quirky unwillingness to finish much of what I start, and at the same time, the red "legs" left on the sides of the glass leading to the small liquid pool settled at the bottom call attention to how every unorganized, incomplete, batshit thought I have running through my mind eventually leads me to a pool of something.

My point, as ambiguous and untailored as it may seem, is that these small things are representative of who we are; they're reminders that we have our own primmed facets to our personalities that separate us from that archetypical hunk of "perfect" man meat displayed on that new treadmill. Don't succumb to superficial pressures under the idea that it will "help you get laid" or lure in your dream man. Uncovering the things you want from a date, a sex partner or relationship will mean equipping yourself with the qualities you want others to see in you, not the traits you're told others want to see in you.

And if your gentleman caller isn't happy with your flabs or your messy room, there is one simple and effective solution: throw your one-week-old glass of wine in their face.

Five (Optimistic) Ways to Feel As Good As You Look

I was relatively surprised to see one bitch dedicated reader describe my most recent blog entry as being very "dark." Now, I can recognize that the topics I tackle aren't always the most uplifting, but I do try and sprinkle in some inkling of optimism at the tail end of each entry to give readers (and myself) renewed belief that success stories do exist in the world of ooey-gooey love.

But as I walked down Walnut St. with my deliciously overpriced Starbucks latte in hand, contemplating whether I really am just too cynical about dating as well as whether I should grab Chinese food before going home, I stumbled upon a sign posted on the tiny construction site near the intersection of Broad and Walnut (pictured).

I'm a firm believer in the idea that things do happen for a reason, and today my conclusion was, like an epiphany to be had in the corniest Jennifer Aniston movie, that I found myself face-to-face with this ambiguously inspiring sign (that undoubtedly had a different meaning) for a bigger reason.

When date after date goes wrong, it becomes easier to sink into disheartened delusion than optimistic perseverance. Could it be that the singles are just cynics?

After giving it some further thought, here is what I've decided I'm going to do: below is a tongue-in-cheek list of five things I might ordinarily write for a Brotherly Love blog entry. Next to them (that is, the list of things I probably would more sincerely advise), are hopeful fortune cookie-esque bits of advice with a Utopian, "it gets better" spin put on them.

Without further adieu, let's try this on for size.

1. Stop slitting your wrist to "Someone Like You." Make the choice to actively listen to feel-good music. Feeling better about yourself means choosing to not indulge in music that finds strength in sorrow. Dust off your girl-power albums from the '90s and get to listening!

2. Burn your ex's things in a ceremonial bonfire. Make peace with your demons. Break-ups can be rough, but your mood doesn't have to be. Make it a point to be civil with your new ex; don't be the crazy ex-girlfriend if you don't have to.

3. Drink away your problems until you're passed out in the bathroom of iCandy. Find a healthy way to de-stress and move forward. Some people start going to the gym to work out anxiety as well as improve their body image, and that's more than OK. Developing a less self-destructive way of relieving negative tension is a fantastic first step to improving how you are perceived by others as well as how you view yourself.

4. Think about how much better you turned out than your high school classmates. Consider how fortunate you are to have the life you do. Opt to focus on the successes of your relationships rather than the failures, and never take for granted the support system you have around you. They can be more valuable than we realize sometimes.

5. Get laid. ...Get laid.


Still not optimistic enough? Send your thoughts to brandon.baker@temple.edu

And another one bites the dust...

Finding a fish in the sea that isn't a piranha is proving to be a much, much rarer occurrence as time goes by. Numb your frustrations for a brief moment and consider how many dates you have actually gone on in the past year. Now consider how many have materialized into anything substantial. (And no, casual sex does not count.)

Most dates are doomed from the get-go: with each passing second-rate loser, our expectations for a first date either 1) increase to an unrealistic standard, or 2) diminish to a level that begs for a poisonous relationship of screaming matches and infidelity. You can't win, but you can't give up. In the end, it's painstakingly paradoxical.

What's worse, modern day pop culture drowns itself in the elusive dream man. Katy Perry is crooning corn ball lyrics about "the one that got away," and Snooki is drunkenly falling over herself in Venice searching for her perfect juicehead dud stud muffin Jionni. Our beloved celebutantes have unknowingly made themselves banners for what it means to have a "normal" relationship.

"All the good ones are gay or taken," moans the average boy-done-me-wrong female of today. In my case, the adage is more along the lines of, "All the good ones are straight, refuse to leave their boyfriend, or fantasize about leather daddies." Where oh where have the good ones gone?

I experienced a gathering recently where it became a serious subject of queer conversation to discuss an unknown, bewildered, recently-"out" gay man who had arrived at the affair by his single-self and soon after left without a single person having acknowledged him. Apparently, a "catch" is so extraordinary, so scanty, that it is to be studied and analyzed to death rather than actually pursued.

Well no f**king wonder we all end up with terrible dates.

In gay man terms (and for others as well, admittedly), I speculate three particular types of men we encounter that we are perpetually drawn to despite their absolute repulsiveness:

1. Narcissists. We don't want to like these types, but there's something about their "let's talk all about me" charm that keeps us coming back. Whether it's their constant ranting about their jobs or obnoxious flexing of their muscles (newsflash: I've eaten marshmallows firmer than your biceps), they're the nicotine of relationships that eventually make us go insane.

2. "What do you mean your dick is only one and a half inches above the national average?" These are the men that, no matter how hard they may claim to try, simply won't be satisfied with anything that comes their way. You're too thick, too thin; too emotionally attached, too distant - it's always something. And God forbid you fish for conversation with substance; it's the crime even the most corrupt lenient judge will never acquit you from.

3. Closet-cases. I'm often times bemused by the number of people I stumble upon who make mention of being closeted. One must eventually wonder: if X person is advertising themselves on X website or regularly attending X gay bar, how "closeted" can X person truly be? These are the fish that deserve the unwarned hook caught in their gills; any jerk with a credit card can blow a locked closet door wide open. These folks are the end-all, be-all of "wasted time."

Finding the consummate lover for yourself, the "good one" that hasn't gotten away yet, is as difficult as finding the ideal person to bring home to a Jewish mother. You can settle for the Roman Catholic that meets half of your standards and offers the proposition of faux-blissful romance 'til your golden anniversary, or you can hold out for the dubious possibility that you'll eventually stumble upon "Mr. Right."

But one thing unquestionably remains true. If you've been nodding your head in agreement to all of the above comments, realize one very important thing: you're one of the good ones.

Have questions or comments? Contact Brandon Baker at brandon.baker@temple.edu.

Five Do's and Don'ts for the Online Dater

New online dating sites are popping up all the time, which is either a sign that the dating form is becoming more and more regular, or that people just love "punny" tongue-in-cheek .com venue titles like "PlentyOfFish." I write this blog from the perspective of the former, but secretly hoping for the latter. (Bring on "plentyofsausage.com," por favor?)

The Do's:

1. Create a profile. The simple and obvious note regarding online dating, don't simply be the bystander mocking the concept when you yourself haven't had a date in over a year. Your pride doesn't mean a whole lot when you're sleeping alone, does it?

2. Use a recent picture in your profile. You have some flexibility with this one; my personal rule is to not post anything more than a year old. However, if you're approaching the big 5-0, be aware that your date might step into the restaurant a bit surprised if you posted a picture of your 25-year-old self with rock hard abs, and you're sporting a new gray 'do and a beer gut.

3. Find the right forum for you. Not all dating networks are the same; if you're a lesbian you certainly aren't going to want to sign up for Grindr, and if you're a gay man, you're probably going to want to steer clear of the homophobic eHarmony that seems to get more TV advertisement than Viagra circa 2000. Like anything else you'd deem important in your life, do your research.

4. Be available, but don't be too available.
You want people to know that you're on the market, but refrain from using the dreaded "R word." Even if you are looking for a relationship, don't specifically advertise that you're looking for one. It leaves the door open for relationship-addicted freak-a-zoids to knock on your profile's door and throw out a marriage proposal. But do be clear and specific about what you want so as to create a niche audience for yourself.

5. Don't be afraid to embellish. Leave your ethics out of your profile. Even if your life is boring, you should never advertise yourself that way. Take the mundane and make it interesting if you have nothing better to include in your profile. So you like marshmallows? Throw in some snarky, made-up "Brokeback Mountain" joke about a time you and your pals sat around the campfire making smores. You work at Wal-Mart? Tell them you work at Whole Foods - especially if you're shooting for the hipster crowd.

The Don'ts:

1. OkStupid. OK, so OkCupid actually goes on the list of better sites you could be using (especially as a free site), but the forum has its flaws in both design and demographics. In general, the site falls in a particularly unique category of sites where you are able to see who is viewing your profile, and when they're viewing. This could be a great thing if everyone that views your profile is sending you a message, but be prepared to ready those shields if you can't take the self-esteem hit. These sites are meant for the confident and straightforward, not the weak of heart or timid types. I won't advise you to not use this site, as I've had my own set of personal success stories with it, but I send you into the battlefield waving a warning flag.

2. "Hey, hot stuff." You find that sexy gal's profile, your claymore goes skyward bound, and your immediate instinct is to let them know. When you reach this point, run to the nearest freezer, grab an ice tray, and topple it downward; no one wants to talk to a creep, even if you're attractive. Success with online dating comes not just from having a perfected profile, but from knowing how to greet new people. Find something witty to say pertaining to their profile without making it look like you've scanned everything they've written three times over.

3. Don't reveal too much, too soon. One of the biggest problems with online dating is that your back-and-forth messages don't leave much room for a great introductory conversation on a first date. Try to keep your conversation a length where you can determine your level of interest, and then continue the conversation in person if you so choose.

4. Choose a safe meeting place. Thankfully, the issue of safety with online dating is slowly going downhill, but it is still an issue. I made the mistake of meeting a 50-year-old creep posing as a 25-year-old hunk at his home; believe me when I say you never want to end up in such an awkward position.

5. Don't linger on a profile. In between your date, it can be easy to stare at your computer screen and reread their profile in anticipation of an exciting date. It's understandable, but building expectations for a date is never a good thing. Dating - online or off - is not meant to be an end-all, be-all of your life, just a side story on an ongoing adventure. Don't take it so seriously.

Have some online dating do's or don'ts of your own? Send me an email at brandon.baker@temple.edu, or leave a comment below.

The Three Rs of 9/11: rememberance, rebuilding and reconnection

Each week I sort through my wall of post-it notes that comprises every single idea that sparks in my mind for this blog. This week, I was fully prepared to please with another thought-provoking, contentious topic on dating and relationships courtesy of "the wall of thoughts," when it occurred to me what today is and what it represents. It suddenly seemed silly for me to preach about dating and relationships when something bigger overshadows the standard aura of the day.

But when I dug to the core of why September 11th is represented as such a somber day, I considered that the tragedy behind the landmark event is not the death toll, the loss of information or the loss of an American symbol, but the impact it had on families that were intertwined through relationships.

For some it was a simple reminder to appreciate their loved ones, and for others it was a direct effect of deep loss and heartbreak. It was, truly, the type of event that shapes a lifetime.

But these aren't lessons you haven't already heard or don't already know; instead, what I've tried to take away from the horrors of 9/11, is an understanding of the differences between what you have, what you want, and most importantly, who you are.

How do these lessons connect to 9/11?

September 11th stands for the one thing in our lives that puts our worldviews into perspective: loss. The most fruitful introspective experiences happen under extreme stress and during times of monumental loss. The hole left in our lives serves as something that needs to be filled, and many mindlessly grab their figurative shovel in search of dirt to fill that hole. What happens, unfortunately, is a downward spiral that fills the hole with sharp-pointed, edgy rocks instead of the mounds of dirt needed to make us feel "whole again."

Rebuilding from loss involves a lot of self-reflection and comprehension of the things you really have in your life, what they mean to you, what life expansions you want to seek out and a comprehensive understanding of who it is that you are; not who you avoid becoming or aim to become. Who you are shapes who you will be.

I can only imagine the introspection that happened (and still happens) in the minds of those that experienced such great loss during and following the tragedy of 9/11, but the experience itself should find a place in your own life as an example of how to reconnect with yourself and what your life means to you.

As cliche as it may seem, the loss you experience in life is only a physical one. Your loved one may have perished in the flames, but the impact they had on your life is a flame that burns eternally and molds your future self. My best piece of advice, is to not be afraid to light a new candle. You may not find that you want or need the same things post-trauma, but that shouldn't be associated with not wanting/needing anything.

My Jewish friends and followers might appreciate the analogy of our lives being a manifestation of the menorah. The candle-holding instrument itself is shaped and made what it is by the many (but limited) candles it holds, with each one having its own symbolism and role.

By all means, don't let your menorah go unlit.

Remember the images of 9/11 and its lasting influences for the sake of moving forward, rebuild to form a new foundation for your life and reconnect with yourself as a reminder that there will always be a blossoming flower poking somewhere through the rubble.

Seeking liveliness through the rose-colored glass of sloppiness

Although Americans (and especially Philadelphians) like to laugh at, mock and dismiss those 'Jersey Shore' folks from across the pond as "a thing," I can't help but find it a tad bit ironic that we laugh at behaviors we all embrace and demonstrate.

The premise of the show revolves around hook-ups and drinking, two things that, more often than not, go hand-in-hand. We drink to hook-up, and we hook-up to drink. And what happens when a relationship goes down the rabbit hole? We head to the nearest karaoke bar to drunkenly sing our struggles away.

A cocktail a day probably does take the pain away (we've all been there), but there appears to be an unhealthy obsession in today's society with using alcohol as a crutch for when things go horribly wrong with our lives - especially with dating. I'm all for using the firewater to kill the nerves on an awkward first date, but a backwards mentality has managed to take hold on what role alcohol plays in forming relationships.

The excuse many will gladly use for consuming mass amounts of alcohol for dating and sex-related purposes is that it uninhibits them and breaks down barriers to reveal their "true selves." But one has to wonder: if you're drinking to force yourself into a comfort zone, how "natural" is that?

I'm not so naive (or prudish) as to downplay alcohol and preach against it; Prohibition was certainly demonstration enough that people don't just desire alcohol, they need it. However, this uncanny fascination with intoxication needs to reach a peak at one point or another; using alcohol as a scapegoat doesn't feed a healthy relationship anymore than it nourishes your liver.

Myself being slightly inebriated, I recently observed a young man on the street taunting a group of women as I waited for the Sketch Mobile (aka the "Night Owl") to take me home. He gave them an obvious up-down gaze, and continued to talk to them (or at them, rather) with a tone in his voice that screamed, "I'm drunk, horny, and entitled to your vagina." It was an eye-rolling reminder of the role this liquid courage plays in how our sexual selves work.

When I finally took a seat on the bus, I sat down across from a man and woman who clearly had just come from a party together, but were also very apparently not in a relationship. The man continued to comment on how drunk she was, which was his own code for, "You're drunk; that means it's okay to sleep with me tonight." Thankfully, the girl wasn't having it and clarified that she was feeling very sober, which was her code for, "Put your dick back in your pants."

Yet in these situations, who/what is really to blame for when things go sour? There is absolutely nothing justifiable about your actions just because you took a few too many shots and made an abnormally bad decision. Consider this: if your bad decisions couldn't be excused by alcohol in a work environment, why would that be any less true in a personal setting?

By all means, continue to drink, hook-up, and embark on plastered adventures. But when the time comes in your life to "settle down" and look more closely for "the one," know better than to pre-game before your date or talk in-depth about your party self. Nothing is more unattractive than a drunk that doesn't know he/she is a drunk.

"So, did it hurt?"

"Why, when you fell from heaven, of course!"

We've all endured them; we've all dished them out. They're those pungent pick-up lines that make us want to gag. (And not in the fun way.) Let's take a look at some of the worst ways to approach that random person of interest.

1. Groping of any kind. All right, so your goal is to add another tally mark to your growing list of "scores." That's great, but know better than to use sex as a means to get to know someone on a deeper level. There's a reason the first kiss is normally referred to as a "good-night kiss;" the point is to run someone through a string of mental and emotional endurance tasks before taking any kind of physical plunge. Grabbing someone's "junk" isn't going to earn you any cool points in the dating realm.

2. Regurgitating your life story. I had the unfortunate displeasure of watching a poorly dressed, awkward-to-the-extremes man at Starbucks "slyly" strike conversation with the woman sitting at the table next to him. Within ten seconds of introducing himself, he managed to inform her that he was unemployed, stressed to the breaking point and available to the point of desperation. It was like watching dominoes fall one after the other. Do yourself a favor and save the sob stories for after you've firmly established comfort zones and boundaries ... which normally won't happen until a third date or later anyway.

3. Cruising. While many might disagree with me on this subject, I do not find "cruising" (that is, the art of aggressively eying someone down) to be beneficial in the slightest. It implies something overtly sexual, and it implies passive aggressive. If you want to talk to someone, find a reason to do so. After all, what do you expect to happen when someone sees you giving them the "up-down"? This isn't a movie; you're unlikely to get a wink, nod and coy smile in response. You're actually more likely to see someone switch train cars or walk to the other side of the street.

4. "You look like someone I know..." For whatever reason, this seems to be a common, phony line men like to employ to get someone to talk to them. What's the point? The other person most likely knows that it's just an excuse to talk to them, and at that point, they're aware that you're nervous. It also suggests that you already have a label attached to them. (What if that "someone you know" is your mother?) Avoid the tacky scapegoat questions and find something clever to say.

5. Discussing the weather. For God's sake, please do not use the weather as an ice breaker. If weather discussion isn't okay when you're talking to your friends, it certainly isn't going to be thought-provoking discussion for someone you're interested in. Save your opinions on the day's cloud formations for Thanksgiving dinner with grandma and grandpa.

Heard of or experienced some bad pick-up lines or approaching methods? Let me know about it: shoot me an email at brandon.baker@temple.edu and you just might find your story featured in an upcoming "Sex and the City of Brotherly Love" update.

Stoking the fires of fate

"Each player must accept the cards life deals him or her. But once they are in hand, he or she alone must decide how to play the cards in order to win the game." - Voltaire

Fate. It's the one word that makes some cringe and others squeal with excitement at the prospect that their life is already predetermined, presumably in the best of ways. But if life is just a road map that we navigate to the same destination, how do we determine which choices are really the best ones?

Choices. Another striking word that evokes some of the most stressful anxiety from our minds. We ask ourselves the simplest of questions that lead to the most complex of situations: "Is he the one?"; "Do I choose him or my career?"; "Am I ready?"

Unfortunately, life does not provide us with a top-of-the-line GPS system to assure us that we're headed in the right direction. The choices we make are left solely to our own judgment, our own peace of mind.

I have been left contemplating where my life choices have taken me in the past year, what role I've been given as a result, and how my life may be different today had I taken a different unfamiliar route. On a deeper level, I'm left to consider whether fate, that elusive word that escapes all human comprehension, really does exist?

I don't doubt that we've all found ourselves in eerie predicaments at one point or another that have left us wondering this same question. You run into an old flame on the street against all odds; your trip to the coffee shop substantiates into an earth-shattering relationship with someone who happened to be sitting next to you; you find sparks with your co-worker at a new job you were initially skeptical of taking.

And of course, you imagine what direction your life would have taken had you not taken that new job, decided to go to the coffee shop that day, or taken that particular detour you did while walking on the street. Is it possible that, despite all of our efforts, strategies and boundaries we try to layout in our love lives, that our "destiny" is controlled by something ... dare I say ... supernatural?

I've never fancied myself the type to put faith into things I can't directly see or experience, but I believe I've stumbled into the territory of what I call a "closet fater." And really, what is so unfathomable about the idea of love being beyond the realm of logic? Anyone who loves their abusive boyfriend, their husband that they know is unfaithful, or that euphorically addictive but toxic person in their life can tell you that reasoning plays little role in the dynamics of such an emotion.

In that case, maybe it is not so much fate that drives our direction in life, so much as love itself. It isn't predestined, but it is likely to pull us in one direction over another. To believe in fate, ultimately, is to believe in love.

We may not have the choice of deciding who we love or whether that love blossoms into everything we want it to be, but we do have the comforting choice to believe in fate, in all of its otherworldly glory.

A Bicycle Built for Two

Every so often, a single lad reaches a point where he has to wonder whether he's really the "relationship type." With all of the relationship-heavy scenery surrounding us, it gets to be the default answer to just tell yourself that your life plan absolutely demands one, without even considering what you want from such a thing, or whether you need one at all.

Is it possible that, despite the oft-overwhelming emphasis on couplets, we don't actually need long-term relationships to make our lives fulfilling?

My summer has come along with a lot of come-and-go dates. While some were more intriguing than others (like my dinner date at IKEA),they all ultimately met the same fateful demise. And as I began to consider the reasons why, I could suddenly feel a light bulb glimmer and spark atop my head.

It seems that as the "rules" of dating continue to develop, we as a people lose our comprehension of what it means to be in a relationship, and why they should be cherished in the first place. How can one find authentic meaning in a relationship built on superficial rules and hidden agendas? (Not to contradict any of my tips for dating, of course.)

Relationships should not be any more about joint mortgages or social status than Suze Orman should be about managing the perfectly feminine appearance.

The persisting issue today is not that we persist and obsess over relationships, it's that we do it for all of the wrong reasons. We want a partner so we aren't stuck at the counter while eating our apple pie in the diner; we want to show off just what our collective package can get us.

We don't want a relationship, we want another label.

If there is one thing I have confidently figured out in my time in the glorious City of Philadelphia, it's that finding a "great love" is not something that can be manufactured or manifested in a Facebook relationship status. A great love is something that develops over time and with great emotional investment, not over a planned-to-death dating layout that puts a wrong focus on coaxing someone into a relationship.

There is a reason standard bicycles come as a one-seater: life is meant to be traveled alone, unless you're lucky enough to stumble upon that special person you trust just enough to keep your bike peddling.

Inhaling a New Vision for Romance

When we imagine our lives in the long-term, we envision a certain layout of how things should gradually take shape. You go to college, you date, you start your career, and when all aspects of your life seem to fall into place, you get married. But what happens when the order of these life events shifts? What happens when you meet "the one" prematurely?

I embarked on a spontaneous excursion to a hookah bar a few days ago with some friends, looking for nothing more than a good time and an evening of relaxation. What we ended up experiencing was something much deeper.

The owner of the lounge, an expressive Lebanese man in his mid-forties, immediately caught our attention as he took our order. After a few huffs and puffs from our waterpipe, we decided to spark conversation.

What we quickly learned, was that the man was a former engineer for corporate America who had cut all ties to the corporate world in favor of a more laissez faire lifestyle that catered to his needs as well as the needs of others. He had given up a six-figure salary in favor of smoking hookah in a restaurant until two (and sometimes four) o'clock in the morning every day and night.

But he claimed that what made it all worth it was not just the relaxed nature of his new business venture, but the simple ability to be with his family and stop living the life he had felt expected to live. (It's worth mentioning that his daughter was our other server.) His culture and religion, he said, put emphasis not on money or extravagant lifestyles, but experiencing life with family - no matter what your social status. The traditional "American dream," as many like to refer to it, does not exist in his culture.

As it turns out, his romantic life is very much out of order by the standards of today's youth. He and his wife met in college when they were only 19, and were married at the same age.

"I saw my wife, and I thought ... why not?" he said.

The example served as something strikingly significant, not just because of the fact that they were married at such a young age, but because they were married at that particular age without any extenuating circumstances. I've witnessed people getting married at an early age, but always for various reasons. They lacked the stability to stand on their own feet, they found themselves "knocked up," or they married their high school sweethearts because they didn't think they had the energy to keep looking. None of these things appeared to be the case here.

To make things more interesting, he made a surprisingly strong case for why marriages in America seem to ... well, flounder. According to him, what makes marriages fail in our culture is our uncanny ability to plan everything that we do. We get married after we've experienced our "single selves" and move into a marriage thinking we can settle down but still live our lives as if we're single. In other words, we lack boundaries.

Now, as I look back on the conversation, I can't help but wonder how much we may or may not miss out on in the process of developing a "plan" for our lives. Do we miss out on the true loves of our lives, just because they don't fit into the blueprint we've constructed for our ideal selves? Have our own standards killed our chances of experiencing marriage in its most glorious form?

Rather than awaiting a life that we've dreamed for ourselves, it seems appropriate that we should stop waiting for our dream lives to come to fruition, and start embracing living the lives we've been given. If you happen to stumble upon someone you truly love at an unexpected point in your life, it might just be better to stop asking questions and start experiencing. And if at this point you still find yourself asking an overwhelming number of questions, ask yourself only one more:

"Why not?"