by Kris Ripper
I nodded, thinking about the Marginalized Motherfuckers. “Like processing is a stage, and then you move on?”
“I wish it were that linear. But you process in different ways as you move on, I think. More than you just stop needing to process. Anyway, I had a group of friends in college who called me the spinster uncle and it kind of made sense to build the channel around that idea.”
“That’s really cool. I mean, obviously it’s worked out for you.” I let that trail off a little in case they wanted to disagree.
“It’s been incredibly rewarding. I’ve made tons of connections with other trans folks, binary and nonbinary, and other queers, so I’m always happy I posted my first terrible video. I wouldn’t keep doing it if no one watched. It takes a ridiculous amount of time to record and edit videos, even now that I’m a lot better than I used to be at not stumbling over my words. The live videos are a bit of a relief from that, though then you don’t get a chance to revise your answer to a question.”
“I would be terrified to do that. To answer questions without a buffer. I mean other people’s questions, like for advice.” I shivered a little just thinking about it.
“And here I was going to ask if you wanted to do a call-in episode with me. You can always come to hang out and provide a dynamic interaction. No pressure to answer anything if you don’t want to. Or, of course, you can say no. Either way.”
A lot of people said they’d be okay with you not wanting to do something but they were secretly not okay with that. Sometimes I was one of those people, because it was sort of aspirational, saying, You can always say no. I definitely wanted to be okay with that, but I couldn’t always control whether it hurt my feelings a little.
But when Sidney assured me sincerely that I could say no, I completely believed they wouldn’t hold it against me.
“I think that might be fun.” Being with Sidney in any context was likely to be fun. “As long as you don’t hit me with tough questions.”
They held their right hand to their heart. “I solemnly swear I will not ask you any tough questions. Your first time, anyway.”
“Ah, the fine print! I suspected this was a trick.”
They smirked. “Yes, I have a dastardly plan to keep you coming on my show for a long time. The videos with guests get higher views, more ad clicks, and therefore more money.”
I covered up my legit ouch feelings by pretending to have been shot. “Right in the ego. Here I thought you were having me on because we have intellectual chemistry.”
“Oh, we do. I wouldn’t propose a series with someone I didn’t have intellectual chemistry with.” They frowned. “Sorry, did I make it sound like I only want you for financial gain? That’s definitely not true. We have a shocking amount of intellectual chemistry. I mean, in my opinion at least.”
All the saliva in my mouth dried up. I needed to talk. Say something. Anything. Respond. To what they’d said. Except my mouth was too dry.
“Um, right, so do you want to see who you’re going out with this week?” They sounded awkward and a bit self-conscious, like they were also thinking about how they legit just said they wanted me.
My brain whirred in chaos for a moment until I remembered to answer their question. “Um, sure.” But seriously, we had intellectual chemistry, hooray! I wondered how much. I’d put it in the four-to-five zone. How much intellectual chemistry did Sidney need to have with someone before inviting them on the show? A three?
“And sent.”
Sent? Oh right. I pulled out my phone and obligingly checked my email. White guy, maybe a little older than me, clean shaven, short hair, shirt and tie. “Wow, he’s very...conventionally handsome.”
“I tried not to hold that against him.”
I glanced up. “You don’t like conventionally handsome people?”
They shifted, pulling one knee up into the chair and kind of hugging it. “I feel ambivalent about conventionally handsome people on a personal level, but I do think conventional appearances leave something to be desired on both political and imaginative levels.”
“Oh.” I surveyed my own boring work costume.
“Dude.” They eyed me pointedly. “You were wearing sequined ballet flats when we met.”
“Oh my god, those shoes are so uncomfortable, but they make me so happy!” Hello: they’d noticed my shoes. Hello, hi, that totally happened. Add a point to the Sidney’s not physically repulsed by Declan column.
“Consider what picture you would submit if you were volunteering to go on a blind date with someone. Would you be wearing your work clothes?”
“Oh, no, definitely not.” I paused to consider it. “Lime green T-shirt over a black thermal, jeans, beaded rainbow bracelet, and I’d spend an hour making my hair artistically mussed.” I bowed in my seat. “There you have it.”
“You should take that picture, it sounds—um—unconventionally handsome. But anyway, the thing that won me over about Date #2 was that he self-describes as ‘a queer man trying to forge a path through the warring expectations of gay culture.’ Which I thought was rather poetic.”
“Aww. Yeah. Totally is. Okay, sweet. I’ll get in touch with him.” I put the phone away. “Thanks for arranging the actual human component of this. I’d still be going back and forth about even attempting to date if it was all up to me.”
One of their eyebrows twitched above their glasses. “You could always set Mia on the case. I’m sure she’d love to find your one true love.”
I groaned. “You have no idea. Dear Spinster Uncle, how do I make my friend stop trying to marry everyone off? Love, Declan.”
“I’ve addressed that question before. I’ll send you a link.”
“It’s that common?”
They shrugged. “Alas, the marriage contagion, once limited to heterosexuals, has now infected the queers as well. There’s no known treatment for this malady, but in most cases it does eventually run its course.”
“Thank god for that.” I raised my water bottle. “To Mia’s speedy recovery.”
We toasted.
Chapter Seven
Date #2’s real name was Gregory. Not Greg, he assured me. Gregory.
Maybe that was the first warning sign, but I didn’t notice it at the time.
The first very slight tingle that this date might be a mismatch was when he picked the restaurant and the movie he wanted to take me to.
And he said it like that: “I want to take you to dinner and a movie.”
Which I probably should have been into, but I...wasn’t. There’s this funny tension where people are supposed to be proactive and say what they want, but sometimes that can have the effect of sort of...erasing what the other person might want or think about that thing.
Sometimes it doesn’t. Mase and I got together because one night in college when we were walking home from eating dinner he turned to me and said, “I want to kiss you right now.” Which was completely hot and I giggled and he kissed me and I kissed him and we kept kissing (not like continuously, but when it was convenient) for years.
So I don’t find having a bold partner a turn-off. Like at all. But Gregory delivered the line about taking me to dinner and a movie like it had never occurred to him that I might not be into that. He was stating it as if it was simply how things were going to be, which was emphatically not a turn-on.
Also, I don’t think there’s much point to going to movies on blind dates because you’re not really getting a feel for the other person. Not that I have well-developed notions about what does and doesn’t work for blind dates, since this was only my second one, but it never made much theoretical sense to me.
And in practice it was worse.
We went to see an independent film that wasn’t bad. It wasn’t good. For me it was a flat line of vaguely interesting scenery and characters, with a plotline that didn’t seem to go anywhere.
<
br /> Gregory loved the movie. And that’s another reason movies don’t seem like great things for first dates. If I’d gone with a friend, and they loved a movie I thought was mostly blah, we could talk about that. But with a stranger you’re stuck either A) not disagreeing too strongly because after all, they might have connected to the movie on some level you can’t even fathom because you don’t know them. Or B) disagreeing carefully at first, then progressively getting more emphatic as you argue with a total stranger over a movie you probably don’t care that much about.
Maybe there are other options, but those were the only ones I saw, so I attempted to go with option A. After five straight minutes of enraptured monologue on how amazing this mediocre film had been.
“...and then, the scene with the corn field, that huge expanse of sameness into the horizon.” His fingers tapped the steering wheel restlessly as if he was so passionate about the movie he couldn’t contain himself. (I made a mental note to never ever ride with a blind date again.) “The way they expressed the tension between conformity and risk was incredibly poignant.”
Um. Or they had no money to film and were stuck with a corn field? “I’m not sure I got all that out of it? I definitely felt like they were...working with some of those themes...but for me it didn’t quite go all the way.” I didn’t exactly know what I meant, but it sounded noncommittal, which was my goal.
“Really.” No rising question at the end of it.
“I guess it just wasn’t my thing.”
“I’m sorry I brought you to a movie you didn’t enjoy,” he said stiffly.
“It’s okay!” Though for the record maybe collaboratively picking a movie with your date might achieve better results than proposing one and halfheartedly adding, “Unless you’d rather see something else...”
That was it. Silence until the restaurant, which was thankfully not that far away. He might have been doing the same thing I was doing? Not arguing over something dumb on a first date? But it felt more like since I didn’t agree with him that the movie was wonderful he punished me by falling into silence. But that was probably just me being paranoid. Maybe.
Anyway.
All that happened before we even got to this very nice, upscale restaurant, where he not only held the door open for me but also pulled my chair out so I could sit down. Which was fine? Except it felt awkward and forced and like I’d stumbled into a stage play called Dating For Men, 1956.
And then he told me he’d be paying and I could get whatever I wanted.
Which is pretty much when I gave the whole thing up as a lost cause. I got the cheeseburger, which had bleu cheese and bacon and caramelized onions and oh my god it was amazing. The highlight of the date was that burger.
We spoke somewhat civilly through dinner but I was relieved when he dropped me off at my car. I didn’t want to text Sidney with all the details because obviously we were going to talk about it on the show, but I also felt a serious need to be like OH MY GOD YOU WERE RIGHT ABOUT THIS DUDE.
I texted, You could have held conventionality against this one. #NoSpoilers.
After which I dawdled hoping they would immediately reply took off my jacket and folded it neatly in the passenger seat, deliberated on what the right soundtrack for Lousy First Date Recovery was (Melanie Martinez won), thoroughly warmed up my car until I needed to roll down a window—
My phone buzzed. My heart did a triple axel.
Oh no! That bad? No, probably don’t tell me.
Buzz.
Sorry, Declan! I feel terrible. Maybe I could distract you or something to alleviate my guilt.
Dammit. Why hadn’t I waited until I was home to text them? Then we could be having this conversation while I was getting into my flannel PJs and doing other before-going-to-sleep things.
Not that. Brushing my teeth! I meant brushing my teeth!
I sent back, Don’t feel bad! It’ll be good for the show, having a “bad date” to compare other dates to.
Them: That is not my intention.
Me: Oh, I know. Of course it’s not. But still, it’s nice thinking that at least it will have some use as a bad date.
Them: Okay. Well, I’m glad it’s helpful. But I am sorry about the date. What are you calling this one?
I contemplated it. Maybe... Conventionally Handsome Guy Who Likes Pretentious Movies? Or no, that sounds judgey. I hit send.
Them: You went to a pretentious movie? I’m sorry SQUARED.
Damn. I really wanted to keep talking to them. But I also really wanted to, you know, drive home. And it was too soon in our friendship for me to dictate texts. You have to build up to the kind of intimacy that forgives things like I ducking ate lip gloss. (It was meant to say, I fucking hate your boss, and since I’d sent it to Ronnie after we’d been friends for years, she knew what I meant. Eventually.)
I stared at my phone, willing it to solve my dilemma.
My...phone. Um. Huh. It felt too soon to talk on the actual phone. Was it? We weren’t dating. Were there friendship rules about such things? The only people I ever talked to on the phone were my parents and Mia. Mia was huge into the phone. In this situation she’d just say, Can we call? I’m driving.
I typed out the message. Then revised it to, Can we call? I haven’t driven home yet.
And stared at it.
Was this a big thing? It felt big. Then again, I’d spent the last few hours second-guessing whether or not I was an asshole for disliking a dislikeable movie, whether I was weird for not wanting my chair pulled out, and whether Gregory would incorrectly interpret my enjoyment of my burger as enjoyment of our date.
Screw it. Sidney would probably forgive me if I was violating some unspoken social regulation by proposing a phone call.
I hit send. Thus initiating one of the most Sidney-and-me exchanges ever.
Them: Oh, I’m sorry! I figured you were home. I don’t want to distract you while you’re driving.
Me: I haven’t started driving yet. But I...probably should.
Them: I’m sorry, I’ll leave you alone.
Me: No! I mean, you don’t want to call?
Them: I don’t want you to feel obligated to make me feel better for setting you up with a pretentious date.
Me: I don’t feel obligated! I just thought...um... I just kind of wanted to talk to you for a few minutes? BUT YOU DON’T HAVE TO.
I gnawed on my lips, willing the phone to buzz. It didn’t. It rang.
“Hi,” I said, like a dumbass.
“Hi. Sorry. About the date and the awkwardness and keeping you from your bed. Basically everything.” Their voice was hard to read without visual cues.
“Omigod, don’t be. It’s totally okay!” I turned off the heat, put the phone on speaker, and made sure the volume was up as high as it would go. “And the date wasn’t, like, traumatic or anything. It was just kind of blah.”
Pause. I pulled carefully out into traffic, waiting for them to say something.
“I want to know everything that happened, but I’m trying to restrain myself because I want my questions on the show to be pure, like I have no preconceived notions or expectations.”
“Yeah, same. It’ll probably be better to hash it out on the show.”
They made a noise. A snort? A giggle? “Oh, hashing. Sounds fun.”
Which...might have been flirtatious? Dammit, I wanted to see their face! “It could be fun, but also, I don’t want The Love Study to turn into me bitching about people. I’ll have to be, like, measured about it.”
“I think we can do that. I mean, you can, but I can help.”
“Thanks. So, um. What’re you doing tonight?”
“I’m listening to a podcast about chocolate while I clean up old videos.”
“Ooooh. What does that mean?”
They explained a little bit about hashtags and YouTube changin
g algorithms, and end cards, and other interesting behind-the-scenes stuff I had no idea existed.
“Hashtag-Sidlan is one of the most popular comments on The Love Study videos. I’m not kidding.”
“Wow. They...are they missing the point a little?”
“That depends on what you think the point is. For a generation still watching Disney movies well into their twenties, the point might actually be for you to live happily ever after in partnered bliss, in which case I suppose they’re pursuing that goal with the means they have available.”
I laughed. “And that means is YouTube comments?”
“It’s making me happy I never started a Twitter account. Though there has been some...um... I guess you’d call it ‘fan art’ on Instagram.”
“Holy shit. Of us?”
“Don’t look. Swear to me you won’t look. It’s ridiculous. I’m ignoring them.”
I tried not to giggle, but it was one of those times when not giggling turned into explosive giggling turned into might have to pull over because I can’t see for tears laughter.
“I...did not predict this response,” Sidney said after a minute. This time I was pretty sure they were smiling.
“Sorry! I’m sorry. Some of this is pent-up date energy, probably. But oh my god, there is fan art. No one’s ever made fan art of me before.”
“You can no longer say that.”
“Wow. That is...wow. I don’t even know how to...wow.” I wiped my eyes and pulled, with some relief, into my landlord’s driveway, parking off to the side where the gate to the backyard was.
“It’s absurd. They know they’re being nuts, but I’m honestly not sure they can help themselves.”
I thought Sidney was still amused by my laughter, but I couldn’t tell how much of their protest was about how silly their fans were, and how much was about how silly the very idea of us being together was. I...hoped it was more the former than the latter. But Sidney was so deadpan it was really hard to tell.