That Time I Fell in Love with a Stranger (Again)

As you may or may not already know, I kind of have this problem where my main goal in life is to find and wed the real-life gay version of Mad Men lothario Don Draper — despite the fact that I’m fairly certain he doesn’t actually exist.

Or at least I was fairly certain that he doesn’t actually exist until last week when my friend Kendra and I totally ran into him on the ice rink in Rockefeller Center and subsequently discovered that he is a closet Mariah Carey fan with a really nice neck who enjoys bopping to Christmas carols.

Allow me to explain.

Kendra and I were lucky enough to make it onto the guest list for the taping of Mariah’s Christmas at Rockefeller Center performances last Tuesday, and that is where we discovered Don Draper Guy II. (For those who don’t already know: the original Don Draper Guy.)

Mariah is a deity. A blurry deity, but still a deity.

                            Mariah is a deity. A blurry deity, but still a deity.

Don Draper Guy II (hereinafter referred to as DDGII) first caught my eye because of his tall height, dark brown hair, and distinguished facial features that revealed absolutely nothing about his age. (Seriously –  we couldn’t tell if he was 19 or 43. We ultimately settled on a hypothesis of about 27, but really remained clueless throughout the evening. And to this day, for that matter.)

What really won me over, though, was his hot and manly Draper-esque neck.

Isn’t it crazy how man-necks can be so sexy sometimes? No? I have a weird fetish for necks? Stop judging me! You’re the one who reads blogs written by neck-fetish-harboring freaks with self-esteem issues. Weirdo.

Anyway, Kendra was similarly smitten with DDGII, so our entire evening pretty much evolved into a really intense game of Gay, Straight, or European? that Kendra seemed to keep winning at because of DDGII’s masculine demeanor. But then we’d both remember that we were at a Mariah Carey show and suddenly I would be back in the game.

Another game we played was Creepily Stalk the Hot Guy, at which I’m pretty much an expert by now.

In our efforts to keep tabs on DDGII, we:

  • risked our lives at a crosswalk,
  • positioned ourselves at a spot in the crowd that had a slightly obstructed view of Mariah (but a perfectly framed view of DDGII’s neck), and
  • did a few other things that I’m not proud of and refuse to divulge publicly.

As Mariah was about to appear onstage, I longed to initiate conversation with him – both to mitigate the creepiness of my stalking and also to get the ball rolling on our wedding preparations (I had some great ideas involving September 2013, swans, and Maine that I wanted to run by him).

Then I got all depressed because I realized that Kendra and I still didn’t have a clear winner in our game of Gay, Straight, or European? and I was starting to lose hope.

And then he started enthusiastically rocking out to Mariah’s holiday gem “All I Want for Christmas Is You.”

Score!

Needless to say, I interpreted DDGII’s bopping as conclusive evidence of his open gayness. And also as confirmation of the fact that we have “mutual interests.”

And also as his acceptance of my whole marriage proposal/wedding suggestion.

Nic. DDGII. September 2013. Swans. Maine.

Get ready, y’all.

P.S. I should clarify that Kendra and I never actually had a real conversation with DDGII. Though he did throw a chuckle her way at one point in the evening.

P.P.S. It just occurred to me that DDGII chuckled only at Kendra and not me. He’s totally straight, I’m fat, and the wedding’s off. DAMMIT!

 

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Tragedy Strikes During My Fantasy Football Draft

So, with the exception of last week’s glorified Instagram posting, it just occurred to me that it has been two full weeks since my last real post. Gasp!

Where has the time gone?

Actually, I can answer that question:

  • One weekend at a casino filled with a drunken Zac Brown Band concert and modest gambling
  • Four gay bar debaucheries (just like the olden days of Keychanges)
  • My fantasy football draft, which turned into a major debacle when I lost my Internet connection
  • Lots of feelings-eating (as per usual)
  • Mad Men and several more Don Draper fantasies
  • Work (lest I forget)

And suddenly it’s fall.

If you don’t know me in real life, you may be shocked to discover that the same emotionally needy gay man who once assaulted a wine bottle out of husband-less frustration happens to be a fantasy football enthusiast (with a title under his belt, no less) and a country music fan, but both facts are indeed true.

Being a gay fantasy football team owner is kind of like being Peggy Olsen in Mad Men. That is to say (for those ignorant to my new television obsession) it is akin to being a female working professional in the male-dominated corporate world of 1960’s advertising — you must overcome prejudice, never let them see you cry, and deal with the fact that everyone is going to expect you to eventually get pregnant and start neglecting your duties. (Really, I should be so lucky to have that last problem.)

To give you some insight as to how I retain my identity while participating in heteronormative activities such as fantasy football, here is a fun little screen shot:

                                  And there goes my credibility.

Please note the Mariah Carey-inspired team name and Victoria’s Secret-approved helmet logo color scheme.

I had been preparing for this season’s draft for quite a few days leading up to the event, so you can imagine my utter rage when my WiFi decided to cut out during the seventh round. Thankfully, I had chosen most of my starters at that point, but when I finally got back in, I found that auto-pick had stocked my bench up with a number of unsavory back-ups.

Not. Okay.

Naturally, I proceeded to write a strongly worded e-mail to my building about how the free WiFi they offer is total crap and I demand a recount! (Kind of nonsensical, but I was pissed.)

The e-mail was actually pretty eloquent, but then I arrived at the final paragraph and couldn’t resist sharing with them that they had negatively impacted my fantasy season.

I now realize that this may have negated the validity of my entire argument and made me come off as some kind of disgruntled frat boy who really needs to gain some life perspective. I might as well have also thrown in that their WiFi is so bad that it interferes with my porn-viewing habits and often renders the Domino’s Pizza Tracker inaccurate.

Needless to say, I’ve yet to receive a response.

Anyways.

I really want to elaborate on the five other bullet points above, but now I also really want to order Domino’s, so I’m torn.

Where would I even begin? The gay bar sagas involve Lou, whom I’ve reluctantly become friends with. The casino weekend involves car troubles and beer, which is always fun to write about. The feelings-eating is pretty much a feature of every other post of mine, so I guess I can skip that…

Ooh! I just got a brilliant idea.

If there’s one story that you’re particularly intrigued by, tell me in the comments. If there is enough feedback, perhaps I’ll just make my next post dedicated to whichever topic has generated the most interest. Or just don’t comment at all and I’ll construe all of the non-response as evidence that my life is as uninteresting as I secretly fear.

(Excuse me while I order a pizza.)

 

Don Draper Guy and Nicolas: An Imaginary Love Story

Remember last summer when I arrived five years late to the Heroes party and watched the entire series on DVD in the course of about a week?

Well, that’s happening again. Except this time it’s with the superior drama Mad Men.

What do I love most about Mad Men? Probably the fact that it’s about chauvinistic male advertising executives being hot. It turns out that I have a real soft spot for pompous manly men with archaic values and a tendency to demean women. I want one to demean me! Preferably while we’re making love after I’ve cooked him dinner. (Of course.)

You can imagine my excitement when, this morning on the train, I encountered a man who was the absolute embodiment of Mad Men heartthrob Don Draper. (The Metro-North is of course filled with hot, suited businessmen on any given day, but this guy was exceptionally Draper-esque.)

As I sat across from Don Draper Guy, I couldn’t help but notice that he was wearing a wedding band. I then couldn’t help but imagine the following love story in my head (written in italics so as to aid the reader in distinguishing glorious fantasy from depressing reality):

Don Draper Guy and I share in intense eye contact for approximately thirty seconds. He then makes a weird half-kiss, half-bite gesture with his lips that I correctly interpret as a declaration of his love for me. He slips me a note with his cell phone number on it. We immediately begin a soft-core sexting session right there on the train amidst the oblivious commuters who may or may not happen to notice that Don Draper Guy and I are digitally consummating our relationship before their eyes, but choose not to acknowledge it because, like all commuters in the New York metropolitan area before 10:00am, they’re miserable.

After several minutes of continued sexting action, Don Draper Guy ups the ante by suggesting that we both get off the train at the next stop, go back to Connecticut (via his private car service that he decided not to use that morning in an effort to be more down to earth) and look for houses with his realtor.

“What about your wife?” I say, and he shrugs. I correctly interpret his shrug as, “Oh, is this ring still on? My ex-wife and I have been divorced since this morning, and I’m now totally available and gay and in love with you! Will you marry me?”

I say yes, we buy a house, and I quit my job to take care of the children from his previous marriage while he keeps doing important business-y things in New York.

I start crossing paths with Don Draper Guy’s ex-wife while picking up the kids from soccer practice. Though our relationship starts off acrimoniously, we slowly bond and eventually become besties who meet for tea and talk about everything — including Don Draper Guy’s bedroom prowess. Alex and Sandy (my step-kids) love the fact that their mom and gay step-dad are able to be in the same room together without going all Madonna-and-Elton on each other every five minutes.

Our whole unconvential family arrangement troubles some of our more conservative neighbors, but I don’t care because we own enough acreage for our neighbors’ opinions to be non-factors. Also, Don Draper Guy loves and adores me and comes home from work every night to tell me how perfect and not fat I am.

We obviously live happily ever after.

It takes a very special type of desperate gay man to be able to dream up the above scenario, so I hope you’re impressed.

Here’s what actually happened between myself and Don Draper Guy:

He compulsively checked his BlackBerry while I stared creepily in his direction and possibly drooled a little. At one point, he crossed his legs at the knee — a daring train-move that exposed his argyle sock-covered left ankle. I briefly visualized him sitting at the edge of his bed sexily putting the sock on earlier that morning. Then a weird bug/fly thing started buzzing around us and he heroically shooed it away, which I construed as him caring about my well-being. Then we got to Grand Central and he disappeared immediately into the sea of emerging commuters walking toward the main terminal.

I proceeded to power-walk my way to work while wishing I could have just stayed home and watched Mad Men all day.

 

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