Is there a secret cold war between marrieds and singles?

This Summer I have been to a few weddings, which at my age are gaining frequency. My friends are beginning to find that Someone Special and vowing their lives together. I have never taken a date to any of the weddings I have attended. I haven’t dated anyone long enough to be able to do so. So I go as Troy-Single, the funny, gay, friend that lives in New York City. It’s a badge I wear with pride. I see my friends, all paired off, so happy and hopeful. But do they look at me and see a withering flower, jaded by years of dating and getting no where?

I don’t think so.

I do wonder sometimes what my friends who are married or in committed relationships view me as—not to the point where I obsess over things; rather, when an event happens and once again I show up alone or I tell them of yet another unsuccessful d/ate that I had. Something must be wrong with him? No, I’m just very selective.

Do they turn to me as the entertainment out of habit? What will happen when I do attend a wedding with my BOYFRIEND!? It’s an earth-shattering thought…

“Are you seeing anyone yet?” That question can #@$* itself.

My friends have always been supportive, willing to offer advice and listen to the many stories. If nothing else, I look to my coupled friends for inspiration: it can happen. Sometimes it happens sooner rather than later. Sometimes we marry our high school sweetheart; sometimes we marry the man we met on the subway. We all are on a different life path. Had I stayed in Buffalo after college, I would be married with a house in Williamsville, matching hybrid cars and a husband who doesn’t care that I have become a housewife. Driving around Buffalo last month, that thought was very strong. And for a few moments felt very comfortable. It’s a life that would be simpler, easier, a bit more predictable.

Somehow I don’t think the grass is greener. Well, for me anyway.

I was at one of my best-friend’s wedding in August. I was surrounded by friends that I haven’t seen in years, yet partied like we’ve seen each other every day since. I was the only single person at my table—a realization that took a few hours. It didn’t matter. We all joked, we cried, we laughed…hard. Nearing the end of the night, surrounded by couples and many friends, I realized, I am amazing—single. I can do this and it is going to be amazing. It was a very sobering moment.

For me it’s not a battle, it’s not a race. I have enough stories in my repertoire that keep all my coupled friends happy. It is cliché but true: it’s about the journey. Yes, mine has been a roller-coaster and I have fought myself on many relationships. And while I was putting myself back together, it has been my friends that found some missing pieces, and that I thank them for. It's no secret anymore! People may change after they get married, but they still love you—single or not. Some day I shall join that crowd of left-handed ring wearers, sexless lives, and maybe even screaming children. I can't wait. And I'm pretty sure my friends can't either.

For all those who have found love, take a moment and really enjoy it. Feel that butterfly twitter around in your tummy. The few times that has happened to me totally makes all the shit worth it.

The good is so much better than the not.

How powerful is beauty?

“Thank goodness you’re cute.”

It’s the phrase that perhaps saved me from a childhood spent in solitary in my room. I was an adorable kid, a bit shy—but I outgrew that. Looking at pictures last Christmas while I was home, I got a bit nostalgic and brought out the photo albums from the 80s —I was smiling in every picture; literally, EVERY SINGLE ONE. (Well, there was ONE in which I was crying and my mother later told me that she took this picture BECAUSE I was crying, because it rarely happened.) I had that awkward phase from middle-school up until college. A fairly devastating breakup sophomore year threw me into a transformation; I survived that summer a different person—and more attractive. A year later, I started dating, in quantity.

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I am surrounded by beauty, from my office that I work, to my co-workers, my roommates, and my friends.

Beauty.

I like beautiful things and places. I love giving beautiful gifts. Perhaps it’s a social stigma that by default beauty is glamorous, or rather, glamorized. It could even be an extension of validation. If we are perceived as beautiful, then life miraculously becomes simpler, things happen for us and we are ruler of the world! This is all the effect of social conditioning. The controversy of models in magazines and the messages they send to women. Does being in a magazine, all glam, and airbrushed make them powerful? This type of presentation suggests a life that basically a dream. We look at these women and men in these magazines and create a fantasy, a story in which these people have everything they've ever wanted and how? Their physical appearance. A flash of a smile and you get a Bentley. Nice legs! Off to Paris!

It's all a story, there is no magic involved.

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My last boyfriend, which I will refrain from announcing how long ago that way, and I were a sort of Power Couple; that couple that has everything going for them. We were cute and funny and we complimented each other very well.

I called him Beauty. I don't remember exactly why, but it was something that I started calling him from the very beginning. I actually don't even know if he noticed.

Our relationship was short by some standards, long by my own. But that relationship affected me for years. And to some degree still does. He was the one that wanted me, just as I am. That got jealous and cared for me without question. It was a long-distance relationship and I traveled every few weeks six hours to see him. Sometimes, just for a night. He was a beautiful person. His laugh could inspire you to laugh. His smile could melt mountain snow. And he fit, more-so in the crook of my arm than anything else. I scaled mountains; forged rivers; lost myself in New York one weekend with him.

He loved Sex and the City; my last weekend with him was his birthday weekend and I bought him the Sex and the City series companion book (I subsequently bought a book entitled The Peril of Magnificent Love.)

A few nights later, I was home and during a thunderstorm, it ended. We suddenly wanted different things. I never saw him again. He moved to one coast, and I, the other. We spoke sporadically over the next four years. I've said it takes me four years to get over someone I fell “in love with.” Well, this year was year four. So in terms of Beauty—capital B—he was very powerful.

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If you’re a cute kid, you can get away with things.

If you’re a hot adult, you get things. Attention at Saks; crossing velvet ropes without waiting; smiles, maybe even a seat, on the subway; .

Physical beauty has a time limit, or at least a price tag for a great plastic surgeon. But as many can attest, beauty comes in all forms. I live in the city where I am surrounded by beauty: Central Park, the Chrysler Building, the Statue of Liberty, the girl on my subway who wears different color knee socks everyday.

Variety is the basis of beauty.

I think individualism is the magical force that sparks anything beautiful.

Beauty is relative and interpretive.

We each have our own vision of what is beautiful.

But that doesn't mean it should bow in its presence.

We should join beauty. Walk along side it. Gaze up at it. Hold its hand. Breathe it in.

We, ourselves, are powerful too.

Can women have sex like men?

I could approach this a few different angles but leave it to my Best-Friend to put it in Our perspective: Can men have sex like women? Of course, this is taking it to the stereotype where men are emotionally detached and women have sex with feelings attached. Well, I have been both types.

Under the influence of alcohol anything can happen. And has. A couple times. This is where men are just after one thing: the next best-get-off. But when a guy cares for someone, it slows down. And then after time, yes, men can emotionally allow themselves to feel something, something that makes sex special. And maybe even with a bit of meaning. Something special is created. So why don’t be take a small pause, think about what we’re doing and who we’re doing, and ask ourselves: why am I doing this? For immediate satisfaction or to do get to know this person on a more intimate level? Each case is different. And there are many other reasons people can come up with to justify having sex with someone. So it is a matter of emotion in the act of sex rather than just an act without a feeling.

Men are programmed to think with lower half of their body rather than their brains. An animal instinct takes over in many encounters: gay or straight. We are out for the hunt. Over the years when I would go out, my body would switch on a button and I would feel like getting a guy to go home with me was the goal; which I would equate to validation and “getting a guy.” Add a few cocktails to the equation and the drive is magnified. Luckily for gay guys, a fair amount of us all have the same objective. The result: shooting fish in a barrel.

Like I said, I have done both: the tawdry one-night-stands that lead to nothing. And I have a waited to sleep with a guy after a few dates, even weeks. I must say the latter is so much better. There is a subtle anticipation and excitement when you don’t jump into bed with someone. I do get excited but I also get nervous. Sex can change things. But usually, it just makes it better. I think I have reached point in my life where I would rather have the emotional development and the physical an extension of that, than the frivolous encounter with a somebody…that I will never see again.

Sex and the City... and Me.

I didn't watch Sex and the City while it was on television. My family didn't even have HBO, not that I would be allowed to stay awake to watch it anyway. I didn't start watching the show until I actually moved to New York City. I am very happy that I waited. It was shown in a rated G version on TBS and my roommate had the last couple of seasons on DVD. As I grew into the city, it became apparent why so many people fell for these four women (and their men) and the city that I was living in.

The first year living in New York, I would stay up late to watch the reruns and dabble in the occasional full episode on DVD—noticing how much of Samantha they had to leave out. Every fan of the show has a favorite character: Samantha because she is so confident and sexy; Miranda because she is extremely tough but very caring; Charlotte because of her never ending faith in love and friendship; and Carrie because everyone is Carrie. Which takes us to the inevitable question: which SATC character are you? Over time, I have compared myself to each of the women. Depending on the mood I was in, I could be any of the four; I share qualities of each of them. But I have learned that I am not just one of them, I am my own self. But there is something to be said of what these girls go through I would take a bit of what each learned over the course of the series and learn from it myself.

Eventually, I broke down and bought the entire series; the massive pink binder of all 94 episodes. Over the course of two years, I have watched the entire series from start to finish four times. It was during the last spree that I had an idea. A gay man living in NYC watching SATC and listening to Carrie ask these questions, provoked some questions of my own. Or rather, answers within my own interpretation. Like so many other gay single guys glued to their televisions watching this series, what are we getting out of this? So I'm going to interpret the questions from my perspective.

Four years living in New York.

Five years since a significant relationship.

Countless dates.

Two amazing roommates.

And a colorful cast of friends that make every day worth living.

Carrie Bradshaw had some questions. It's this guy's turn to answer them.

Or at least try.