I'm Gay! I Need To Talk About Myself Too!

Do you know how hard it is to be gay and not be able to talk about yourself all the time? Gays need two things to survive: tanning salons and attention. And since I’m pastier than Casper the Friendly Homo, I require twice the attention. So when I’m robbed of my need to tell my friends about what I ate for lunch or walk them through my experience at AutoZone where the cute greasemonkey mechanic turned out to be a big fruit who gave me his number, I wilt a little bit inside.

Such is the case with this guy I was talking to. Besides every gay male I’ve ever met, this guy talked about himself more than anyone. And he didn’t just recount his day or tell me about his interests. This guy was a one-upper to the max. Even worse, he consistently felt the need to work a comment about some random achievement that happened four years ago into every conversation. Example: “I made a C on my biochem test today, but that’s okay. I was the youngest person ever to work for the number one research lab in all of Tennessee. When I was eleven! I pretty much ran the place. They gave me my own ID badge and when I went down to Human Resources, they guy was like ‘Oh, so you’re the kid everyone’s been talking about.’ That’s just how I’ve always been.” — pause for bong hit — “I’ve just really been into setting goals for myself and then achieving them blah blah blah herpa derp derp.”

And the worst part: It was NEVER about me. One time I asked him his middle name, he said Thomas or whatever and then started telling me about some dumb story that I didn’t hear because I was too busy inside my head screaming, “I HAVE A MIDDLE NAME, TOO, DOUCHEBAG! IT’S ANTHONY! YOU WOULD KNOW THAT IF YOU WOULD’VE JUST RESPONDED WITH, ‘MY MIDDLE NAME’S THOMAS. WHAT’S YOURS?’ BUT NO. THIS STORY ABOUT YOUR CAT OR WHATEVER IS MUCH MORE INTERESTING THEN WHAT MY PARENTS CHOSE TO CALL ME AT BIRTH! GOD, YOU SUCK!”

I called to let him know how my meeting went this morning and he immediately launched into a real-time narration of his walk to class. He actually stopped and talked to people along the way while I sat on the other end, wondering when he was going to take a breath. He was in mid-sentence about his plan to rearrange his bedroom when I hung up. It took him over 50 seconds to realize that I was on the other end and call me back. And I let it ring. And after I’d started writing the first paragraph, he called a second time. And I let it ring again.

It’s not that I didn’t enjoy learning about him. I’ve just been in enough relationships to know that sharing who you are with someone is just as important as figuring them out. It’s a two-way street in every way.

Until they annoy you to death. And then it's on to the next one.