The boy kicked out at the world…

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Equal Benefits for Equal Work: In Support of Domestic Partner Benefits at Western Kentucky University

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Last semester, I was walking up Normal Drive from Mass Media and Technology Hall. A pickup truck full of young men—presumably students—drove by and yelled “faggot” as they passed. I felt humiliated, I felt scared, I felt hurt. But most of all, I felt angry. Homophobia, I’d always been told, had no place on the Hill. This incident proved otherwise.

Last week, the Benefits Committee again showed an ugly homophobia is alive on campus. While they didn’t call us fags to our faces, they did tell gay and lesbian employees and students that we are not seen as equal to our heterosexual colleagues. In a vote of eight to six, the Benefits Committee refused to offer domestic partner benefits to same-sex and opposite-sex unmarried couples.

“But Skylar,” you might say, “if it applies to both gay and straight people, it isn’t homophobic!” This is nothing more than a convenient argument used over and over against offering domestic partner benefits. Lesbian and gay employees can’t be married in Kentucky, so they are unfairly left out of any opportunity to ever have benefits. Besides, even if you don’t think the decision was homophobic, the decision is clearly unfair, as not all employees are granted equal benefits for equal work.

That phrase, “equal benefits for equal work,” is one I used when I first took up this cause last year. In the spring of 2009, as student body vice president, I authored a piece of legislation encouraging WKU to offer domestic partner benefits to unmarried same-sex and opposite-sex couples. I did this out of a desire to achieve a more fair and just university, and the Student Senate agreed—the resolution passed with overwhelming support. Not long after, University Senate passed a similar resolution with similar zeal.

Yet here we are, a year later, and nothing has changed. Not all employees have the same benefits as their colleagues. Unmarried employees who happen to be in long-term relationships but, because either they choose not to or cannot, be married are ineligible to receive the same benefits. This is blatant discrimination and is totally unfair.

And it’s not only unfair to the employees who can’t cover their families. It’s unfair to the university as a whole, including the student body. Not only does it send a message to the world that Hilltoppers are content to discriminate against other Hilltoppers, including students, but it severely hinders our ability to recruit the best and brightest in the respective disciplines. Why would an enlightened genius want to come work at a university that can’t even grasp the kindergarten concept of playing fairly?

Study after study has shown that offering domestic partner benefits is beneficial to recruiting the best employees possible while costing very little to implement. Private sector employers, including a whopping 83% of Fortune 100 companies, offer domestic partner benefits, many of which have offered them since the 1990s or early 2000s. Closer to home, the University of Kentucky and the University of Louisville have found ways to offer domestic partner benefits to their employees, despite Kentucky’s repugnant constitutional amendment banning gay marriage (or any recognition of gay couples at all). In the interest of keeping up with the Jones’, we ought to adopt domestic partner benefits, if only to thumb our noses at the other schools.

But if fairness and superiority aren’t reason enough, let’s pull in another controversial issue: health care. No matter which side of the debate you’re on, I hope you’ll agree every American deserves access to health insurance. While many Americans are covered by their spouse’s employer, unmarried partners of Western employees aren’t eligible. According to a study by UCLA’s Williams Institute, “[p]eople with same-sex or different-sex unmarried partners are two to three times more likely to be uninsured than married people, even after controlling for factors influencing coverage.”

The number of uninsured Americans is outrageous, and employers offering domestic partner benefits is one way to drastically drop the number of uninsured. (This should also make you Tea Partiers out there happy, as the federal government is not involved in the least. See, equality can be a conservative issue, too!)

Furthermore, the cost of actually extending benefits at Western would be small, especially when compared to the cost of, say, Chauncey the Bunny or the big red “key” perched on Centennial Mall. According to the Williams Institute, employers offering domestic partner benefits can expect to see a 1.4% to 2.1% increase in employees signing up, which is nary an increase in the number we’re insuring or the cost of insuring them. Those who say cost is a factor are blatantly lying at worst and patently wrong at best.

Whether they’re lying to hide their homophobia or just ignorant to the facts, I can’t be sure. But it is my hope that the eight people on the Benefits Committee will start thinking progressively, or at least contemporarily. This is an issue of fairness, plain and simple. Other universities in Kentucky are already ahead of us on this, and it is time for Western to catch up with the rest of the crowd.

Better that crowd than the crowd that called me a faggot. Western shouldn’t want to be associated with homophobia. When those guys yelled that slur at me, I felt a lot of things, but the Benefits Committee has made me feel something entirely different: ashamed. I’m ashamed that a committee I’ve supported doesn’t support me. I’m ashamed that ignorance and fear have been allowed to prevail. I’m ashamed that inequality and discrimination are rife on this campus.

But most of all, and I never thought this would happen, I am ashamed to be a Hilltopper.


Where the Wild Queens Are (the original, unedited version)

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This is the unedited version of my feature, which ran in the last issue of Rise Over Run Magazine.  As the new issue comes out soon, in which I have a feature on Millennials at the National Equality March, I wanted to post this here, as well.

He runs his hands through my thick, jet black hair, a devious glint in his eye.  My leg is thrown over his shoulders and we’re shedding clothing left and right.  He’s only an inch or so taller than me and fairly scrawny by my standards, not my usual type at all.  But then again, in a town this size, it’s hard to have a usual type.  You pretty much have to take what you can get.  That’s not to say he isn’t cute, though; this boys is definitely a looker.  His gray eyes have a sparkle and his thick, black rimmed glasses slide down his patrician nose as he tosses his shirt on top of his Chucks, tossed haphazardly on the hardwood floor of my dark room.  I hear my roommate move outside my door, but I’m too preoccupied with this boy in my bed.

We kiss deeply, and I moan.  “Mmm… I love it,” he says, grinning devilishly.  “I love it when a boy says my name.”

I keep this in my mind, fully intending on using it to my advantage.  But I freeze.  I pull back and look him in the eyes, the light from the streetlamp bathing us in a yellow glow.  “What is your name?”

“Grayson1,” he says, going in for another kiss.  He isn’t fazed by my party foul at all.  “And yours?”

“Skylar,” I say, making a mental note to submit this to FMyLife as soon as he leaves.

I would love to say this is an exception, rather than a rule.  But awkward moments like this seem to define gay dating in Bowling Green, or at least my experiences.  To begin with, with the exception of two or three, every guy I’ve dated since moving to town in 2004 has been closeted.  Like the guy who dumped me for Jesus.  Or the boy who lied to me about being an SAE, like that would impress me.  (I would have settled for a Kappa Sig.)  Or the boy who left his sleeping girlfriend on the sofa, took her car, and came over to meet up with me.  I’ve been pretty unlucky in love.  But don’t feel sorry for me.  It’s my own damn fault.

Or is it?  I became curious as to why I wasn’t meeting any quality men.  I mean, the gay men have to be out there, right?  Surely they were out there waving rainbow flags and dancing to Lady Gaga, and I just hadn’t been privy to their presence.  There had to be more than closeted fraternity boys and secretive bisexual hipsters to date.  Right?

I’ve never been a regular on the gay scene in Bowling Green.  This lovely queen I knew back in the day used to have parties every Monday that always had a youthful gay turnout, but I haven’t been to one in years and honestly have no clue if he still lives in town.  Those parties used to be the social event of the week for gay men and the women who love them.   But where are the gay men hanging out now?  Had I failed to get the memo?  Surely they are somewhere.

When I first started at WKU in Fall 2004, the Outlet Resource Center was open in McCormack Hall.  A center focusing on outreach to lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgendered and questioning (LGBTQ) students, I remember my time there fondly.  It was always full of friendly faces and people, often hall directors, who were willing to listen to your problems.  Because of the level of confidentiality, the Outlet was a safe space for LGBTQ students, many of whom faced prejudice and discrimination on a daily basis, to congregate.  I firmly believe that it was the Outlet that made my first two years at WKU so easy, because it provided me with a support network I might not have had.

However, Housing and Residence Life closed the Outlet in 2007 and now uses the space as storage.  As if turning a gay and lesbian resource center into a closet wasn’t bad enough, WKU never bothered to find the center a new home, and the only place gay and lesbian students had to go ceased to exist.  So where had all the gay boys gone?

Where the boys aren’t

Setting out to find this town’s mythical gay scene is a lot like setting out to find Atlantis: everybody has an idea of where it might be and what it’s like, and it sure sounds magical, but nobody’s really ever been there.   I ask Dustin Bell, a senior theater major, what he’d heard of the local gay scene.  “That it exists,” he says rather tongue-in-cheek.  That’s all Dustin seems to know about the gay scene.  I ask him how he met men, and he answers bluntly: “I don’t.”

Ask any gay man or lesbian on campus and they’ll tell you that there is a gay scene in town; they just don’t know where it is.  Every little lesbian or giddy gay boy seems to think they’re the only one being left out.  There isn’t an official gay bar in town (the closest is in Nashville), though there is a monthly drag show at Ellis Place.

The lack of a local watering hole hinders the development of any gay community, according to “Mark” and “Bill,” a thirty-something couple I spoke to.  They asked not to be identified because they are not out to their families.

“We are just roommates to most,” Mark explained.  I met Mark and Bill on Adam4Adam, a website that, according to its homepage, aims to “help you find new friends and create new relationships quickly and at no cost.”  Of course, it’s a site you don’t want to access in a campus computer lab, as the advertising that keeps the site free is mostly hardcore pornography linking to sites catering to any sexual proclivity you can imagine.  Just ask the lab assistant who threatened to kick me out for looking at porn.  (I insisted I was doing research, but understandably, she didn’t believe me.)

“We get cussed a lot because we are a couple,” Bill says.  “People say ‘why does a couple come on here if they aren’t willing to hook up?’”  Dustin agrees, saying that sites like Adam4Adam, which is joined by the likes of and Manhunt, are mostly intended for men looking for a quickie.  “There are a few good people on there, but most of them just want sex,” he says.

I’ve used Adam4Adam, Manhunt, and before, and in my experience both Bill and Dustin are right: the men on those sites are looking for quickies and fly-by-night romances.  They’re not looking for lasting relationships, and they certainly aren’t looking for friends or to network.  This isn’t Facebook for fags.  It’s more like a 21st century glory hole.

That’s part of the problem, says Jeff Herron, a Professor of Sociology at the University of Kentucky and an HIV prevention specialist focusing in men who have sex with men (“MSM”).  He says that in smaller towns, such as Bowling Green, being isolated and the stigma of homosexuality in the local and national culture can have vast consequences for the self-esteem of gay people and drive men into hiding and risky behavior.  “There is definitely a sense of alienation,” Herron says.  “We’re talking about men who live in areas where not only is there a lack of community, but they often lack MSM peers and social networks.”  Herron says that this alienation and lack of community often makes hooking up on sites like Adam4Adam the only viable option.  “In rural areas, the internet is vital for them in meeting partners.”

In talking to the different men and women I’ve come in contact with, this seems to be an extremely common problem.  “John,” a 19 year old WKU student, who asked not to be identified, says that he meets gay locals online.  I meet John at his house, where he is reclined in his bed, comfortable in his gray WKU tee-shirt and gym shorts.  His room is dimly lit, with personal mementos draping the walls and ESPN on the television, which he has me mute.

John classifies himself as “semi-closeted,” saying his friends know he is gay but that he prefers to keep a low profile.  “I’m straight by day, gay by night,” he says with a sheepish grin.  He mentions specifically, which he says is for “straight up hook ups.” He says he has to go online because there is no bar in Bowling Green for him to meet people.  However, he seems unlikely to go.  “I like to go places where I’m not going to be recognized.” John says he grew up in a conservative world, and prefers to “keep things orderly.” I ask him if “keeping things orderly” means that being gay is somehow disorderly.  He becomes defensive and says that he is afraid of what other people’s reactions might cost him.

I decide to press further, asking John if he is ashamed of being gay.  He falls silent, his eyes falling toward the ground.  He unfolds his arms and refuses to meet my gaze, staying silent for a good minute, before laughing nervously.  “God, I don’t know,” he says finally, a baffled look on his face.  He takes a moment to collect his thoughts before adding “I’m sure that’s the case.”

A light at the end of the tunnel?

It’s this level of self-loathing and homophobia that concerned Kat Michael, a junior from Louisville who, last fall, cofounded the Student Identity Outreach, or SIO.  “Throughout LGBTQ culture we’ve been trained to operate in the shadows,” she said.  Michael wanted to change this.

SIO is the only organization on campus focused on working to provide a safe and educational environment LGBTQ students , she says.  Michael serves as the president.  “For people from small towns, this is the first they’ve been involved” in the LGBTQ community, she says.   “The majority of students are from Kentucky and used to (negative) treatment.” However, she adds that “they become more outraged in SIO seeing they deserve to be treated fairly.  They’re grateful to see us on campus.”

She says that the internet is a great way for LGBTQ students to meet, but that it isn’t always ideal.  People, she says, “can create a weird persona online.  I would rather see you so I can see through you.”   Not that she has a chance to meet many women online.  The online choices for lesbians are much more limited than for gay men.  Michael says they are available, but they’re not popular in Bowling Green.  “For the most part there are fewer outlets for lesbian social networking,” Michael says.  “It boils down to word of mouth.”

The one common thread that every individual I spoke with shares is the notion that word of mouth is the best way to network with other LGBT locals.  Bill and Mark, the couple I spoke to, say they found their friends through other gay friends, and John says that while word of mouth is less important for him, he still finds it useful.  Dustin says that word of mouth is how he meets most of his gay friends, and that is what brought him to the SIO meeting last Monday in Tate Page Hall.  Dustin was one of 43 people who attended last Monday’s meeting.  Though Dustin didn’t meet any potential boyfriends at the meeting, he said it was still nice to be around other gay people.  However, he is still apprehensive.  “I try not to get my hopes up,” he says.

Kat Michael echoes that sentiment.  As we chat in the Subway in Garrett Conference Center, people around us laugh, enjoying an early dinner, and one straight couple catches my eye.  They are holding hands and exchange a butterfly kiss, completely oblivious to an equally oblivious world.  It dawns on me that if I had done that with a boy the entire restaurant would have been gawking at us.  It must have dawned on Kat, too.  “I don’t know if in my life I will ever be able to fully and openly love the person I’m with,” she confesses.

However, John, the closeted 19 year old, has higher hopes for his future, despite his apprehension about the present.  He says that when he gets a job, gets married and has kids he will keep a picture of his partner and children on his desk, the same as his heterosexual colleagues likely will.  “I think that in this new age people are more accepting,” he says.

The mostly unfabulous social life of Ethan Green Skylar Jordan

I haven’t heard from hipster boy Grayson since we hooked up nearly a week ago, and I can say with confidence that it isn’t because I had to ask his name.  A closeted boy like Grayson didn’t want to give me his name, and having met online, I have no way of even knowing if Grayson is his actual name.  The fact is, though many men will profess their interest in something more than a one-night stand (even if it’s just a regular hookup), the risk is too much for closeted boys.  They can’t chance being caught by their friends, their fraternity brothers, their girlfriends.

Bill and Mark, that delightful gay couple I spoke with, say that until the culture of Kentucky changes, not much else can.  “There are way too many holy-rollers that would put a stop to any gay bars or gay hangouts that were public,” Mark tells me.  I’m afraid he may be right.  However, that doesn’t negate the need for something to be done.  Kat Michael is doing wonderful work with Student Identity Outreach, but I imagine even she would agree that one night a week isn’t enough.  Still, it is something.  It gives students like Dustin Bell and John the chance to at least meet other gay individuals in an atmosphere that isn’t rife with the sexual overtones of Adam4Adam or a nightclub in Nashville.

As for now, though, it looks like I’m stuck finding men the new old fashioned way: online.  Perhaps, until I leave this town, I am condemned to date closeted fraternity boys and crazy scene kids who cheat on their girlfriends.  Perhaps I’m doomed to be hit on by married men who married for no other reason than to hide their sexuality.  I mean, it’s kind of hard for a prince on a white horse to gallop up in a chat room that’s sponsored by a site called Chocolate and Cracker Orgies.  (I’ll leave it to you to investigate, but I’m sure you can figure it out.)

Of course, while I’ve been writing this, I’ve been sending e-mails back and forth to a rather sexy guy on Adam4Adam.  We’re making plans to meet this weekend.  Sure, it’s not the fantasy I always had of meeting my dream boy at a gay bookstore or a bar in the gayborhood.  But, like I said, in Bowling Green, you take what you can get.

Written by skylarjordan

October 22, 2009 at 12:16 am

Dating Dilemmas or, The Mostly Unfabulous Social Life of Skylar Baker-Jordan

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If you read my feature in the current issue of Rise Over Run, you’ll know that dating isn’t my forte.  In fact, for me, dating is an utter disaster.  I used to think, like Ethan Green, it was my own damn fault.  But the older I get, the more I realize the problem isn’t with me, but with the guys I have to choose from.

After Leo and I broke up–for good–last December, I took a solid eight months off dating.  My 2009 new year’s resolution was to remain celibate for a year, but eventually I once again felt up to the challenge of dating.  Two months later, I’m beginning to regret this.

It started, oddly enough, with Twitter.  Over the summer, I became twitterpated with a bloke I was tweeting back and forth with.  I have never met him in person, but he still managed to enchant me.  I realized that if a guy could win me over in 140 characters or less, there was probably a guy outside of cyberspace that could truly sweep me off my feet.

I went on my first date since the breakup in August, and it went well.  We met online, which if you read Where the Wild Queens Are you’ll know is the only way for gay guys to meet one another in Bowling Green.  He was a skateboarder, and he was sexy: thick, chestnut hair; lean, toned body; piercing turquoise eyes.  He was sweet, too.  He complimented my smile, my curves, and my confidence.  I was smitten, and perhaps because of nearly a year’s worth of pent-up sexual energy, I went to bed with him.  Afterward, as I was reeling from the release, he jumped up and began hurriedly searching for his shorts.  I sat up, a little confused, wondering where the fire is.

Turns out, it was being kept lit by a little Mrs. at home.  Skater Boy had a skater girl waiting for him at his–actually, her–apartment.  He told me she was asleep on her couch, where she had dozed off before he left.  She would be awake soon, he said, and she would want her car back.   That’s right–Skater Boy left his sleeping girlfriend on her sofa, took her car, and cheated on her.  With me.

I’d love to say that was the worst of it, but we’ve only just gotten started.  The next date I had was with this young professional who had recently moved to town.  We met for a drink and then went back to his place, which he insisted would be innocent because he wanted a relationship, not a one-night stand.  We’d been talking on Manhunt for days (which, in hindsight, should have been my first clue), and he seemed nice enough.  Tall, thin, and geeky in a preppy, business major fraternity boy sort of way, he had a sexy uncertainty about everything he did.  Adopted by Baptist parents from a Korean orphanage, he is a devout Christian.  That didn’t stop Bible Boy from letting me in on his nipple fetish before trying to get in my pants.

He didn’t, though, and after an evening of cuddling and innocent kisses, I went home.  He promised to call me the next day after church, and I thought I’d found a guy with potential.  I actually missed his call, so he left a voicemail.  I was excited to hear from him, but as I listened to his stuttering, nervous voice, I knew this was a message I’d rather have deleted.   He rambled on and on about how church had made him realize that this wasn’t what Jesus wanted for his life and how this was not right.  “It’s not you, it’s God” is was the gist of the message, which I had to play to my roommates to make sure I’d heard correctly.  They confirmed it: I had been dumped for Jesus.  How the hell was I expected to compete with heaven?

Despite these early setbacks, I decided to continue trying to find Prince Charming.   I’ve been out on several first dates since then, and they’ve all been disasters.  The problem is, the guys I end up dating all have debilitating neuroses, most of them are closet cases, and the ones who have potential already have boyfriends.  Therefore, I’m stuck dating boys like Hipster Boy.  I met him online, too, and because he was “bored,” we decided to “hang out.”

He pulled up outside of my house on a yellow motorcycle, his face obscured behind the oversized helmet.  I’d never before thought of motorcycles as sexy–they’ve always reminded me of my father, who is an avid biker–but with Hipster Boy driving, I really wanted to take a ride with him.  Little did I know that by the end of the night I’d get my chance.

Thanks to Hipster Boy, I soon found out that “bored” is gay talk for “horny” and “hang out” is meant in a very literal sense.    But I’m a good sport, so I went along with him.  He was cute, a little scrawny but with a nice arms–I imagine from biking–and a devilish smile.   I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t enjoy myself.  He enjoyed himself, too, judging from the third and fourth round and the promise to call me soon.  A couple weeks passed and I hadn’t heard from him.  He finally sent me a text last weekend, while I was in DC for the National Equality March.  “Sup?” is all it read.

Now here’s a bit of irony for you.  I met a very nice boy in DC.  He is adorable, and his personality is golden.  A sarcastic, cynical asshole, we can trade witty insults and pithy comments without wincing.  He talked about liking skinny boys (which I definitely am not), plus he has a boyfriend, so I never really gave the possibility of dating him a second thought.  I figured I’d flirt with him while we were there and that would be the end of it.

Which it would have been, except my lesbian buddy and fruit fly both picked up on the fact that I was shamelessly flirting.  As you can imagine, they haven’t let me live it down since we returned home.  Always subtle, they still  manage to make it clear that they know I fancied this lad without actually saying it.

So for the last week I’ve been pretty dour thanks to the repeated references to Beltway Boy and knowing that, though I’ve finally met a decent guy, he already found his happily ever after.  By tonight, home alone for the first time in weeks, I was feeling downright lonely.  Needing a confidence boost, I decided to text Hipster Boy.  This, it turns out, was a mistake.  His response?

“What’s up dude.  Sorry Im just getting back 2 u.  I’m dating a girl now.  So I wont be able 2 c u.” [sic]

Okay, so Hipster Boy now has a hipstress.  Damn.  Feeling even crappier than I had half an hour before, I turned to my old friends Dorothy, Blanche, Rose, and Sophia to make me laugh.  As I sipped on a Diet Pepsi, petting my roommate’s arthritic cat and living vicariously through a group of middle-aged women from circa 1986, I realized how utterly pitiful my life is.

So of course, God said “ha” and decided to make the scene all the more pathetic.  My phone vibrated, and I immediately hoped that Hipster Boy felt a change of heart and decided to come play with me instead of hanging out with his girlfriend.  Or even better, Beltway Boy had decided he wanted to hang out.  Nope, and nope.  Instead, Bible Boy texted me, from church, asking what I’m doing.  Going back and forth for a while, I finally tell him I want to see him again, not just receive suggestive text messages that he can get off to guilt free.  His response?

“Seeing u wouldn’t be the problem–ur right, guilt would be.  I have grown up believing that I shouldn’t but I haven’t always done so.  :(“ [sic]

He says God’s plan is bigger than anything we mere mortals can possibly understand.  I say goodnight.

As if things weren’t depressing enough, I decided to go a step further: I texted Liam asking him to “ring me.”  (For those of you who don’t remember, Liam is the really awesome guy I met in London in 2007.  If it weren’t for the damned Atlantic Ocean–and Liam’s aversion to honesty–we’d probably still be together.)  By this point it’s about 3:30 am in England, and it was obvious Liam had been out on another bender the moment I answer his call.   I told him everything, and he proceeded to give me a much-needed pep talk, albeit through a groggy haze of delirium and alcohol.

The abridged version goes something like this: “You’re fierce, you’re fit, you’ve got an amazing accent and sexy broken smile and you’re the best writer I know.  You are, by far, the most charming American that has ever lived.  So stop your whinging.  Or get yourself to Britain where the men appreciate you.  Either way shut the bloody hell up and stop dating wankers.  Have a good night.  Goodbye.”  Even though he was clearly annoyed with the fact that I woke him from his liquor-induced coma, I sensed the sincerity behind his words.  It was just what I needed.

Still, I wasn’t in a state to sit home by myself, so I took myself for a walk.  On that walk, I thought of the boys who’ve meant the most to me.  The ones who made me into the man–and the basket case–you know and love.   I thought of the abuse I suffered with Benji, the loss I suffered when Brandon passed away, the puppy love I shared with high school sweetheart Ryan and the sheer sexual chemistry I had with Brighton.  And then I thought of Leo.  And Liam.  And the men I’m guilty of doing wrong, like Quint and Daniel, whom I still imagine wonder where the hell I disappeared to when things seemed to be going so well.  I began to wonder whether all the hurt and hurting was worth it.

But then I thought of Beltway Boy and his boyfriend.  And oddly enough, I smiled.  Sure, Beltway Boy isn’t my boyfriend, and probably never will be.  But he is somebody’s boyfriend, proving that good guys are out there and that, sometimes, regular guys like me are lucky enough to find one.  If Beltway Boy’s boyfriend can find a guy as good as Beltway Boy, surely I can find one, too.

Then I thought of the guy from Twitter, and I smiled even brighter.  Though he’s thousands of miles away, he is single, proving that there are great single guys left to choose from.

It’s just a matter of finding the one for you.

Written by skylarjordan

October 17, 2009 at 9:00 am