how to keep a job for longer than nine minutes
Jason posted on April 29th, 2008
Last week, I was approached by my friend Kate, who’s editing a new blog called neighborbeeblog. Neighborbeeblog is supposed to be a NYC resource, with details about what to see and do and wear in NYC - pretty much like TimeOutNY, but only on the internet. Due to some tragic error in judgment, Kate asked me to be the "dating" columnist for the site (apparently, their original choice, Josef Fritzl, became indisposed and was no longer able to make the commitment). After asking if she was serious and learning that she was, I agreed to do it, even though I might as well write the "Menstruation" column for as much as I know about dating.I also wanted to do it for two reasons: 1) It would give me focus, as I’d have to write something every Monday; and 2) I’d only have to write something short, anywhere between 200-600 words. Length - at least in words - has never really been a problem for me, and the average post on here runs about 1500-2500 words (to give you an idea, you’ve read 199 words already). So sure, I could bang out 200-600 words once a week on dating to help a friend out. Besides, I kinda get off on giving advice to others on something I know so little about. I don’t know…something about influencing the masses in an area in which I’ve had marginal success and in which I lack any real, workable knowledge kinda gets me hot. Don’t judge.
So last week, I sat down at the ol’ Mac, banged out the following and emailed it to Kate:
******
In this year of choices, I humbly submit myself to be your Neighborbee dating columnist.* I believe I have the necessary experience, desire and gumption for the position. More importantly, I also have the complete lack of shame, the abundance of free time, and the irrational belief that somehow this gig may result in me having a threesome to be a successful dating columnist for you, the reader. With your help and support, I can be the best dating columnist in the world, because I:
…am the Best of Both Worlds
I was born in South Philadelphia in 1979. Shortly after, my father began what would be an impressive career in fighting the law and losing. Therefore, I spent my childhood overeating and memorizing every word to "Grease." Later in my adolescence, once I became aware of the function of my penis aside from being something ornamental that pee comes out of, I served in the role of Gay Best Friend Who’s Not Really Gay and Wants To Get in Your Pants to numerous female friends, a role in which I continue to serve in various capacities to this day. Though my first concert was Paula Abdul (with Color Me Badd opening), my second concert was the Grateful Dead. At this Dead concert at the age of 13, I saw my first real-live boobie, and since then I have dedicated my life and a substantial portion of my financial assets to finding the perfect woman and the perfect boobies, a mission that has seen some minor successes and major failures in various bars, restaurants and parking lots in New York City. Let’s go there. Together.
…have broad Geographic Expertise
I have lived in New York since I graduated college in 2001, living in various parts of the city from Bay Ridge, Brooklyn to the Upper East Side to my current home in Chinatown-Little Italy, or as I call it, Chilita. For the past several months, I have been bicoastal, spending one or two weeks per month in Los Angeles, duly studying the relationships and sexes there. Few other dating columnists can claim such versatility; it’s like being able to speak English and Spanish. And really, how many people can do that?
…am Educated
I’m educated enough to form complete sentences, but not too educated that I’ll use big words like recapitulate or dyspeptic or, you know, other big words or whatever. For you numbers people, I scored a 620 on the verbal portion of my SAT, which is the highest of all of my friends. So that’s saying something right there.
…have Sexual Proficiency
I have navigated successfully through the musty realm of lovemaking over six times. I am adapt at several sexual positions, including missionary, me just laying there, and "I’m too drunk to get this condom on, so I’m gonna go heat up some pizza." My Patented Foreplay Technique follows three simple rules: 1) Start kissing; 2) Count to twenty; 3) Stick it in. Critics in both the US and abroad have compared my lovemaking to "forty seconds of life-changing thrusting, then a noise that sounds like a bear falling down a flight of stairs, then a request for a high-five." References available upon request.
…am Dedicated
I am scheduled to write this column once a week, and I promise you that at least every other week you will get a column. That’s my word.
To recapitulate, I dyspeptically look forward to working with you in order to make this as successful a venture as possible. As a matter of fact, you are a key cog in this machine, since I’m pretty much already out of ideas. So if you have dating questions, need love advice or a place to go in NYC, or just want to send an email to a stranger, email me at ______@____.com.
[* I already got the gig, so technically there's no choice involved. So let's just try to make the most of this.]
******
Some of the jokes you’ve heard before, but c’mon, I’ve been doing this for over four years, so I have to repeat myself sometimes. But overall, I was pretty happy with it. As I suspected, the hardest part was whittling down the word count. In the big picture, however, I was a little concerned. I have no desire to share my dating experiences on the internet - at least as they happen in real time. I have a statute of limitations that must expire before I can tell any stories about any hook-ups or dates I’ve had, all of which I make anonymous, and I find those who write about their boyfriends and girlfriends or dates in general…well, I’m kind of embarrassed for them. With technology the way it is, you can’t ever erase this shit, and most relationships are not worthy enough to be forever etched in internet history (and yet I have no problem writing about doing drugs, shitting myself, or jerking off into empty Pepsi cans - I don’t know if this is ironic or just stupid). But whatever - I envisioned the column being more about me answering emails and suggesting places to go rather than sharing details about my own life:
He said for $8, he’d rub my bird - for an extra buck, he’d lick his lips while doing so. I stood up from the toilet and asked him to my place, but he said he was most comfortable there in Penn Station. The rest is a blur, but I woke up under the Cross-Bronx Expressway with ejaculate crusted like glaze in my beard and a doll’s head in my pocket. The doll’s head was black. Someone had shit in my sneaker. Dating in NYC is hard.
Kate confirmed receipt of my email and wrote back almost immediately, saying that she loved the piece and it would go as is, thus immediately cementing herself as the best editor I’ve ever had. On Monday (yesterday), she emailed to say that it had been posted to the neighborbeeblog, and I whipped up a quick post directing you all over there. Done and done. I was officially, for better or worse, a dating columnist (however an amateur one, since there was no pay involved, so I could still qualify for the Olympics).
Eight minutes later, I got a frantic email from Kate. She said that she had just gotten into a fight with the people who own neighborbee, who were horrified by my column and felt it was "inappropriate." Kate said that they don’t want any mention of "sex acts, boobies, penis, etc." She had to take the post down immediately. Kate was supremely nice and apologetic about it, saying she didn’t think it would be a problem and offering to argue on my behalf to get me on the neighborbee team, if I still wanted to write the column. I respectfully declined, pointing out that I am what I am, which is more or less only sex acts, boobies, penis, etc, and couldn’t effectively contribute if every week I had to write about dining at Tavern on the Green and discussing Proust with some New England-bred, Ivy-educated banker lady I met at a "Young Republicans For Not Change" banquet at the Four Seasons. (I also pointed out that my next column was probably going to be "Five Books To Keep On Your Bookshelf That Will Help Get You Laid", so it was probably best to cut our losses now).
And thus my opening salvo was also my swan song as a dating columnist. About now is when you’d expect me to lash out against the neighborbee people (that’s kinda what I expect too), but I harbor no ill will toward them or their site. It goes without saying that Kate is still sound as a pound in my book - how can I be mad at anyone who sings in a Meatloaf cover band anyway? And there’s no real moral or lesson here; just a simple story about the shortest job I’ve ever had.
Jason Mulgrew
Dating Columnist
April 28, 2008 2:59pm - April 28, 2008 3:07pm
(If you’re keeping count, that was 1653 words. A little on the short side.)