Category Archives: I call it dating. You call it stalking.

(fifteen years ago) the speed of time

Time’s a funny thing.

For the first twenty-four years of my life, today’s date was just a date. But fifteen years ago, it became important.

Fifteen years ago, I stood at an altar. For the regular reasons.

(eighteen years ago) Surrounded by throngs of married and engaged law students, I thought I was going to die alone, and it terrified me.

(fifteen years ago) I wore a tuxedo and said “I do” in a Catholic Church, and no lightning touched down upon our heads.

(twenty years ago) As a college sophomore I played video games and then went home and touched myself too many times.

(fifteen years ago) We danced to a song that took much too long to choose and sometimes now I can’t immediately remember what it was called.

(twenty-two years ago) I had a 1984 Chrysler Fifth Avenue and rolled up the sleeves on my T-shirts. Sometimes I stapled them so they’d stay.

(fifteen years ago) I gave into tradition for the last time as my best friend from college walked down the aisle as a bridesmaid instead of a groomswoman.

(twenty-four years ago) I cried about unrequited love and punched holes in my walls.

(fifteen years ago) Friends from each stage in my life drank and laughed with each other as they toasted my future.

(twenty-eight years ago) I snapped a girl’s bra strap and my dad said “Boys will be boys,” because he knew I’d eventually turn into a respectful man.

(fifteen years ago) I didn’t drink, but the night was still a drunken blur.

(thirty years ago) I devoured every book I could find and found whole new worlds worthy of exploration.

(fifteen years ago) We were too tired to consummate our marriage, and nobody noticed that giant red flag flapping in the air.

(thirty-two years ago) My parents burst with pride at my intelligence and precociousness, not realizing how unbearable it might become.

(fifteen years ago) I said I did, even though I showed I couldn’t.

(thirty-four years ago) I was the only male child, and I liked it.

(fifteen years ago) We started a new life with a terminal lifespan.

(thirty-six years ago) We moved to Florida from Boston and ate Raisin Bran for dinner, which amazed me at three years old.

(fifteen years ago) I hadn’t evolved from someone who knew everything to someone who knew he didn’t.

(thirty-eight years ago) My parents loved me fiercely without reservation, and haven’t stopped.

(fifteen years ago) I danced with my mother as she cried and took my face in both of her hands and kissed me.

(forty years ago) My mother looked at herself in the mirror and wondered what I’d be like when I arrived in three months.

and

(one year after my divorce) My best friend took me to dinner and wore a long blonde wig so, as he said, “I would feel like Amy was still there and wouldn’t be sad.”

Adam Avitable and his best friend in 2010

Time’s a funny thing.

To My Single Friends

Hey, I’m so happy to see you!

Yeah, you.

Man, you have a great smile. Like, it’s not just a smile. It reaches your eyes and just makes me feel warm. It’s so real and genuine.

And I love how much you care. You have such a huge heart, and it shows every time you tear up watching your favorite movies.

You’ve been hurt, just like all of us, but you don’t let it make you bitter. You know that we’re all human and we’re all flawed, and you just tell yourself “It’s fine” and move on with your life. You build walls to protect yourself, but you don’t let that keep you from loving others. That’s amazing.

Sometimes you just want to escape from social media because it can get a little painful. Why are some of these people finding someone who makes them happy but you, someone who tries so hard to be a beautiful person inside and out, can’t? It feels better to just shut it down for a while and pretend that the rest of the world isn’t happy.

Here’s the thing, though, and you already know this, deep down. Happiness can’t be reliant on having someone by your side. You have to be happy on your own. The happiest you can ever be is when you’re content with your own life and fully capable of saying no to the wrong people because you don’t want to settle for something less than you deserve.

Maybe you’re whole on your own. And maybe you’ll find someone equally whole when it’s supposed to happen, and you’ll both be happy forever. Or maybe you won’t. But if you’re whole – if you’re truly whole – you’ll be okay.

People in relationships aren’t always happy. Far from it – even the best relationships have moments where one or the other will miss someone else or some past aspect of their life. And that’s how it is with single life, too. Plenty of happy moments punctuated by the times when you miss someone by your side, someone to lay with you, someone who’s always there. But then there are those great moments when you have the bed to yourself, when you can do what you want without considering anyone except yourself, and when you can lay in bed for two days without showering, watching TV, just because that’s the place you’re in right now.

Be you.

Be the unapologetic, amazing, considerate, overthinking, anxious, happy, depressed, gorgeous, passionate, wonderful you that you deserve.

Be that tremendous soul and beautiful spirit that I see every time I look at you.

Love yourself like I love you. Like everyone who knows you loves you. And have a happy Valentine’s Day.


This is part of a series in which I will attempt to write something every single day of 2016. Will I be able to do it? Nope – I’ve already failed! But I’m writing at least once a week, so keep up to date on new posts by subscribing below:

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The Weekly Barber

On February 21, 2007, I ventured into a little barbershop close to my house for a haircut and a shave, since I hadn’t had either for close to six months. Two hours later, I emerged, feeling like a new man, and I’ve been going to that same shop every single week since that date.

The evolution of Adam Avitable's beard

I was a 450 pound man who didn’t drink alcohol or do drugs, had only had sex with one person, his wife of 6 years, and hadn’t stepped on a stage since he was in high school. My weekly visits to Capp’s Barbers were an indulgence, but one that provided a nice relaxing break in the day. As a (giant woodland) creature of habit, I would only allow the owner, Cori, to take care of me, and as a result of sitting in her chair week after week for years, we became friends. She and her significant other would come to parties that my wife and I would throw, we would talk for an hour each week about life and work and all the responsibilities of owning a business, and she would yell at me for not getting my eyebrows (and nose and ears and everything else) waxed enough.

She and I both ended our long relationships within a year of each other. She moved out of her house and I moved out of mine. I lost almost 200 pounds, and she started doing those tough mudder mud runs that stupid people and crazy people do. She started booking more and more makeup and effects work for movies and commercials on the side and I started performing stand-up. We both started dating, swapping stories of bad experiences or great sex. Every week, as long as one or the other of us wasn’t out of town, I’d sit in that chair and we’d talk about our new lives. And then we started going out and getting drinks and getting drunk and hanging out and going to strip clubs and having fun when it wasn’t my time in the chair.

And when her best friend in the world passed away in her sleep, she asked me to preside over the memorial service. Her daughter is getting married, and if I hadn’t been booked for another friend’s wedding the same day, I would have been officiating the wedding. I invite her to my parties, and she came to the very first comedy show I ever produced. Last night was her birthday, and she invited me to join her, her boyfriend, her son, and her daughters and their boyfriends, out for dinner to celebrate. For a few hours, we ate fondue, laughed and talked, and everything else in the world just sat this inning out.

Makeup artist Cori Adkins and family with comedian Adam Avitable

You never know who the important people are going to be in your life. They can come from any situation – a failed date, a chance encounter, a weekly barber appointment, an ad hoc office set up at a strip club, or even just a random conversation with a former stranger. They’re all around you. Your future friends. Your new tribe. Your found family.

So, basically, put your fucking phone down sometime and talk to the people around you. Yeah. That’s the moral of the story. Had I never spoken to Cori at the barbershop or Chana at Tijuana Flats or Sylvana and Lanie at Walgreens or Lisa at Dancer’s Royale or Claire at The Other Bar or a hundred other people at a hundred other locations, I would have missed out on some of the best friendships, greatest adventures, and coolest times I’ve ever had.

So, maybe the moral is actually that you should add me on Facebook so you and I can be friends too. Yeah, I like that one better. Because I’m on my phone a lot, so it might be a little hypocritical to judge others for that shit.

The More You Know


This is part of a series in which I will attempt to write something every single day of 2016 here on Avitable.com. Will I be able to do it? You’ll only know if you subscribe using the form below!

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Love and Baggage

 

Marriage is an institution. Institutions were meant to be destroyed, or at least mocked gently, or else they become stodgy, uptight, and inflexible. And you know what happens when you’re inflexible, right? Right?

Right. You fucking break in two.

So that’s where Love and Baggage comes in! The result of a twisted nihilist conversation between me and my friend Vannah, this Facebook page is a dark and twisted look at the institution of marriage, adding sarcastic, bitter commentary to everyday wedding photos.

We’ve posted almost 150 of them so far, with no plans to stop anytime soon, and you can email me your own wedding photos for the L&B treatment to avitable (at) gmail (dot) com!

Here are a few of the best received ones as well as some of my personal favorites. Enjoy them. No, seriously. Enjoy them. You choke this shit down and you like it.

 

This is part of a series in which I will attempt to write something every single day of 2016 here on Avitable.com. Will I be able to do it? You’ll only know if you subscribe using the form below!

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The First White Dick

“So I do have to say this,” she said, in a conversation that had been entirely innocuous and normal up to that exact moment, “If you do get lucky tonight, you would be my first and only white dick.”

Why would you tell me that BEFORE? Having sex with someone new for the first time (and second and third and beyond) already comes with its own baggage. I’m already worried about performing well enough/being big enough/lasting long enough/making it fun enough/keeping it from being awkward/not sweating/hoping I don’t have any boogers/hoping that my breath is good enough/hoping that she’s not faking/hoping that we’re enjoying a legitimate moment/trying to actually lose myself in the moment instead of going through a mental checklist/and now I have to worry about the fact that your expectations are already higher because I’m a different race from your previous partners?

So now this instrument between my legs that is frankly a source of both pleasure and shame has to be some type of reverse Rosa Parks, refusing to back down until your bus reaches the station? If the sex isn’t mind-blowing, will I have, in your mind, let down all white men? Did I just let down George Clooney and Han Solo and Superman? Will I perpetuate the stereotype that once you go white, you won’t feel like it’s right?

I declined, if you wonder about those types of things. I wish I could say that it was due to some type of nobility because I didn’t want to be relegated to some Caucasian cock experiment for her, but the reality is that it just didn’t work out because I didn’t find her attractive enough to debase myself like that. Had she been a petite redhead with pale skin? Captain White Dick to the rescue!

Adam Avitable's Tinder Profile

I know that women have it worse on dating sites. Women have to deal with men who are psychotically horny, predatory, and terrifying. My experiences can’t even compare – it’s like complaining about being hungry when there are people starving to death in third-world countries. So I get it, and women, on behalf of men everywhere, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that this world of anonymity and filtered conversation through the Internet brings out the worst in many people. Do I date so that I can have sex? Sure – eventually. Maybe on that first date, maybe on a later one. Do I have dirty texting conversations? Of course I do, and more than that one time I almost accidentally sexted my mom instead of my girlfriend. Do I send dick pics? Absolutely, but there’s a time and place for everything, and that time is never when you first meet someone, and that place is never going to be in a conversation where you’re trying to get to know someone.

So I know I have no place to complain, since I am a man on a dating site, but fuck it. I’m going to complain a little. I’m sick of only seeing the weirdest segments of the population on dating sites. Yes, there are exceptions, from the strikingly attractive and creative Tampa photographer to the beautiful redheaded Orlando actress to the hard-working recruiter with the great smile, but we were never able to connect, and it’s the hundreds of others that I’ve had to contend with:

THE IDIOTS.

You don’t have to be a scholar. You don’t have to have a degree. You can misspell words and not understand possessive vs. contractions. I’ll still overlook it all if you have that spark of raw intelligence that might not demonstrate itself in the most obvious ways.

Maybe it’s just about showing some pride. Dating is about putting your best foot forward and making a good impression, then building upon that impression if you meet the person. Take some pride in what how you represent yourself and you’ll attract a better class of person. I just can’t see taking the time to try to translate your profile if you can’t be bothered to learn how to spell words like “you” or “the”.

THE POLYAMOROUS.

From an actual message I received:

My husband and I have a beautiful relationship based on mutual love and trust. We are open to other relationships with people because we see it as only an enhancement to our lives, as individuals and as a couple.

What? Okay, I get it if you are a woman who wants to bring another woman into a healthy relationship. It can add flavor and spice things up. And I understand if you’re in an unhappy relationship and you want to be with someone so you can feel loved and have a few moments of happiness while you try to build the strength to end your toxic situation.  But if you have a beautiful relationship based on mutual love and trust, why do you want to introduce others into it? It’s not going to enhance shit. All that usually means is that one person in the relationship has all the power and isn’t mature enough to commit fully to someone else, but their partner is too wrapped around a finger to disagree, so they throw around bullshit phrases like “open relationships enhance our lives”.

Plus, I’m way too competitive and narcissistic to be the third wheel in the tricycle of a polyamorous relationship. I’ll try anything once, but I don’t want to have sloppy seconds in any situation.

THE SO ALTERNATIVE THAT THE ALTERNATIVE THINK THEY’RE FREAKS.

Seriously. You’re trying too hard.

THE WOEFULLY UN-SELF-AWARE.

I don’t expect everyone to be as self aware as I am. I’ve spent years learning about me and learning who I am and what makes me happy. I know my destructive behaviors in and out and I’m aware of my motivations when I take any action.

But I would expect someone to be aware enough to realize that the blurry photo she posted in the stained white T-shirt sitting on the couch in the most unflattering pose I’ve ever witnessed might not be the best profile photo for a dating site. I understand – I really do – that we all want someone who will still love us when we look our worst just as much as when we look our best, but how about taking some fucking baby steps?

I think I deserve a cookie for not posting any screenshots I’ve taken of some of the awful profile photos I’ve seen. I don’t want to body-shame (it’s more like face-shame), because everyone’s beautiful for his or her own reason. BUT IF YOU COULD SEE SOME OF THESE PICTURES YOU’D DIE BUT LIKE LITERALLY DIE BECAUSE I THINK THESE PICTURES MAY CAUSE STROKES AND HEART CONDITIONS.

MY FRIENDS.

Already tried to have sex with you/didn’t work out or we had sex/decided to end things and stayed friends or we have a fwb situation/it still happens but we will never date.

THE REST.

Then there’s just the rest of the people out there on the big ol’ Internet who are looking for love but who don’t have that sense of humor, look in their eyes, spark of personality, tilt of the head, sense of style, body type, goofy smile, or whatever else grabs my attention and makes me want to know more.

I know what I like.

I know what I don’t.

And in the end it’s all about just having faith that eventually what I like matches someone and what she likes matches me, and we hit it off and have a spark and really feel a connection and she never says something like “you’ll be my first white dick” before we can consummate our relationship.

ONE CAN ONLY HOPE.