GAYS AND THEIR DOGS

Even with its middling reviews, I had to see “Must Love Dogs” when it premiered in theaters. I’ve always been a fan of the underused Elizabeth Perkins, Diane Lane does adorable effortlessly and John Cusack’s acting typically fascinates, but this movie about dating had me at the title. Must Love Dogs, indeed. My kind of flick.

Really, any guy who wants to connect with me—there is a hypothetical such guy isn’t there?!—has to have an affection for canines. Must love dogs is right up there with non-smoker and single as the non-negotiables.

Or so I thought.

But these are desperate times. I haven’t had a second date in two years. The last (semi-)passionate kiss came six years ago. And sex? I blogged that once. I shan’t repeat that embarrassing disclosure. Go back and search my prior posts if you must. (Okay, I know you won’t. You’ve got better things to do. Like vacuuming behind the sofa. But this ought to make you feel better about your own sex life. Always know, it could be worse.)

And so as my recent brunch date wound down, the guy sitting across from me threw caution to the wind, bemoaning the lack of appealing single men our age. Yes, yes, I thought. I can relate. “Almost all of them are out of shape,” he said. True. And I had just lost ten pounds I didn’t need to lose. Surely, I came across as fit. Yippee.

He didn’t stop there. You know where this is going. “And some men are way too attached to their dogs.” Hmm. I forced a smile. Surely, he’d seen that older photo on my profile with me and my two schnauzers. He qualified things: “All they talk about is their dogs.” Okay, nice back-pedaling. I had not made a canine comment during the entire meal. I was safe. I still had a shot. But why would I want one?

Well, this guy was unquestionably attractive. Another wannabe writer. Like me. And, yeah, fit. As you read this, you’re thinking I am a fool. What next? Would I light up a cigar if he offered one?! May I remind you of that embarrassing blog post about my sex life? If you are still judging me, perhaps you should give the link a click. It’s the entry with nuns as the main photo. ‘Nuff said?

Truth is I am dog obsessive. I remember a line the wonderful Janeane Garofalo spouts in another must-see dating movie, “The Truth about Cats and Dogs”: “You can love your dog. Just don’t love your dog.” Not a problem. It’s not like I am single and have seventeen cats. Keepin’ things normal.  

When I drove to Boise in March, I chose not to fly because of my dog. He had to be with me. We were off on a road adventure, like Thelma and Louise. (Hey, “normal” has a huge spectrum. It’s not like I’m that guy on Dr. Phil.) Once there, my friend Robert and I booked grooming appointments for my dog Hoover and his bitch, Lisa Marie. (Yep. His previous dog was Elvis. Before Hoover, I had Lincoln. Maybe this is what happens when gays don’t have kids. Standard dog names like Rex and Max won’t do.) Robert and I had a great time exploring Downtown Boise, but everything stopped when the call came that the dogs were done. I’m just glad Boise doesn’t have major traffic issues.

Gays and their dogs.

After my date, with Mr. Anti-Dog, I messaged the guy and indicated that I’d be interested in seeing him again. Gasp! It is true. I should be ashamed. Oh, what the desperate will do! If you read that post, you know he declined. “No sparks.” He’d done everything to shoo me away. Clearly, he didn’t give a damn or he wouldn’t have said, “Hey, I like animals. I just don’t think they should be in someone’s home.”

I really should learn to read the signs. But then I’d never get to the point on a date where we ordered food.

Hello, goodbye.

 

I’d spend life eating alone. Or alongside a dog.

Let me refill your water bowl. Does my wittle doggy want three or four ice cubes?

It’s okay. I’ve come to the conclusion there are a lot more good dogs than good men. I should follow a few simple commands: Roll over. Sit. Stay. And now it’s treat time. I’m craving an oversized bowl of ice cream. What’s so great about being in shape anyway?

A QUESTION WITHOUT AN ACCEPTABLE ANSWER

When I say Boise is a once in a lifetime destination, I mean it. I just don’t mean it in a good way. Not in a bad way either. I don’t have friends or colleagues dying to know about my trip. Boise doesn’t register.

Imagine being the poor soul responsible for Tourism Boise. He must have plenty of time to keep his desk clean. Moves his name plate and Disney snow globe every half hour. Poor Mickey has viewed that frickin’ office from every possible vantage point.

“Why Boise?”

I got that question repeatedly before I set out on my Spring Break road trip. Usually the questioner would try unsuccessfully to repress a frown. When the customs officer at the U.S. border asked, I responded with, “Good question.” I thought I was being funny. Be warned. Bad humor will get your car trunk searched, your whole suitcase rummaged through.

Of course, Boise was never the draw. I hadn’t seen my friend Robert in seven years. We met as volunteers for AIDS Project Los Angeles twenty three years ago when I was still in law school. He proved a refreshing change from the academic set who could kill an evening by going on and on and on about the top law firms in Los Angeles. (They didn’t appreciate my comments about McKenzie, Brackman, Chaney and Kuzak, my first choice in an “L.A. Law” firm, mostly because the men wore stylish ties, but also because I really wanted to work with Susan Dey and Michele Greene. The fact that it was a fictional firm didn’t faze me. There was plenty of fiction in law, wasn’t there? Alas, it was a sure sign that my interest in a future legal career had already waned.)

Robert left L.A. for the same reason I did back in ’94: he’d grown to hate it. Too sprawling, too artificial, just too much. He’d also become an alcoholic and decided a change of venue would help ensure he wouldn’t resume old habits. Some people might say Boise will drive you to drink as well, albeit for a different reason: too little. Fortunately, he has settled well—five years of sobriety and strong connections with local family and friends. Just seeing that made the trip worth it. Sometimes travel is not about sunshine, shopping and searching for a long distance Mr. Right.

It's true that I may have been a little concerned about my
vacation choice when I dropped off my dog to be groomed
at a place beside a SMOKES shop and a gun store. At
least there was a church right behind the gun place. God
would make sure people would do right with them guns.

But that’s still hard to explain to most people. I was reminded of this as I dutifully answered questions at the Canadian border. As if to prove that I am a suspicious middle-aged man on an international level, the border guard one-upped his American counterpart. He ordered me to pull over and await further instructions from his colleague. I was directed into the Canadian compound where I was further questioned. I’d set off a silent alarm. Apparently, I’d failed to give a convincing, plausible response to one key question: “Why did you go to Boise?” I didn’t feel the need to elaborate on its variant: “How do you know someone in Idaho?” The obvious, highly prejudicial subtext: Idahoans stick to their gun-totin’, potato-plantin’ selves. How could I have truthfully declared that I wasn’t bringing back firearms or edible contraband in the form of sacks of spuds?!

Naturally, an official told me to remove my fierce miniature schnauzer from the car and kennel him. Then I had to hand over my keys and wait inside while they searched for guns, potatoes and whatever else they thought a potential criminal like me might be smuggling. Half an hour later, I was cleared which, as I’d feared, led to a chain of events that made me get home four hours later than had I been waved through like all the other motorists. (Don’t ask.)

It all reinforces my feeling that, yes, indeed, Boise is a once in a lifetime experience.

Maybe the next time Robert and I connect, it will be in Omaha. Or Moose Jaw. Let him deal with overzealous border officials.

And maybe next spring break I’ll do the sensible thing and book a gay cruise. But then again, maybe not. Hot gay guys stick to their six-pack-barin’, carbs-averse selves. So what was the true purpose of your trip?

Maybe staying home is best.

THE OBVIOUS VACATION DESTINATION

Woo hoo! It’s Spring Break and I've got a week's vacation. Naturally, I am heading to Boise, Idaho.

Wait a minute. What did you just say? Boise is not a vacation destination?!

I'm going to have to have a word with my travel agent.

Seems I am as good at selecting my holiday spots as I am in picking men. Come to think of it, I’m not so good with avocados either.

In truth, I fully intended to go to Boise. A good friend of mine from when I used to live in L.A. moved to Boise. (He's Hawaiian. When it came time to abandon West Hollywood, why, oh why, didn't he choose Honolulu?!) Oh, well. I do like road trips. It's Nelson, BC, then Spokane, Boise and Seattle. And, yes, I am looking forward to it. Don't hold that against me.