If the gay world were a McDonald's Drive Thru, Andrew would be the well-dressed hot guy cruising by on the freeway in his butch Jeep Wrangler with his smart and gorgeous boyfriend lovingly batting his eyes in the passenger seat on their way to a nice sit-down restaurant in a recently gentrified neighborhood.
Meanwhile, since I can't get my act together long enough to match my socks, I'd still be angrily mumbling to myself about how the laundromat managed to eat three of my fancy argyles when I roll down the window and order a Number Two, please, with no cheese or pickle and extra ketchup.
The thing is, I don't even have a car. I'd probably be limping off the bus the same moment Andrew and Boyfriend chanced the yellow light, the daring duo.
So if I can't win in this game, I might as well sit this one out, right? Especially when I have perfection staring me right in my lazy eye.
Even if it's mostly tongue-in-cheek, that's pretty much how I feel every time I visit Andrew's MoBlog.
Sometimes I think I can handle their happiness and beauty, but then my sardonic side kicks me in the ass and feeds me a bunch of one-liners that beg to be said aloud.
"Someone's got to be cheating. Or I hope one of them is a raging alkie." [laughs]
I'm thinking: Oooh, I feel a little better.
"What absolute flakes. I mean, look at them. They're so conformist and middle-America. Bo-ring materialists."
Much, much better.
"I mean, who would want to look like that, anyway? And, shit, they're so young. I'd hate to be committed to someone at such a young age."
Wait a minute...
"You know? It's like, fuck, man, why would anyone want to be that happy?"
Oh, shit. There it is, in all its insecure glory: insane jealousy. Quick, say something mean. Maybe you can convince it to go away.
Then I think about it for a while, and I conclude that, while I may harbor some initial jealous feelings toward the likes of Andrew and his boyfriend, in the end, I'm left with that bittersweet cross between contentment and loss. It's like when the Japanese won the gold medal in the women's combined figure skating competition after Sasha Cohen fell twice and I wanted to cut a random bitch on the street real deep cuz Sasha bruised her quinny; I was sad Sasha didn't win, but I knew the Japanese gal worked her ass off and deserved every ounce of that gold medal.
That doesn't mean that I'm not interested in seeing the obviously sweet, charming, handsome and loyal Andrew as a mere mortal human being like me. You know, just to temporarily even the score (I'm sorry Andrew, but my only other option was to cut both your legs off. But I'm not very good with blood and I can't afford the plane ticket to Vancouver, so this'll have to do for now).
And, yes, I'd like fries with that.