by: Nico Lang
I hope that you don’t mind I call you Andy. I usually do in my head, when I’m picturing the beautiful life we could have together. In real life, I know we can never be – because you are beautiful and glamorous, the wildly successful son of a Vanderbilt, and I am but a lowly chimney sweep, one who still thinks farting is funny and regularly conducts business meetings on the toilet.
Also, I know we technically have never dated or met and you have no idea I exist, but I need to talk to you about something.
I’m cool with you being with other people. I understand. I get it. You have needs. But it’s kind of like when I tell my father I’m dating someone new: he’s happy in the abstract, as long as he never has to see it. The moment actual visuals enter the picture, this person ceases to become any sort of romantic potential for me and will be labeled as my “buddy,” “friend” or, if they’re really lucky, “special friend.”
Thus, I know you’ve got a “special friend” in your life, but I need that to stay behind closed doors. This means no People magazine cover and no sitting on Oprah’s couch and talking about boys. But, especially, it means you have GOT to stop hanging out with Kathy Griffin. Her magical homo-lovin’ aura is a bad influence on you and sometimes pushes you way too close to accidentally saying the thing we all know, the thing all the blogs are talking about, the thing you’ve publically admitted that you’ll never publicly admit: you really like v-neck sweaters.
I know I’m a huge advocate of other major stars coming out, especially if your name is Bradley Cooper and you have more beards than any one person ever needs. This is partly because I love being right and have a particular dance for such moments – it looks like Chad Ochocinco having a seizure or Michael J. Fox trying to dougie – but I also think queer visibility is important. Having out and proud celebrities like Ellen DeGeneres, Neil Patrick Harris and Marcus Bachmann in our lives might only be a small step for the community itself. However, in the same way that watching “Friends” makes the world hate America a little less, these queer ambassadors use their soft power to slowly change hearts and minds in our nation’s living rooms every day.
But although I will be ready to scream strident I told you sos when Taylor Lautner announces he’s quitting “acting” for gay porn, this cannot be your path. You will stay in that closet with Tom Cruise, and you will like it. I don’t care if there are no vents or windows and Tom Cruise won’t stop trying to get you join his Scientology Fight Club. This is just the way it has to be.
Do you understand how you make me feel all the time? Look at you. Your face looks like the inverse of Rumer Willis, and I’m convinced that your perfect hair isn’t actually real, as it never moves, even in the winds of Hurricane Katrina. (My guess: it’s actually bleached Astroturf.) You have a giggle that could both melt Paula Deen’s butter and force her to give up butter altogether, all in the hope that if she loses fifty pounds, you might fancy a sassy agoraphobe who likes to give. (Note: I have the same hope.)
I know that you are forever destined to be better looking and more successful than I am at everything, but can we not add dating to the mix? According to the Internets, you’re shacked up with some hot Brazilian dude who runs a semi-exclusive nightclub in the Village, which is kind of like saying your significant other does car commercials in Japan.
If John Stamos sat next to him on a plane, would he tell your “special friend” he’s pretty? I’m sure he would. But you see, if John Stamos sat next to me, Stamos would see a small, ferret-like creature reenacting scenes from The Exorcist into his custom-made barf bag because a) he’s on a plane and b) he’s sitting next to John Stamos. John Stamos wouldn’t tell me I’m pretty. He would pull a Bridesmaids and tackle me to the ground for being too bat-shit crazy to fly.
Also, if life were US Weekly, you two would always be on the cover. Actually, life is pretty similar to US Weekly – filled with idiots and only tolerable when you’re drunk — so I can see your cover stories now, every headline increasingly proving your romantic superiority. “Anderson and Sergio: So in Love!” “An Affair to Remember: Anderson’s Whirlwind Romance!” “Anderson Cooper’s 5 Tips to Amazing Sex with Your Partner (Hint: It Involves Having One!)”
You must understand, Andy. I’m not a total curmudgeon. I’m truly happy for Neil Patrick Harris, as someone out there has to have the perfect relationship that God has shunned me from ever experiencing. Maybe, if you beat Neil to the punch, I might have been fine with you having sexy times, but I can’t deal with two perfect relationships in my life.
Back at the ranch, most of my friends are single, as we are all in our early twenties and even the good relationships don’t last longer than a herpes flare-up. If the irritating pustules of happy coupledom rear their slimy heads, all I have to do is wait it out.
But you’re different. Like a Liz Phair song, you sound like the kind of guy who tries to win you over, the kind of guy who makes love ‘cause he’s in it. You’re the ideal boyfriend, and I imagine you can’t fathom the mundane melancholias of the incessantly dumped. This is because you don’t live in the Lars von Trier movie that the rest of us do. You live in the Bubble – where you and things go together, where life is like Tiffany’s – but here’s how life works outside the Bubble.
Outside of the Bubble, you lose your virginity to a guy who moves to another state after he has sex with you. Outside of the Bubble, your last boyfriend spent most of your relationship avoiding his former drug dealer. Outside of the Bubble, you once stayed in a relationship because his dad was the Vice President of Silk, and even though you grew to loathe almost everything about him, you couldn’t give up all the free soy.
Outside of the Bubble, your whirlwind romances end because — let’s go through my Rolodex — he doesn’t love you anymore. He was lying when he said he loved you. He is in love with a crack addict. He slept with someone else on your birthday because he didn’t think you two were that serious. He can’t get rid of his unstable/possibly homicidal ex. He won’t kiss you. He can’t have sex with you ever. He insists the time you got molested you were actually cheating on him. He says you forced him to be in a relationship with you. He thinks his friends hate you because his friends hate you. He likes his dog better than you. He spontaneously stops returning your calls. He might have died. 
Outside of the Bubble is a place I never want you to have to see. It’s a terrible world, where love is like standing in line at the DMV: it’s interminable, it’s often pointless and it ends in shouting and tears. This might seem hard to believe, but it’s how most of us live.
Although our dating universes are very different, they can coexist by simply never having contact with one another. You can go on living the life that you love, while the rest of us continue to date guys whose idea of a “romantic night in” is eating leftover Taco Bell while you watch him play World of Warcraft. We actually pay very good money to our therapists to have such lives, and if everyone lived inside the Bubble, Tina Fey, Jennifer Aniston and Hilary Clinton wouldn’t exist.
So, you are allowed to be happy – because I like to think that someone out there is having good sex, as the legacy of Sarah Jessica Parker must be for something other than looking like a horse. For SJP’s sake, go forth and spread your magical merriment. Just don’t come out and, please, don’t tell anyone about your love life ever. If Oprah comes up to you and just wants to “talk girl talk,” just stiff-arm her and Ochocinco it out of there.
So long, Andy, and thanks for all the sweaters.
Nico Lang is the Co-Creator and Co-Editor of In Our Words and a first-year graduate student in DePaul University’s Media and Cinema Studies program. Lang is a Change Coordinator for LGBT Change, the Co-Founder of Chicago’s Queer Intercollegiate Alliance and a film critic for HEAVEMedia. His work has been featured in the Washington Post, the Huffington Post, the New Gay and on his mother’s refrigerator. Nico is also a tireless advocate for the brussel sprout, a delicious vegetable he feels has gotten a bad rap. Follow Nico on Twitter @GidgetLang or on that Facebook thing all the kids are talking about.
 For those of you interested, yes, all of those things happened to me.