The Life and Times of Totally Tyler

Yeah, I wrote a book.

The story of how I came to be a published author is almost worthy of a being a book all by itself. And who knows? Maybe it will be some day soon. A lot of people have asked me numerous questions: How did this happened? How did I go from blogger to author? Did I have to sleep with anyone to make my dreams come true?

How Your Boyfriend & Other Guys I’ve Kissed came to be is a classic New York story of being in the right place at the right time and knowing the right people. I moved to New York and became a wedding planner. After planning the wedding for a Manhattan couple, who I later found out to be S&M enthusiasts, the bride, who is an internationally known dominatrix, invited me to attend Writing Cage, a quarterly party for writers that she hosted in her do-jo.

I attended several Writing Cage parties, reading stories about bad dates, romantic mishaps and other shenanigans. It was nice to be around other writers, all of whom were very supportive and gracious. I sipped my Red Bull and Grey Goose as I listened to other writers read about a variety of topics ranging from the historic Freedom Rides to humiliating piss play. Most of the readings were deeply personal and revealing. During the breaks, I meandered around the do-jo, chatting and sneaking photographs of the tools of the S&M trade.

It was at one of these Writing Cage parties that I was “discovered”. After hearing me read, a published author in the audience called his book editor and recommended that they check out my blog. Right place, right time. Within a week, I was approached by a small publishing house about a book deal.

It happened so fast and rather unceremoniously, save for the constant, steady stream of prosecco bottles I popped open to notate the completion of every step along the way. “I finished the manuscript! Let’s drink!” Then, “I decided on a title for the book! Let’s drink!” And then, “The book cover is finished! Let’s drink!” It was not a very sober summer, to say the least.

To Be Continued

Click here to read about the boys on the cover of the book

Click here to read the previous blog entry

The plan was to meet The Man at Regional and break up with him over brunch. I had rehearsed what I wanted to say, an eloquent discourse on how proud I am of my book and the lack of support he had offered. I would remain calm yet sincere. I would wish him well, say goodbye and walk out of the restaurant with my head held high.

Instead, I got drunk on endless mimosas and forgot everything I was suppose to say.

Unlike our recent dates, The Man and I were getting along. We giggled and flirted as we gazed at one another and held hands over our patio table, oblivious to the people passing by on the sidewalk. Our chemistry had returned and in the back of my intoxicated mind, I wondered if I was being rash by planning to break up with him.

Sometime after our third round of mimosas but right before The Man ordered a slice of chocolate cake for us to share, he suddenly sat straight up. “Oh! I forgot! I have something for you!” He shoved his hand into his gym bag, playfully squinting and biting his lip as he pretended to furiously fish around for my surprise.

“A gift? For me?” I asked, smiling and blushing a little.

“It’s just a little something.” When I leaned over the table, trying to catch a peek, The Man jerked his gym bag towards his chest and eyed me suspiciously. His arm stopped moving and he smiled. “Ah, here it is.” He handed me a small box and a card. I looked at it, speechless. “Go ahead, open it.”

I opened the card first, slowly. I don’t get a lot of gifts, especially from boys, so this was a big deal to me. The card was humorous- a jokey card about bacon or something, but inside, there was a handwritten message from The Man. It dawned on me that this was the first time I had ever seen his handwriting, which unearthed no major revelations but felt significant for some reason. His handwritten message was short but sweet. He apologized for not being supportive and told me that he was, in fact, my biggest fan.

It was a timely sentiment and it was just what I needed to calm the troubled voices in my head that were telling me to dump The Man. “Open the box!” The Man was practically beaming with pride. “Like I said, it’s not much but I know that you like to set the mood when you are writing.” The box’s lid collapsed under the pressure of my thumb and I pulled out a large candle- purple, my favorite color.

“Aw,” I said, smiling.

“Just something small,” The Man again disclaimed.

“No, I love it! It smells nice, it’s purple- I can’t wait to light it, pop open some prosecco, play some jazz and get some writing done. Thank you, so much, babe.”

“And Tyler,” he said, pausing for effect. “ I didn’t mean to come off as unsupportive. I want nothing but success for you. It’s true. I am your biggest fan.”

A wave of relief washed over me and for the first time in weeks, I felt connected to The Man. Perhaps we were simply going through a rough patch. Maybe there was hope for us after all. I actually got a little choked up. “You alright?” The Man asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. More than fine,” I said, smiling.

The slice of chocolate cake arrived and we happily devoured it with goofy grins plastered on our tipsy faces. And then, under the warm Autumn sun, we gingerly strolled down Broadway hand in hand, me and The Man, my biggest fan.

Click here to read Satisfying Stella

Click here to read the previous blog

My phone stopped ringing as The Man and I casually walked passed G Lounge but by the time we reached the end of the block, BUZZZ! It was ringing again. Oh, COME ON! I thought, screaming at myself in my mind. Answer your damn phone! It could be really important! The Man will just have to deal with it!

No! I argued with myself. If it’s important, I can blame The Man for missing the call and then he’ll feel like shit for being so selfish. It was almost as if I wanted a reason to resent The Man.

When we reached the 1 train, I quickly gave The Man a loose hug, eager to descend into the catacombs of the subway where I would have the freedom to look at my phone as much as I goddamn wanted. “We’re not saying goodbye yet,” chuckled The Man, pulling me towards him. “I’m taking the same train to connect with the R at 42^nd Street.”

“Oh,” I said, unsure if I was masking my disappointment well enough. I slid away from him and then, as if on cue, my phone started buzzing in my pocket again. BUZZZ! “Jesus Christ!” I exclaimed.

“What, are you alright?”

“Yes,” I said, catching myself, grabbing at my pocket. BUZZZ! “I, uh, thought for a minute there I had, um, lost my wallet. But, um, here it is.” I forced another smile. “Come on,” I said, “I hear a train coming. We don’t want to miss it.” I turned away from him and quickly shuffled down the stairs.

The minute The Man exited the 1 train at 42^nd Street, I whipped out my phone to view my missed calls. Two calls were from a random 1-800 number, obviously a telemarketer of some sort, and two calls were from my pal, Etienne. He didn’t leave a voice mail but he did send a text message: “Bitch! You just walked right past me in front of G Lounge and didn’t say hello!”

I was so caught up with fulfilling The Man’s request to not answer my phone that I managed to walk right past a close friend and not even realize it. I rolled my eyes and scoffed at no one in particular on the crowded subway. Thankfully, the phone calls that I missed to keep The Man happy were not that important, but what if they were? What if was my boss, or a client? What if it was a magazine interviewer or a book reviewer? What if it was my mom with some important family news?

I felt silly when I thought about how ridiculous this situation was becoming. The Man was allowed to have a ten hour long “meeting” with photographer who also happened to be a tantric massage therapist, and I wasn’t even allowed to look at my phone when it rang? The Man’s lack of support for my book was inexcusable and hurtful, especially when I was going to great lengths to force myself to trust him and believe every single word that fell from his full, seductive lips. Why was I hanging on? Why couldn’t I let go and end the relationship? Did the good things about dating The Man really out weigh the bad? Was it worth the effort to fight for this relationship or was I simply afraid of being alone?

Click here to read HERPES BREATH

New York City is one tough bitch. I’ve seen so many people move here and then crumble under the pressure, unable to hack it, and them move back to Texas or Iowa or wherever they came from. This city is crowded, relentlessly tough and and very unforgiving. It takes a certain type of person to survive living in the city. You have to be smart, resourceful and assertive. It helps to be aware and tolerant.

It also helps to have good friends that will carry you through the rough spots.

This week, one of my friends, blogger and soon-to-be author Justin Hernandez, wrote a piece about our friendship on his blog, Naked in New York City. I was touched by his blog post, especially considering that when we first met, Justin and I clashed and were sometimes at odds. Somehow, we’ve managed to find common ground and he is now one of my cherished friends.

Justin’s first book, a memoir, will be released this summer and if his readings at Bluestockings and The Rainbow Book Fair are any indication, the book will be revealing, touching and deeply personal.

Read Justin’s blog post, Two Of A Kind

Follow Justin on Twitter

This week marks my fourth installment of Grindr fun for Project Q Atlanta, a hugely popular Atlanta-based gay news website. This week, I explore how Grindr is often used by couples to solicit third parties for three-ways. Using screen caps of Grindr profiles, I offer advice on the best way to use Grindr when arranging a threesome.

There’s been a bit of buzz about using screen caps of Grindr profiles. Readers have questioned if this is considered ‘outing’ and some have accused me of invasion of privacy. Grindr is a free smartphone application that can be downloaded by anyone. Anything posted on Grindr is considered public domain. Besides, I’d hope that closeted Grindr members are smart enough to not use face photos.

Found on Grindr: Desperately Seeking For Three Way

PREVIOUS INSTALLMENTS:

PART ONE: Found On Grindr: Creepy, Funny and Random

PART TWO: Found On Grindr: How Not To Hit On Someone

PART THREE: Found On Grindr: Should I Go Or Should I Stay?