HOWARD LEWIS RUSSELL  | Special Contributor
askhoward@dallasvoice.com

Dear Howard,
How does the saying go? You can fool all the people some of the time, some of the people all the time, but you can’t fool all the people all of the time. Well, put me in the category of, “that idiot all the time who can be fooled constantly.”

I don’t understand why it is that I always get made a laughingstock by every man I go out with. I met a perfectly nice guy recently, we spent the night together at his gorgeous loft Downtown, he was sweet to me the whole night, then took me out for brunch in the morning. I was sighing to myself, “Finally, a decent, respectful date for once!”

Then, like some sort of fairytale flimflam, my dreamy visions of wedding bells and bridesmen in Tom Ford couture went up in a puff of smoke. We were making pleasant, post-coitus chitchat when I grinningly asked where his sexy accent was from. With a deadpan face he answered in that deep, gravel-melting voice, “I grew up in Tasmania, luv.”

I drew a total blank, and winked, “Like, where vampires come from?”

“Not quite,” he laughed. “Like where Tasmanian devils come from, you know, from Bugs Bunny? But most all the devils have gone extinct lately. My family has a thorium mine in Tasmania. A bloomin’ boondoggle it was growing up, but the Chinese are suddenly racing to harness ‘clean’ nuclear energy using thorium.”

Howard, I kept my mouth shut after that, scarfed down my pancakes and left: a Tasmanian thorium mine? I mean, was this wacko for real? Like, what the tarnation even is thorium? Did he spend all night in bed with me just brewing this crud up? Do I have “sucker” tattooed across my taint? I don’t understand why men always get such a perverted thrill out of making outrageous stuff up to my very face on the fly and watching me just swallow the hook, line and sinker whole, but they always do . . . and this guy seemed so nice, too — really, really nice. Why did he even bother? What did he really get out of it? Any advice for me?—Marco J.

Dear Marco,
Yes, excellent advice I have for you, in fact; foremost, I’m sorry to be the bearer of incredulous tidings, dear man; however, I honestly think your initial, first-date instincts about this Tasmanian thorium mine owner, as being a “really, really nice guy,” may have, actually, been spot-on correct from the very get-go. Not every man who spins seemingly outrageous tales over breakfast come the morning after is full of bull. Once in a wonderfully rare while, there are some men one stumbles across out in the dating wilderness who are both genuinely honest and outlandishly real. Extraordinary as manna from heaven these men are, too.

My very own long-term spouse, for instance — of 20 dazzling years now, thank you! — originally fed me some seemingly cockamamie nonsense on our first date about him hailing from a remote corner of northern Alaska, and how his father (or, was it his grandfather?) had been one of the original Yukon gold rushers; yeah, right, scoffed I — as if! Of course, it was all true.

Marco, just a quick Google search (which was not remotely available to your fine adviser here during my own epoch of fabulosity 20 years back) will quickly reveal that thorium is an actual metal — four times more abundant even than tin is for mining — and that Australia, New Zealand and Tasmania are super-rich in thorium, and (drum roll, please!) China is already building the world’s first thorium power plant! Additionally, most all the devils on the island of Tasmania are, indeed, nearly extinct as of late due to a rare facial cancer that spreads, contagiously, by literal contact between devils, who have tendencies to engage in slobbering, fanged-teeth battles whenever one Tasmanian devil happens to chance across another in the wild.

Marco, please phone the gravel-voiced, Tasmanian thorium miner back up (you should still have his number, I hope). Give him a chance to prove his outlandishness comes genuinely, and sincerely, real. If you ask me — which you did —  you’d only be a fool not to.

This article appeared in the Dallas Voice print edition April 19, 2013.

HOWARD LEWIS RUSSELL  | Special Contributor
askhoward@dallasvoice.com

Dear Howard,
I’m 22, hot looking with a monster endowment — I’m talkin’ horses move back! My goal is to fall in love with a rich man someday soon — only a rich man — and to “marry” him. My friends call me a golddigger, but I say, what dummy wants to go digging for just tin? I don’t come from money. I come from the tracks’ wrong friggin’ side. My problem, Howard, is that it’s impossible for me to spot the men who have real money from those who are just players. I wanna be able to tell instantly by just looking at someone whether he has actual, real money or not. Could you help me? When I’m out on a first date, what are the top 10 giveaways I should look for to determine if some man is a keeper worth me pursuing? —Beauty Boi Climbing Up

Dear ZaZa,
Seeing as how you’ve cornered me here by outright requesting (from a golddigger’s perspective exclusively, no less) the top 10 moneyed “giveaways” to look for (all cues of true gentlemen as well), I’ve drawn up for you — a failsafe list by which you may instantly calculate whether your first date is worth you so much as even deigning him a second, follow-up date:
1. If he’s flaunting a Rolex, run away from him and never look back. Rolexes are worn by playas, only.
2. If he’s wearing a suit, there must be four buttons on its sleeve cuff; if he’s wearing a blazer, there should be no fewer than three buttons on its sleeve cuff; if he’s sporting no jacket at all, it’s, “Next in line!”
3. The leather of your date’s belt must match the leather of his shoes. If he’s donning neither a belt, nor shoes, simply slam your door in the cretin’s face.
4. Neckties must be 100 percent silk and, of course, clip-less; occasionally, wool neckties are acceptable.
5. Flip-flops are never permissible foot attire (except at the beach), and sneakers are never permissible foot attire on a date, period.
6. No visible tattoos or facial jewelry are permitted — ever (including earrings).
7. Jeans are not proper dinner attire; however, jeans are perfectly acceptable for, say, a Starbucks’ coffee date.
8. If he fails to open either his car door or a restaurant door for you, then rest assured that the only thing he’s remotely interested in is a one-night stand with that horsemeat bulge in your britches.
9. If he brags about money, or name-drops celebrities he has met, or babbles haughtily about how fabulous he is, do not return his calls/texts/emails again in a million years.
10. If he doesn’t complement you within the first five minutes of showing up, dump his sorry butt —quickly.

Got a question you think Howard can answer? Email it to AskHoward@dallasvoice.com.

This article appeared in the Dallas Voice print edition March 8, 2013.

HOWARD LEWIS RUSSELL  | Special Contributor
askhoward@dallasvoice.com

Dear Howard,
I’m in a long-distance relationship with a great guy, but I recently met someone online who flirts with me, and I’m wondering: Am I cheating on my relationship with my boyfriend? Thanks. — Aaron
Dear Aaron,
Saint Howard is always amused by these rapaciously innocent questions requesting how to bemusedly secure a ticket into Heaven whilst abusing, in secret, the 10th Commandment. Apparently, Aaron, your relationship’s disclaimer of it being just something that’s “long-distance” means that what your boyfriend doesn’t know won’t hurt you? Karma is a bitch, Aaron. The real question is this: What were you doing online in the first place cruising for alternative men to your long-distance boyfriend?

Dear Howard,
Recently, I’ve become friendly acquaintances with one of the women in my yoga class. I’m lesbian; she’s straight (I think). I’m attracted to her, Howard, and either she doesn’t seem to mind me flirting with her, or she has no gaydar whatsoever. Heck, maybe she’s even, possibly, attracted to me? How do I pursue this without offending her or embarrassing myself, should she turn me down for a date if I asked her out on one? — Skelter Helter
Dear Skelter,
Easy! You pursue this by asking her out. She’ll either answer “yes” or “no.” You’ve nothing to lose and everything to gain. Just go for it!

Dear Howard,
I’ll make this short and sweet: I’ve been BFF with a guy, platonically, for three years now. We are normally together at least part of every day. He lives across the hall in my apartment building (which makes it very convenient to invent reasons for spending time together). Just in these past two or three months, though, I’ve begun having more feelings toward him than being merely “friends.” Do I risk freaking him out and losing our friendship forever, Howard, if I tell him I want to take things to the next level? — Breezy Steve
Dear BS,
Everything involving platonic friendships is at risk whenever sex is introduced into the format; however, if neither of you are currently in a relationship, then Howard says go for it!

Dear Howard,
I’ve been noticing lately that a lot of the guys at my gym have shaved legs — butch, compact muscle guys, too, all of them. Is this some new, metrosexual trend I’m not in on? — Hairy Harry, the Tall
Dear HH,
Exactly how tall are these “compact muscle” men you’ve been noticing of late, Harry, with their shaved legs? Hairy-legged Howard here, at 6’3” himself, would wager that they’re, one and all, of a height rivaling the notoriously short Napoleon Bonaparte; or if not short, exactly, then certainly short of being tall as you, Harry. After all, any man over 6 feet only shaves his legs for two reasons: If he has a drag show tonight or Olympic swimming trials tomorrow.

Dear Howard,
Here’s my situation (and let’s just see if you publish my question, or are the questions in your column faked by some staff writer?): I am a gay male and am 5-foot-5 with red hair. Many people say I’m cute, but as I say, beauty is in the eye of the beer-holder. I have been teased all my life. I would hope that our community would be more accepting, but no: They’re the worst! I want to meet someone special, but given my looks, which I can’t change, I don’t think there is much of a chance for me. Any thoughts? — Red
Dear Ginger Jester,
The only unattractive characteristic you’ve presented to me, Red, is your attitude toward how you perceive yourself. You’re talking here to a man named, “Russell.” My kinfolks invented red hair. Change your ‘tude, Carrot-top, and everything else will ascend, accordingly. Follow the mantra in life that I’ve always taken: They’re lucky you even showed . . . up!

Have a question for Howard? Send it to askhoward@dallasvoice.com.

This article appeared in the Dallas Voice print edition January 18, 2013.

DOOMSDAY PART 2

6. DRAMA FREE/7. RESPECT. These two came about so easily and without me even realizing it. First, the people in my life don’t bring unneeded drama to me. And I now can settle with straying away from getting involved.

Does that mean we don’t share our worries and conflicts with one another? No. I’m still there for all of my friends. It’s just now, I know what I can take on, and what I can’t. And because they love me, I’m not even asked to take on more than I should. As for myself, one of my rules has become, “Don’t put anything out into the universe that you can’t handle coming back at you.”

Petty gossiping. Backstabbing. Lying. Manipulation. All traits no one wants in a friend. So, when you do those things yourself, you have to be prepared for someone around you to do it.

Easy solution: Be legit. All the time. To the people around you, and yourself.

8. SECURITY. I don’t want to wake up in 10 or 20 years, and still be in the same financial situation as I was in my twenties. Or now, thirties.

I get amazing benefits with my new position, including life insurance. And now, I have this need to want to consider the future every time I make a financial decision.

I hope it sticks. Fashion Week isn’t until September. The temptation to shop is slim for a bit. at least ‘til spring. I heard she’s gonna make a brief cameo at the end of March.

9. BFF. What can I say that I haven’t already said about Brandon James Martin. I hate saying it this way, because I always feel like I’m quoting a scene from Babysitter’s Club, but he really will be my best friend for life. To quote a Toni Braxton song, “I love me some him!”

Since we’re both aware we’re a lot to handle, we’ve even decided if we’re still single in another five years, rather than up cat men, a la a gay Grey Gardens, we’re heading to Boston, putting rings on it and calling it a lifetime.

Eight kids. The athletes, our oldest girl Joshua James, and our first born son, Ashley James. The entertainers, Isabella James and Elijah James. (They’ll also be the “questionable/alternative lifestyle” kids.) The politicians, Jocelyn James and Nathaniel James. (They’ll be Brandon’s favorites. I’ll be stage dad to the second two around this time.) And the pretty ones, who could either becomes models or common criminals, Ryan Nicole James and Donovan Monroe James.

Hey, I’m 30. Gotta have a detailed plan. I honestly, I don’t care if my kids are rich, as long as they’re happy …

… and rich!

10. THIRTYSOMETHING. My twenties were fun. I probably drank enough to carry me through to 40. Some fun time boy time; some not-so-fun boy time, but luckily a few more shots of Jack Daniel’s will ultimately help me forget those times completely. I’ve been to 48 out of the 50 states. Performed in some of the best venues ever. A few scary experiences as well as a few memories to last a lifetime.

I wish there was a way to completely describe what I feel I’m taking from the decade known as your twenties. I think I’m more settled in what I expect out of myself as a person. I think morals and values were tested out the water. And I failed a few times. Okay, many times. But I had to stray away to realize to appreciate what my religious beliefs have taught me to cherish.

I can’t say there aren’t a few wild moments ahead in the race, but I can say my initial approach will be much different.

I was naive and handed my heart out in different friendships and relationships so easily, only to have it tossed and or broken. And sometimes, it was my fault. And sometimes it wasn’t. And that left me a bit guarded and with walls up.

At this point in my life, I don’t feel like I have to keep my walls up. I’m gonna have my heart broken again. I’m gonna go through trials and tribulations with friends. I’m gonna have loss. I’m gonna have bad days. But, just like at point in my twenties when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, I pulled through in the end. I don’t have to go through another decade worrying about surviving. Cause to quote a disco queen, “I Will Survive.”

It gets better. For the better!

I’m happy to finally be at this point in life. Besides the minor panic attack I woke up with the morning of my 30th birthday, a confidence has taken over. It’s no longer just that little kid dressing up in dad’s shoes and jacket and walking around pretending to be grown. I’m actually an adult. And in a world where little defenseless kids have to worry about hiding in cabinets and closets to stay alive, there’s so many other places to send that negative energy that comes my way.

I’m no expert. God willing, I still have a lifetime of, well, life to experience. And I just feel empowered to take it on and live it to the fullest.

Fortunately, I have a little experience under my belt, and a lot of passion to help me push through this next phase.

Pack up The Carrie Diaries —  this beeyatch is full-fledged Sex and the City. You don’t have to be having sex on a regular basis to be Sex and the City, right? Dammit.

I wonder what hot Zumba instructor Matt  has been up too? Reckon I should call him up. Whoa. Did I just say “reckon?” Guess you can take the boy out of the country, but he’ll still just be a Tex’n the city.

Peace out, xoxoxo

Follow me on Instagram & Twitter:

@The_HugoBoss

#TXNTC

On Dec. 15, Brandon hit his mark. Here’s Part 1 to his post-script to the first 30 years.

DOOMSDAY.

I’ve compared life to the cinema a lot over the last few weeks. But just like the movies, sometimes when things look slim, that silver-lining comes from nowhere.

1. DREAM HOME. I am enjoying living on the West Coast more than any place I’ve ever lived. I love Texas. I’ll always love Texas. But being in Hollywood has forced me to grow up, in every way.

There’s an energy that drives people out here to go after what they want. And succeed in obtaining it. It’s one of the busiest places in the world. And it can feel lonely and make you feel insignificant if you allow it to. But it can also make you feel inspired and motivate you to rise up to the challenge and achieve your dreams.

I am in love with Hollywood. I was born here. It just took nearly 30 years for the prodigal son to find his way home.

2. WELL-PAYING CAREER. A few days ago, I get the call I’ve been waiting for since September: I was offered a full time position with one of the companies I’ve been interning for. Within the week, I was working on sets for Lifetime, Nick@Nite and NBC.

All of these months of hard work are paying off.

3. HOT BOD. OK … so ya know when you’re vacuuming and you finish a room and move on to another, then you go back and you realize you missed one little spot? Maybe that’s just the black Joan Crawford in me, but point is: you found my spot. And not the good one I’m hoping to introduce to Taye Diggs’ say look-alike one day.

I’ve been working out weekly. Unfortunately, I enjoy a little thing called eating. So, I still need to find balance with my meals.

However, a few months ago, you wouldn’t have caught me in a bathing suit. Fortunately, God loves me (some would say pity) my pecs and arms aren’t where I want them to be, but thankfully, my abs and thighs make up for it.

So I’m content at the moment. Now that I have that I’ve been offered that full time position, perhaps a personal trainer isn’t as foreign an idea as thinking my future ex-husband (No. 2) is gonna come riding down Sunset Boulevard on a white horse and pull me up out of a crowd as we go trotting into the — wait for it — sunset. (Get it? Sunset? Boulevard? No? To quote myself from column No. 4, “You can all suck it.”)

4. SOCIAL CIRCLE. I reunited with an old high school bestie, Katie, (who happens star in those Paranormal Activity movies), and after catching up over where life and experiences, conversations veered to my birthday. Katie turned 30 a few months earlier, and she immediately spoke of how empowered she now felt: “stronger, more confident, more in control. …”

Well, it’s true. After months of allowing my insecurities to surface and facing my confidence issues with the direction of my life, I woke up today feeling more alive than ever. I feel like I’m so focused on the ultimate goal and like there’s nothing that can stop me.

Just like that.

And with that has come this ability to connect on a different level with some amazing people. And appreciate everyone in my life so much more than I ever have before.

I did a tour a few years back with Diana DeGarmo. We were cool and had a blast doing the show. Now I literally live around the corner from her, and it has made us much closer. She’s a genuine person who cares about those in her life.

And Renee, whom I knew from our show days at Busch Gardens Africa, has been a positive and incredible person, who’ll go out on a limb for the people she cares about. No matter what the issue is.

Jim makes me challenge myself. He makes me realize when I’m starting to get into that whoa-is-me stage, it’s time to do something instead of sitting around pitying myself. (He also makes the best Bloody Mary ever.)

And when I think of these new forces in my life, mixed with my other friends like Brandon, and Elise, and Joseph who’ve been in the picture for years, and may not be here in person, but are always just a text, phone call, or email away. I feel blessed.

My BFF is moving out here early next year. And Elise is getting married.

Gah — I can’t wait for all of the future memories to come.

5. DATING/PFH (potential future husband). Whoops — seems you’ve missed another spot with that pesky vacuum, Christina.

So Remy’s on probation. Ya learn a lot about people’s hidden traits, traits you may not particularly found of, when they get really comfortable with you.

I won’t go into detail, but let’s say, you have to control yourself and your liquor intake, in public. The end. LOL. This is one thing on the list that I don’t mind taking more time with.

I’m no expert on love, but I still want romance. I want to be intrigued. I want to what Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore had in 40 First Dates. I want to feel like he’s always putting in the effort to get to know me. And vice versa. If we wouldn’t make it as friends full- time, we’ll never make it as lovers.

But I am dating still. And with the pay raise, I’ll be dating a little bit more. Until I happen upon that feeling, I’m good with holding off. Thirty and single — gotta mingle.

If I can only somehow obtain Adam Levine’s home address.

Part 2 tomorrow, folks.

“So here’s what you missed on Glee.”

Wait — wrong intro.

Earlier this week, I has another date with Remy, a new guy I’ve been seeing.

He had me at hello: Hot! Named Remy! An accent! As long as he’s not hiding some secret alcoholic or deep-rooted drug addiction, he’s in!

He took me to a restaurant in Huntington Beach. Going good.

Then he brought up Tex’n the City.

At first it was easy stuff, like when it started, what it was for, etc. Then he asked what he probably thought was another easy question: “How do you feel at this point with what you’ve done so far?”

Hmmm. I didn’t really have an answer. Then he asked, “If you hadn’t this, how do you think you’d feel now?

That one was easier: “Miserable.”

Growing up, I always knew there was “more.” I couldn’t ever put my finger on what “more” was, but I was determined to find it. I needed to.

Living like that is a blessing and a curse. It’s nice to be able to feel like the world is your playground, and exploring the playground is your job. But finding yourself in situations that aren’t the safest or smartest can do unexpected damage.

I think I’ve always had the idea that I could never be completely happy; when you’re always wondering what else is out there, you tend not to recognize some of the things you’re looking for you already have. (Cue Wizard of Oz quotation.)

It was strange when people would consider me a brave, fun person; I always felt slightly scared: Scared that I’d never find what you were looking for, and that there’d always be a missing piece that would cause me to never feel whole. That I’d eventually end up alone.

I’ve always had large groups of friends, but no matter how many people I had around, it just became harder and harder to allow to be happy, even when I thought I had found what I was looking for. I’d only sit in fear; it’d be gone as soon as I embraced it.

I never told anyone. I did what I normally would do — just keep smiling. People weren’t allowed anyone see you vulnerable or they’d hurt you. When I couldn’t smile anymore, I’d just move on to the next group.

After breaking one of my own dating rules and sharing a bit too much on a third date, I tried to dig my way out. I think he saw in my eyes when I switched modes. Maybe he actually was interested, but he kept the convo going without making me feel like I had to say anything too heavy.

As we kept talking, two comments he made, specifically stood out to me. First: “There are times you have to compromise your plan, to stay on the right path.” Second: “Sometimes, simply trying can be the most difficult and hardest part of all.”

I’ve made sooo many mistakes in life, some bigger than others. But big or small, the punishment’s the same. The memories of pain you cause (others or yourself) stick with you. Years ago, when I found myself lost, I felt there was no option but to get on my knees and pray. Praying for what, I’m not sure. I don’t know if I was praying for guidance or forgiveness or what. I just needed serenity. But there was a part of me that still felt like I was living under a dark cloud.

Then one day, it hit me. I had asked God for forgiveness but I wasn’t going to be able to move on until I forgave myself.

As Remy’s predicted, it was one of the hardest things I ever did. But when I finally started to do it, it changed my life.

I’m hesitant to admit aloud when I’m really happy because I fear that once I do, that old habit of “what else is there” will kick in. Before I know it, I’ll be in classic self-sabotage mode. So naturally, as I’m going through all of this in my head, I immediately wonder whether this move to L.A. was really new me, or the old me resurfacing.

But it’s not the old me. It’s not the same feeling I had all the other times in the past when I would self-sabotage. I genuinely feel like I’m finally where I’m supposed to be — scary as it is to say… I’m happy.

That was the missing piece.

Your twenties are about screwing up, making mistakes, doing dumb things ya aren’t gonna be proud of, but also discovering who you are — good and bad. I’m gonna always think what else is out there — I can’t help it, it’s who I am.

I can still pursue my dreams. I’ll have to continue working at bettering myself. But I’m finally at a point, where I’m able to open my eyes and take in what’s already there. Cherish what I have, and who I have in the picture with me.

It’s official: I, Brandon James Singleton, am now an adult … well, sorta. I’m not giving up the Disney channel.

I called Remy and said I had an answer to his question. ““I feel like Brandon,” I told him.

Clearly, he doesn’t speak “crazy” and asked what I meant.

I finally feel like myself. It’s nice to finally meet … him? Me? Maybe that explains why I identified with the movie Sybil at such an early age.

Peace out xoxoxo

Follow Brandon on Instagram & Twitter @The_HugoBoss

#TXNTC

HOWARD LEWIS RUSSELL  | Special Contributor

Dear Howard,

My best bud and I are planning a motorcycle trip through southern Europe this spring. Any chance you could direct us toward some countries where we’d most likely find the biggest concentration of, ahem, impressive attractions to enjoy? I trust this question isn’t too vaguely worded for you not to figure out (hint-hint) what I’m referring to. — Bad4Bone

Dear Bone Collector,

“Too vaguely worded,” BB?  Dora the Explorer herself and the dingbat Doodle Bops would grasp perfectly your vacation’s objective. So: Head those Harley hogs down the coastline of western Iberia. You and your horndawg bud will enjoy the most fulfilling enjoyments of your lives once in Lisbon. The Portuguese, bar none, pack the most (hint-hint) “impressive attractions” in Europe. Tell them Rick Steves sent you.

Dear Howard,

I lead a “normal” life as a married man (to a woman). I’m 42. We got married young — a shotgun wedding, if you will — but we’ve raised two beautiful children: one now in college, the other a high school honors’ senior. My astute wife, however, has become justly dubious of my many “late nights spent at the office” recently and is confronting me with point-blank questions regarding why I’ve suddenly joined a gym four days a week; why I’m dying my gray hair; and why I’m manscaping for the first time. I still love my wife … in a way. Our marriage, if success can be measured by raising exemplary children, is something I’m proud of. To be honest, though, I’ve been very lonely even before this unraveling at my marriage’s seams began. Any suggestions for how I should proceed? Thank you. — Paler Than Blue

Dear Daddy Milquetoast,

I can read between the lines. Understand, Blue: This secret boy-toy of yours with whom you’re experiencing ecstasy on the sly is in no way whatsoever worth estranging your fine children. Fortunately, both should have the maturity not to particularly mind that you’ve discovered your latent homosexuality and gone on a tear — I suspect your repressed orientation will hardly come as a shock to them. Your priority is to ensure that you are an absolute, total gentleman toward your good wife during her upcoming divorce proceedings … and don’t delude yourself for one second into believing that it’s possible to have things both ways — a stalwart wife of many years does not take kindly toward remaining married once the boy you’ve been cheating on her with has been discovered.

Dear Howard,

My brother ran away from home four years ago, when I was 15. Mike’s two years older than me — he was still in high school when he dashed. Nobody heard from him afterwards except me, but that stopped cold after six months. Mike said he was in Oak Cliff at first, hanging with his boyfriend, but he shut me down after he accused me of snitching to Dad, which I wasn’t. Worse, Dad took my phone away, so Mike couldn’t ever text me again. When I turned 18 finally, and got my own phone, Mike’s old number didn’t work anymore. Howard, could you run this letter in your column, and if Mike reads it, would it be OK for him to hit you back so I’d know how to get back in touch with him? I’ve hit a wall here, man. — Sidney

Dear Sidney,

Although it’s not usually in the investigative habit of my (fluffy) column to petition for a manhunt, in light of your earnestness and refreshingly innocent candor, I’m delighted to make an exception: Yes, absolutely, I’ll be happy to pass word back to you, young man, should your long-lost/yearned-for older sibling read the posted query above and respond.

This article appeared in the Dallas Voice print edition December 7, 2012.

When Brandon James Singleton began his list of 10 things he needed to accomplish before his 30th birthday later this month, the one thing he knew was already lined up in his life was having a BFF. But sitting down and thinking about what that means has its own consequences ….  

You remember the movie Now and Then with Rosie O’Donnell and Demi Moore? Oh yeah, and Tom Hanks’ wife …. About those four girls who became best friends over a summer and swore to each other they’d always stay in contact and return home for the most important times in each other’s life …. And when Rita Wilson’s character gets pregnant, they all show up for the birth of her baby?

No? … Well I love that movie. It was always like the foundation — the quintessential example — for what I thought friendship should be. And hoped it would be for me.

Well, it’s not.

I mean, I’m (surprisingly) still in contact with a few of the kids I used to play Red Rover with back in the day, thanks to Instagram and Facestalk … I mean Facebook.

I met my best friend almost seven years ago in New York City through a mutual associate and it’s been everything, even dealing with a jealous mutual “friend” who’s tried several times to turn us against each other. Fortunately, we always trusted each other more.

We’ve dealt with the difficulty of not living in the same city. But thanks to cells and social media, feels like we’re never too far away. And let’s not forget that crazy ex of his that threatened my life out of insecurity. Ohhhh, person who referred to himself as, “E-Dogg” — ya never stood a chance. Ha.

But a month ago, I almost lost him.

 He was in a committed relationship with a (to use the word loosely) “gentleman,” who kind of jilted him out of the blue. Moved out. Took the dog. No warning. And he took it even harder than I expected.

And Brandon (we really do share the same first — and middle — name), took it harder than I thought. He attempted to do something, to himself, that I suppose seemed like it would end the pain. Permanently. The day I got the “goodbye” text, I was on the metro red train which runs underground in NoHo … meaning, cell reception is weak, if existent at all.

So I get off 30 minutes later, and get those annoying beeps that tell you you have messages in your in-box.

I’ll admit it: In situations like that, I screen sometimes. Busy. Rushing to another location. I’ll look and see if anything is business related or from family, and if not, put off reading or listening until I get where I’m going. So, I saw his name, third unread message from the top, and said I’d just check when I sat down.

But call it being in-tune with someone you love. Or maybe just one of those feelings. I actually walked over to a corner, sat my things down, and clicked on his message.

It was almost like being frozen in time.

The message was cryptic, but I still knew what he was saying to me. Fast-forward through freaking the hell out trying to get ahold of him. Thankfully, someone had found him and spoiled his plans. Here I am struggling to get focused and learn these much needed life lessons, and head on into the next decade. And without thinking twice, I just always assumed he’d be there beside me.

And for a moment, I had to think and feel what it’d be like without him.

I always imagined this Hollywood-like interpretation of what friendship was like, when in reality, much like a relationship with someone you’re in love with, it’s unpredictable as hell. And you’re constantly given little unexpected hurdles in life to tests how firm of a foundation the friendship/relationship has been formed on.

I started this process of rediscovery thinking this one factor — BFF — was the one thing on the checklist I already had covered. And it was.

I never imagined it would be the one thing I could end up not having 10 weeks later.

In the end, it makes everything sort of more clear for me. Turning 30, and becoming a real man, and getting my life in order, is not just this physical or mental journey I’m on. It’s way more of an emotional journey than I ever thought possible.

So far, I’ve been given some great advice. And I’ve been shown the brighter side to life’s quests and been put on the right path towards a successful future. But the one vital element I needed to truly continue was to — how do I put this? — truly grow up emotionally? I don’t know.

It just seems now part of growing up is truly appreciating what you have and have gone through. And taking that with you on the journey.

I may not have that epic best friend story from the movies. But I have someone who accepts me, flaws and all. Who supports me whether I’m making a mistake or not. And who loves me, unconditionally. And, in return, I need to make sure I’m showing that same consideration to this person who I plan to have along by my side for the rest of my life.

To know you’re not tackling something alone makes it feel ten times easier. And while I felt what he was attempting was selfish on his part, I feel somewhat responsible. I can’t control what he does, but I can make sure he’s aware that he’s never alone and no matter what’s going on in his life, there’s someone here that loves him unconditionally, on even more of a regular basis.

It may not have started off when we were “young giddy girls on the playground,” but by George, we definitely have switched over from from goofy young people to full-fledged adults.

My first real adult relationship.  And he’s been around for years. Guess my version of Now and Then just starts a tad bit later in life.

And the funny part is: It still feels like what I always thought it would.

So strange to love someone more than you love yourself.

Wait, don’t tell my sperm that. I’m still way to selfish to spend my days giving away my food or watching Yo Gabba Gabba all afternoon …. Well, unless Hugh Jackman is ready to switch over to the dark side. I can be a stepmom. I saw the movie.

Peace out xoxoxo

Follow Brandon on Instagram & Twitter:  @The_HugoBoss

#TXNTC

HOWARD LEWIS RUSSELL  | Special Contributor
askhoward@dallasvoice.com

Dear Howard,
I don’t believe in sex addiction, but I think I’m overly fond of having sex. Does this make any sense? I’m 36, and somehow more sex-crazed now than when I was even 16. Trawling for quickies is the driving force in my life. Seeking out sex comes above food, it comes above career, and it comes above family. I spend my lunch hour at highway porno arcades. I moved to rural Texas from San Francisco for the explicit reason of slowing my libido down. That sure was a big mistake — heck, I now score sex more regularly living 30 miles outside of Dallas that

I ever did living just one block over from The Castro! The cruddy truth, Howard, is that I enjoy wham-bam sex with strangers, and don’t feel even one bit guilty, ashamed or remorseful. Why do you think this is?—Titillated By Too Many Men

Dear Tit-Too-Man,
First, let me praise you for chutzpah. Second, allow me to say that not just any hail-fellow perv can lay it all out there with barely so much as a flinch.

Personally, I’m with you to a point, Tit-Too — I don’t believe in sex addiction, either, per se. I think “sex addiction” to be a crock of manure concocted by too many pseudo-psycho therapists to keep them in Mercedes-Benzes.

That said, I do believe one can overdose on too much of a good thing (your move to rural Texas from titillating San Fran being in support of my argument). Naturally, where sex is concerned, if a little bit feels good, then a whole lot feels a whole lot better (at least in theory); however, it’s not 1982 anymore. There are repercussions out there these days that a shot of ol’ penicillin just can’t fix. I am the last moralist, God knows, but to quote that most famously self-destructive sybarite, Truman Capote, himself, “There is such a thing as life-saturation: the point when everything is pure effort and total repetition.” If nothing else, Tit-Too-Man, you may have reached “life-saturation” point.
Give it some thought.

Dear Howard,
I know your column is mainly for those who are emotionally downtrodden, but my situation is a little different and I’m interested, Ward, in what you have to say.

First, my stats: female, 52, lesbian, skinny. Yep, while most gal pals out there are constantly trying to shed those extra pounds, I’m forever trying to gain. Case in point, Ward, my high school yearbook nickname was, “Karen Carpetmuncher.” I wish there was some magical witchcraft by which Rosie’s extra heart-attack tonnage could be transferred to me. — K.C.

Dear K.C.,
I’m confused: Was there a question you wished to ask me, Karen, located somewhere within your backhanded, complimentary self-praising; or, were you merely trying to martyr-gloat that, at 52, you’ve still been able to retain, through no supposed effort nor exercise at all, the same lithe body you once boasted back in high school without actually succumbing to a self-induced, starvation heart attack thus far? And for future reference, there’s a “Ho” attached to the front of “Ward.”

This article appeared in the Dallas Voice print edition November 2, 2012.

Brandon James Singleton faces a sad conclusion: Dating isn’t as easy as it was when you were pretending to be straight… and he may not check off all the items on his checklist after all. 

You know what really sucks? When people hop into short-lived relationships. Apparently, since they both have siblings, and both love Britney’s third album the most, and neither likes going out to bars or clubs (though that doesn’t include Wednesdays through Tuesdays) and both previously had bad breakups and think most gay guys are trashy (not them, though) … They instantly knew when they saw each other’s upper torsos on that handy business networking site for gays only, they were star-crossed lovers destined to spend their lives together.

You can tell ‘em they’re making a mistake (again), but they swear up and down that “this one is different.” But they still find themselves single two or three weeks later because the person they thought they were “falling in love with” has somehow changed and lied to them about something and was just as trashy as the last bf.

Imagine that. “DtxFUNboiPartyAllNight8in,” the serious mature guy you’ve been talking to — your soulmate of two weeks — lied to you about something! I can’t believe it! I won’t believe it. Never!

Then you have to go out and get them drunk, allow them to be silly and stupid as they attempt to numb the pain … only to repeat the entire  process over the following week with their new soulmate, “DoggyWannaBone8in.”

But you know what else really sucks? Being single. Especially when you finally feel like you’re mentally and emotionally more ready than you’ve ever been to handle a true mature relationship.

I think back even as far as my first girlfriend. (Don’t laugh!) Three simple words: Private. Christian. Academy. Those days, the only way the term gay was used was to describe how you felt making a “joyful noise to the Lord.” Ohhhhh, Sandi Patti! Who needed The Simpsons when you had Sandi, her little orange pal Gerbert & The Friendship Company on video and cassette!

Anyhoo, back to the early days: How nervous and awkward as it felt to ask someone out on a date — a date consisting of the parent who embarrassed you the least, driving you to a PG-13 movie, parking around the corner (as if that led anyone to believe you, the 12 year old, drove yourself) meeting her inside, awkwardly holding hands, trying to mimic the older teenagers sitting across from you … only to have the parental waiting outside, in their pajamas, to pick you up at 9 (it’s a school night!).

Even with the limited resources of being a sheltered naive kid, no job, no money, no idea of the real world, no knowledge of how amazing a chocolate martini would one day taste … I miss it.  I miss the simplicity of “dating.”

Nowadays, so much emphasis is put on everything from hair color, to abs, even race, money, car — it’s like almost impossible to get to know someone because you spend so much time trying to live up to expectations …. or worse, creating the ideal image to make others think you’re the (insert s word).

I’ve been sorta dreading this entry the most.

After my last breakup, I knew I needed to just concentrate on me. Not all Grey Gardens, old bitter cat-man, or anything. Just working on being comfortable in my own skin. And I did. Still am. Eventually I started going on dates again. But the ones I felt were potential would either expect to bang that first night or wanna instantly label each other as boyfriends after a couple of days, and I’m at a point where I’m not about that. I’m a little old-fashioned. A little Petticoat Junction with side of Will & Grace. I don’t mind meeting for drinks. But I like to actually go on a date. Slowly get to know each other. It takes friends a good time frame before I’ll  let them in, and really share. You better believe if you’re trying to take on the title of boyfriend, that won’t be happening simply in a week or two. I wanna know you’re favorite thing to do when nobody’s around. Not the cheap cliche answer of “watching movies” or “hanging with friends.”

BOOOO! Try again.

I wanna know that you use your remote control and lip sync to Usher or (heaven forbid) even Bieber in your living room. I want to have a discussion. That’s both parties talking. AND listening. Sharing. Laughing. About life. The world. Politics. Pop culture. That’s when you find out the fun, embarrassing, important, heartfelt moments, that create bonds between friends.

And me personally, I want my equal, to be my friend. That’s not a lot to ask.  Expecting a commitment, just to have a title, without even knowing anything about me? THAT’S a lot to ask.  So, I guess we have to pull out the red marker and I get a big x this week.

Cause I can date, and I’ll continue to date. But I don’t know who has a hold of that missing piece of the puzzle. Unfortunately for my control issues, I don’t think I’m supposed to. All I can do is continue to work on myself and better myself so that all the other pieces are aligned and ready. Just trying to make it easier for Ryan Phillippe … I mean, whomever that person is … to move right on in with that missing puzzle piece.

Let’s hope Diana was telling us the truth when she said you can’t hurry love.  Besides, cat hair is a biyatch to get out of your clothes.

Peace out. xoxoxo

@The_HugoBoss #TXNTC