Gay Dating Patterns: My Shadow Journey to Vulnerability & Growth

So my therapist hit me with soåe truth bombs yesterday that I'm still reeling from. Turns out I've been repeating the same gay dating patterns for years, seeing the same damn guy with different faces. Shocking, I know. I'm basically a clown car of bad decisions with a master's degree in picking emotionally stunted men. The universe's cosmic joke is that I keep attracting exactly what I put out – emotional unavailability wrapped in a nice jacket and the emotional depth of a puddle in the Sahara.

Speaking of putting out the wrong energy, let me confess something truly embarrassing: I never learned that you're supposed to bring a gift when you visit someone's home. Yes, I'm that guy who's been showing up to dinner parties for years with nothing but my sparkling personality and an appetite that could rival a black hole. In my defense, I grew up with male role models who considered emotional intelligence an oxymoron and in a town so isolated that social graces were about as necessary as swimwear in Antarctica. But hey, I found a YouTube channel called "The Male Gentleman" because apparently, I need the internet to teach me how to adult at thirty-something. Just add it to the list of basic human skills I somehow missed, right between a"maintaining healthy boundaries" and "not texting exes at 2 AM."

So here's my universal apology to anyone I've neglected this etiquette with over the years: I'm genuinely sorry for being such a clueless idiot. All I can say is I'm trying to do better, and if something slips through the cracks again, please let me know instead of silently judging me (which I totally deserve). But rest assured, I'll never show up open-handed again. Consider this my formal declaration that I've finally joined the ranks of functioning adults who don't arrive at your doorstep like they're entitled to free food and hospitality. Better late than never, though "late" in this case means "embarrassingly behind everyone else who figured this out in their twenties."

If I can't be vulnerable without breaking out in hives and running for the hills, how the hell am I supposed to attract someone who doesn't treat feelings like they're radioactive waste? It's like showing up to a potluck empty-handed then wondering why nobody wants to share their food with your freeloading ass. These therapy insights about my pathetic gay dating patterns have been both painful and necessary for my personal growth, if "growth" is what we're calling this dumpster fire of self-discovery.

Meanwhile, it seems every gay man in Cleveland except me is in a committed relationship. Did I miss a memo? Was there a meeting where they handed out boyfriends and I was busy rewatching Schitt's Creek for the fifth time like the sad sack I am? After dissecting my friends' relationship dynamics like some deranged relationship coroner with nothing better to do on a Friday night, I've identified two types of successful gay dating patterns: the stoic Type A paired with the warm Type B. The revelation that knocked me sideways? I'm the stoic Type A – emotionally constipated but great with spreadsheets and organizing the hell out of a Tupperware drawer – and I need someone who actually knows how to express emotions without requiring an interpreter, a diagram, and three rounds of tequila shots. It's not exactly groundbreaking psychology, but it hit different when I realized I've been fishing in the wrong emotional pond with a net full of holes. The gay dating scene demands this kind of authenticity if I ever hope to find a genuine connection instead of another six-week situationship that ends with me pretending to be busy until they get the hint.

After spending actual paid sessions figuring out what I want in a relationship, I've come to understand that safety and stability top my list, which is hilarious considering my dating history looks like a case study in chaos theory written by a monkey with a crayon. It's like I've been saying I want a calm lake while exclusively dating tsunamis and then wondering why I'm always emotionally drowning. Self-awareness doesn't mean anything without action, though.

So here I am, trying to practice vulnerability (writing this mortifying blog post counts, right? Or is it just another form of self-flagellation?), being upfront about wanting stability (sexy as a pair of tighty-whities, I know!), and remembering to bring thoughtful non-alcoholic gifts when I visit someone's home. Being in recovery has taught me a lot about showing up authentically—both literally and figuratively. The bar is literally on the floor, and I'm still tripping over it like I'm competing in the Olympics of social ineptitude.

The plot twist? I'm actually seeing someone really nice right now. Someone who makes me question all of my cynical observations about dating and relationships—in the best possible way. I find myself constantly second-guessing: Am I being authentic enough? Am I allowing true vulnerability? Am I repeating old patterns? But that questioning itself is growth. The fact that I'm aware enough to ask these questions means I'm not the same person who stumbled obliviously through relationships past.

My journey of social etiquette learning and relationship self-awareness continues, but at least now I've got a roadmap, even if I'm the world's worst navigator with a broken compass and no sense of direction. And maybe that's the most important lesson—growth isn't about having all the answers. It's about being willing to acknowledge when you've been getting it wrong and having the courage to try a different approach. Whether that's bringing a damn gift to a dinner party or allowing myself to be genuinely vulnerable with someone who might actually deserve it.

Speaking of which This is 100% Real- and if I dropped the ball with you please do use it. It's not really limited to housewarming gifts, it's anything.

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🚨OFFICIAL ETIQUETTE DEBT COLLECTION FORM 🚨

Did I ever show up to your home empty-handed like some kind of etiquette criminal? Instead of awkwardly reaching out to everyone I've ever visited (mortifying), I've created this much less embarrassing public form. Please fill it out and let me ship you out something to make it right, and accept my sincere apologies. 

Upton Rand (Heathen in active reform)

Send me your address

P.S. If you're also socially challenged and somehow made it to adulthood without learning basic etiquette (please tell me I'm not alone 😩), check out The Male Gentleman on YouTube. He's my new etiquette guru, teaching me how to pretend I wasn't raised by wolves. Better late than never, right? 🤦‍♂️ Consider this my public service announcement from one disaster human to another. 🥂 (Mine's sparkling water, but you do you.)

I was on Amazon and looking for a solid male etiquette book. I found it, but I also found this one. It looks super interesting so I picked it up as well.

I was on Amazon and looking for a solid male etiquette book. I found it, but I also found this one. It looks super interesting so I picked it up as well.

CPAP mouth farts all night long, I've become that guy. Lol

I know I know:..

The Height of Fashion: CPAP Edition

Picture this: It's 3 AM, and I'm lying here in what can only be described as the world's most expensive attempt at cosplaying Darth Vader, wondering if my neighbors can hear the tiny jet engine that my mouth has become. What the actual hell.

A month ago, I wrote about my adventure in the sleep lab, where I learned that my body occasionally likes to spice things up by just... forgetting to breathe. Because apparently regular sleep was too damn boring for my brain.

Six weeks and one diagnosis later, I've joined the CPAP club. And you know what? I actually don't hate the machine. It's quiet (when my mouth stays closed), sleek (as medical devices go), and it humidifies the air like I'm at a budget spa instead of just trying not to die in my sleep. Living the dream, right?

But here's the thing no one warned me about: my rebellious-ass mouth.

I'm using a nose-only mask because I'm fancy like that. Started with the nose pillows, graduated to the over-nose mask, and I've committed to team over-nose. But somewhere between dreamland and dawn, my mouth decides it's had enough of this "breathing through the nose" bullshit and just... flops open. Like a fish gasping for air, except I'm gasping for less air? The irony is not lost on me.

So I did what any reasonable person would do – I googled solutions. And that's how I discovered that people are out here taping their mouths shut. At night. On purpose.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

Now, I'm not saying I won't try it. (Stay tuned for that adventure in voluntary silence.) But I have questions. Has anyone actually done this? Does it work? Do you wake up feeling like a new person, or do you spend the night convinced you're starring in your own personal episode of true crime?

And while we're sharing CPAP confessions, can we talk about the nose itch situation? Nobody – and I mean NOBODY – warned me that the second you strap on that mask, your nose develops an immediate and urgent need to be scratched. It's like my face is running its own damn resistance movement against good health choices.

The best part? When my mouth betrays me and opens, the air from the mask creates what I can only describe as face farts. Just lying there in the dark, accompanied by a symphony of "pfffffft" sounds, questioning every life choice that led to this shit show. So much for those romantic notions of peaceful slumber.

So here I am, reaching out to my fellow CPAP warriors. Please tell me this gets better. Please share your wisdom, your tricks, your tales of triumph over nocturnal mouth rebellion. Because right now, I'm starting to think my body is actively trying to sabotage my relationship with good sleep.

And because I believe in full transparency (and have absolutely no shame left), here's a photo of me modeling the latest in sleep fashion: nose mask, mouth tape ready to deploy, and the desperate hope that I'm doing this whole "breathing correctly" thing right

Solidarity to all my fellow sleep strugglers out there. May your masks stay sealed, your hoses remain unknotted, and your dreams be free of CPAP-related wardrobe malfunctions. And if you hear someone in your neighborhood making jet engine noises at 3 AM... no you didn't. 💤