Bromance

It’s homosexuality? Let’s face it. This Bromance is.

Even I, a card carrying gay guy, would never sidle up to some guy who is not my boyfriend.

I mean, I have very strong friendships with straight guys. And we even hug hello. It’s lovely. It’s no different than saying hello to a female friend and giving her a peck on the cheek.

But this whole bonding and deep loving thing between two grown men? If it isn’t twisted homosexuality, then I don’t know what it is.

Except for this:

Years ago, when I was the tin man in the Wizard of Oz in this children’s theatre truck show (Oh man), my roommate was the scarecrow. We were excellent friends. Every night in a Day’s Inn.

Then: The wrestling in our underwear began. Which usually ended with us sitting in the bed together, holding hands, watching T.V. I imagined one simple thing: Gay gay this is gay, gay. Take off those drawers.

But it wasn’t? The guy said he looked up to me. He thought I was cool. He said he wasn’t gay but if he was, it was me who he’d be gay for. He said his father was real old and he never got to really bond with him. Ultimately, he lacked male camaraderie, love, affection and he was working that out, underwear wrestling, in a Day’s Inn. And he swore that’s all it was. People.

After a couple of weeks of this carrying on, he had a full blown relationship with the freaky woman who was in love with me who I was in no position to be in love with and told her so.

So perhaps, perhaps, my wrestler really was just a guy looking for a Bromance. It could be true. We were in our twenties and it all felt a little bit like we were twelve and he was working something out. It was sweet and I guess harmless.

So maybe men, all men, need man love. I don’t know. It’s so confusing.

You go to a gay bar in West Hollywood, you used to get a hunky gay guy who waited on you. Now, it’s a sweet Guatemalan woman named Cleritze. There’s no order any longer.

It’s all turned on its ear.

So let whoever wants to have their Bromance. I just find it all a little confusing. I don’t understand what it’s about.