Is he or isn't he?

I can’t say I have a particular type of man I like to hang with. I’ve been attracted to guy’s guys and metrosexuals. But as I sat across the table from my date recently, I realized I might have entered new territory. All night, I couldn’t help but wonder, is he or isn’t he?



It was my first date with Stephan, a slightly younger San Francisco man I’d been flirting with online for the past few weeks. We agreed to meet at Cav, a swanky little wine bar next to Zuni. He was even cuter in person, with more delicate features than his profile photos.

I had a feeling he might be a bit different than anyone I’d dated recently — as we checked in with each other by phone that afternoon to firm up our plans, he mentioned nonchalantly, “Oh, by the way, my nipples are pierced. Is that going to be a problem?”

Well, I wasn’t really planning on seeing his nipples that night, or him mine, so I said no. But I did give his profile pictures a good look again to see if there were any obnoxious facial piercings or body modifications I had somehow missed.

Thankfully, there weren’t — not that I have nothing against tasteful tats or piercings.
And that alone isn’t much of anything, but when we met, I was definitely picking up a vibe.

The gay vague vibe.

Mia felt the same way the first time she met Rex.
“He’s just so effeminate,” she sighed after their first coffee date. “I don’t think I’m into that.”
That all changed on date No. 2, when he pushed her up against a wall and kissed her so lustfully that she’s not sure she’ll ever view kissing quite the same way.

Stephan reminded me of Craig, a guy I dated in college for a while. Craig was a gorgeous part-time model with the most amazingly lush lips. What I loved most about him, though, was his irreverent humor, and he had the same passion for indie flicks as I did.

We started our romance slowly, but on the third date, as we sat in the darkened theater waiting for the movie to begin, he reached over and kissed me — a long, wet, passionate and sensuous kiss that made me weak with desire. I wanted him to kiss every part of me like that, and I couldn’t wait for the movie to end. But when it did, and he drove me to my apartment, he declined my invitation to come in.

I was disappointed but determined. Plus I sorta liked his coyness. I started planning the seduction for date No. 4. Date four came, then five and six and … a few months later and we had still never gotten past his wonderful kisses. Every attempt I made to go beyond that was gently but firmly refused.

I’d never experienced anything like that with any guy before, and it wasn’t feeling right.
I started to freak — was it me, or him?

One day, I came right out with it.
“Craig, are you … gay?”
“Gay? Of course not. Why do you ask?”
“Because all I want to do is get you naked and do nasty things to you, but you don’t seem too interested in having sex with me.”
“It’s not you. I’m just not interested in that with anyone right now.”

Oh great, I thought — he’s asexual! But I let it go at that because I wanted to believe him and I loved his company. But the more I saw him with his friends — all of whom I’d call “pretty boys” — I had to wonder if he was being honest with me — or himself.

We eventually stopped seeing each other romantically — whatever little “romance” there was — because I wanted more than just kisses from my lover, no matter how passionate they were. But we remained friends until life took its course.

Now here was pierced (and tattooed, it turns out) Stephan, with all the affectations of a gay, or perhaps bisexual, man, despite all his talk about the ex (wife, that is) and the kids. I felt like I was a contestant on “Gay, Straight or Taken?” — there was no way to know. Although I eventually was pretty blunt with Craig, I couldn’t do the same with Stephan, especially on date No. 1.

Now, I have several gay, lesbian and bi friends, and I consider myself a broad-minded gal. But I needed to ask myself — do I want to date someone who’s bi?

I know some people believe that we’re all bisexual. That’s what Owen, my adorable twentysomething colleague, says. Owen looks about as gay as a man can be, and constantly catches the eye of any number of San Francisco men. Yet there on his left hand ring finger is a gold band that his equally cute new bride, Ava, had placed just 10 months ago.

One night after work, we went to get a drink at Voda, a few blocks from our office, and we started chatting about life, love and how he and Ava met. He admitted that he was attracted to men, but never acted on it — although he wasn’t necessarily against it. But then he met Ava. “I fell in love,” he told me, “and it just happened to be with a woman.”

I can’t say I’ve ever felt that way. Although I can appreciate another woman’s beauty and sexiness, whenever I have fallen in love it more than “just happened” to be with a man. And I suspect it always will be.

And some people argue that there is no bisexuality — just men “caught between two worlds and are really lost,” according to Bonnie Kaye, author of “Is He Straight?” They’re attracted to men, but don’t want to live the gay lifestyle.

I’m not so sure I believe that, but I have no desire to one day have to write a tell-all book like Dina Matos McGreevey, the estranged wife of James McGreevey, the former New Jersey governor who resigned after revealing that he’s gay.

So I was happy when Stephan suggested that for our second date he’d cook dinner for me — at his place. I’ve been around long enough to read between the lines on that one, but I figured it would give me an opportunity to ask about HIV, STDs and bisexuality in a good context.

I showed up at his well-appointed Noe Valley pad ready for seduction. He cooked us a wonderful ribeye with wilted spinach salad; I brought dessert — two mini-molten chocolate cakes and, possibly, me.
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But as I moved closer to him and gently stroked his arm as we sat on the couch, he pulled back. “Hey, don’t take this the wrong way but I’m not interested in getting sexual right now,” he said.

Oh no! I had somehow channeled Craig!

I never heard from Stephan again, and I didn’t call him, either.

Maybe it was me, maybe it was him, maybe it was the dessert that I overbaked and ended up being not very molten at all.

But the next time a man asks me if I’d have a problem with his pierced nipples, I might just say yes.

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Sisters in secrets

No sooner than I blog about not being into the whole celeb thing when I come to realize that the late Anna Nicole and I happen to have, amazingly enough, one thing in common.

Steamy diaries.

Unlike kids today who post their thoughts about love and life for all to see on MySpace and Facebook, I grew up in an era when girls keep all their secrets in small, mostly pink, locked diaries.

Of course, anyone could have picked those locks — or just cut the strap, for goodness sake! — to read the contents, which made them about as private as today's online diaries. But that didn't stop me, and probably all the other adolescent girls of my generation, from rushing home from school every day to spill all, feverishly and furtively, about the day's forays into love, lust and loss.

While doing some spring cleaning recently, I stumbled on a handful from my teen years and sat down for an hour to look through them. Re-reading the entries after so many years was like time-traveling into the often confused but always curious mind of girl-to-woman Kat. Written in there, in girlish script, are the usual suspects: insecurities — "This morning the vulnerability, the doubt. Why? I'm not so sure but this morning I felt the strong desire to tell him I love him" — questions — "I sometimes am aware of people I know acting contrary to their personality to other people; I wonder if others see this in me?" — the oh-so meaningful quotations — "I don't want to change the world, but I don't want the world to change me," Eli Wiesel — and the absolute ho-hum girlie banalities — "El and I went shopping. Saw J there. At night, we saw a movie. It sucked." But then there was my essay on "what makes a good marriage" that surprised me in its rather sage grasp of the compromise and work it would take.

Reading a few entries made me want to go back in time, take that young Kat by the hand and say, "Honey, let me set you straight on a few things so I can save you a lot of heartache ..."

And then, of course, there's the rather explicit talk of sex — wanting it, liking it (or not) with different boyfriends — that bordered on erotica. The parts I can read, that is, as I guess at some point in my past I decided I needed to write as if I were writing on the top of a pinhead. Tiny. And that's if I can actually figure out just who the initials stand for — I wisely (or not) didn't identify my boyfriends by their names, so now, 20-something years later, I can't even remember who I'm talking about. This worries me!

No wonder why my adolescent friends and I made pacts to find and burn each other's diaries if anything happened to us. If our parents only knew! And I wonder what will happen, 30, 40, 50 years down the road when The Kid discovers my diaries in the bowels of the basement while cleaning out my crap when I'm dead and gone.

Will he get a better grasp of who and what his mother was about? Or will he be horrified to discover a side of me that he'd just rather not know? A situation that I imagine, one day, Anna Nicole's child, Dannielynn Hope, will have to face, too.

At some point I abandoned diaries, although when my marriage went bust a few years ago, I started writing again — now called journaling — to help me work through the staggering emotions. I don't have a desire to revisit that journal, though. That story is still very present in my mind.

So yes, like Anna, I have secrets that may end up one day in unsympathetic hands. Unlike Anna's however, no one is offering me six figures to read about them. And, unlike Anna's, there are, thankfully, very few spelling or grammatical errors. And, also thankfully, not quite the sadness that permeated her life.

If someone in the future discovers your diaries or journals, containing your most private thoughts, what would be the most surprising discovery?

And when you read the journaled thoughts of your adolescent mind, what surprises you?

Are we searching for Frankenstein?

A few years ago, I remember walking into my cousin's house only to be confronted with a grand medieval Playmobil battle complete with elaborate castles, princesses in distress and knights in shining armor. In the midst of it all were her 9-year-old son and her husband, Dan, sprawled on the floor, happily playing together.

"That's quite a project they've got going in there," I said to her.

"They've been at it for hours," she sighed.

At that moment, I felt something I'd never felt before in all my years of marriage.

Husband envy. Or perhaps father envy, as I wasn't really interested in being married to Dan, as nice as he is. It's just that he is exactly the kind of father I imagined I wanted for my kid, one who would be engaged and really present in Trent's life. A get-down-on-your-knees-and-play kinda dad.

I can't say Rob was ever like that, and that always made me kind of sad and sometimes disappointed in him, which I know wasn't fair.

So when my cousin called me recently to tell me that she was unhappy in her marriage and thinking of leaving Dan after 17 years, I couldn't believe it. I genuinely like Dan. He's what you'd call a good guy — stable, kind, sucessful, gentle, if a bit dull.

"But why? He's such a loving and devoted dad."

"He just doesn't have any fire in him. I'm bored and I want more."

That's funny, I thought. Rob sure had fire — and humor and looks and charm and sex appeal. But he lacked other things, some pretty essential things, too, to be committed for the long haul. And then there was the "fathering issue."

When marriages split, what's created is a gigantic human garage sale — one person's cast-off is another person's treasure. Rob's "fathering issue" isn't a problem at all for his girlfriend just like Dan's lack of fire won't matter too much to whomever he ends up hooking up with because he's a "good guy" and a devoted father. What woman wouldn't want that? Well, my cousin, I guess.

In a way, it makes me feel like in our search for love, we are wanting to create our own perfect man a la Victor Frankenstein, or we're building a fantastic meal at a buffet table, a little of this, a little of that — Dan's fathering, Rob's charm and humor, Johnny Depp's looks (sorry, a gal can dream ...) and so on.

Which, I guess, gets down to this — are we looking for perfection in a mate, or are we looking for someone who fits perfectly the qualities that're important to us?

There's a big difference there. Thoughts?

Is jealousy the real villain?

A woman falls in love with a man whose heart is in the right place — keeping his loved ones and strangers safe from harm. He sacrifices a lot to be with her, but he does so willingly because he knows he can't — and doesn't want to — live without her.

But when his career thrusts him ever more into the public eye and attracts a legion of adoring fans (and an especially hot woman), the core of their love is threaten by something even a superhero may not be able to conquer — jealousy.

OK, I am talking about 'Spider-Man 3,' which opens today. I'll probably take The Kid to see it, but in between the special-effects, I'll be focusing on the jealousy angle. Why? Because, sad to say, I understand.

Why does love sometimes turn people into jealous fools?

I'm not a jealous person, but years ago I flirted with the reality that I might be becoming one. I had fallen in love with Rick, a charmer who liked to push the edges. Early in our romance, there was an "incident" — a party, an inebriated woman, a girlfriend (that would be me) who felt uncomfortable with his misplaced attentions, and an immaturity in being able to deal with it honestly.

"I really wish we could have spent more time together tonight," I said perhaps a little too gently for the emotions I was feeling as we drove home that night. "Did you get off on the woman falling all over you and dancing with you all night long?"

"Oh, she was drunk. Anyway, I was hoping you'd come rescue me."

Hmm. I'd never experienced a man needing to be rescued before, especially when it appeared as if he was enjoying it and making no attempt to stop it. And as I was the "new" girlfriend, I really didn't want to appear to be the bitchy, possessive new girlfriend laying down what he could or couldn't do. So I let it be.

But, of course, I didn't really, because whenever there was another situation that involved him, me and another women, the "incident" reared its ugly head. That's when I realized I was jealous — and insecure — in that relationship. Ultimately, that jealousy and insecurity — not entirely unfounded — helped destroy it.

I'm no longer that jealous woman, but that experience made me realize how easily a woman can find herself in that position if she doesn't have confidence in herself and her relationship and the ability to express herself.


I'm going to take a guess that Mary Jane's jealousy of Peter Parker/Spider-Man's fame — and stolen kiss with his hottie college lab partner, Gwen Stacy (Bryce Dallas Howard) — doesn't totally destroy their love, but I'm pretty confident that dealing with it will take a much bigger toll on him than his battles with Sandman, Venom and other villains.

How have you handled jealousy in your relationships?
Are there situations in your life or certain types of men who draw that jealousy out?
And can "Spider-Man 3" even possibly be as good — or better — than "Spider-Man 2"?