Red Hot Platonic Love

SCENE: In an uncharacteristically bold move, and at the prompting some friends, I am at a club. Strobe lights, fog machines, thumping techno music, the lingering smell of Axe body spray - in short, if I had style, it would be severely cramped. Across the room, I see a fiery latin girl dancing sensually with some of her girl friends.

Me: (Holy balls! She's gorgeous! She's like if they spliced the genes of Shakira, Penelope Cruz, and Angelina Jolie into one perfect hybrid being!)

From across the room, I see a faux-hawked douchebag approach her with an appletini.

Me: (Oh, expletive. A bro. If I'm going to make a move, I better do it soon.)

As I walk towards the unattainable beauty, I first feel confident, then uncertain, then a little bit nauseous.

Me: (But wait! What am I supposed to say? What am I going to possibly going to talk about?)

I draw nearer. I slow myself.

Me: (Okay, man. You can do this. Well, maybe you can't, but you've never done this before, so you'd better start some time.)

I walk at a geriatric pace.

Me: (What am I going to say? I'm a 24-year-old nobody who lives with his parents. Maybe I should just lie. I'll tell her I'm in a band. It's sort of a Jonas Brothers-meets-Menudo pop rock band. It's called Suicide Abortion.)

I stop.

Me: (Suicide Abortion? Are you sure she's going to know you're being cute and ironic? You can't get too far being subtle these days. So what do I say? Hey, wink wink. I'd like to, wink wink, get intimate with you. Ugh, that's no good, either.)

As I stand contemplating, I catch her eye. She smiles.

Me: (Oh, my. I can taste that look. It tastes like Hawaiian Punch. Even her looks are sweet. Okay, Brent. Don't fear the reaper. Here goes nothing.)

I approach her.

Hot Chick: "Hi..."

Me: "Uh..."

I promptly walk away and out of the club.

Me: (Whatever. She wasn't going to like me anyway.)

With that, I walk to the nearest Subway and take solace in a meatball sub, sobbing softly as big, salty tears garnish my sandwich. I'm bound to be a virgin forever.

That's not actually a true story, per se, but it is uncomfortably true-to-life. It's not easy to connect with people when you don't like people. However, in the lack of a romantic life, I have pursued another form of interpersonal relationship;

Bromance.

For those of you who may not know, bromance is a "close but non-sexual relationship between two or more men." There are no overt homosocial practices involved in this type of relationship (although there may be certain Freudian psychology beneath the surface in some cases). Rest assured, it is a normal, healthy relationship shared between close male friends. Han Solo and Chewbacca. The Dude and Walter Sobchak. Freddie Mercury and David Bowie. Wait, not that last one. In any case, there are things to take into consideration.

First, pertaining to the bromance itself. Bromantic love cannot be shared between just anybody. Think; if someone is romantically linked to numerous people, said person is thought to be a whore. As such with romance, it is with bromance. Be careful in choosing your compadre (the English "companion" seems too formal, and frankly inappropriate).

Next, man-crushes. Not be confused with typical, sexual attraction, a man-crush is a heterosexual (or at least asexual) infatuation with another man. I myself have a not-so-secret man-crush on the Giants' closing pitcher Brian Wilson. Every man is allowed at least three. I would argue that every guy should have at least one, but no more than three. Then it just seems a bit awkward.

Finally, man-dates. There is proper etiquette on man-dates, just as there are with normal dates. Where in dates one party (usually the male, but I'm not so closed-minded to rule out feminists and gays) pays the tab for the other party, in man-dates, one should not pay for the other unless a tab is being kept or if it's a birthday or a bachelor party or otherwise celebrating.

On man-dates, one can be too courteous. Opening doors, pushing in seats, holding hands - these are all inappropriate man-date behavior. I mean no offense to my gay friends, but we're discussing man-dates. There reaches a point where it stops being a man-date and becomes a date-date. Bromance and romance ought to be kept separate. It would be like if your wife/girlfriend was also your drinking buddy. It's just weird. In short, if your man-date ends in sexual arousal, you're doing it wrong.

(G.I. Joe; they're doing it wrong)

The last thing to remember is that these things can't be forced. Forced romance is called sexual assault. Forced bromance is called "that idiot who's trying way too hard to be accepted." Don't worry, though. Unless you're a serial murderer or Dane Cook, bromance will find its way to you.

Until next time, keep on lovin', loverboy!