Drew Gilbert

When you’re interested in someone, you usually start asking questions.

When you’re not interested, you start explaining your schedule.

Recently, more guys have been taking their shot in my DMs.

Which is fine.

I don’t always understand it personally, but I can’t tell people how to feel or how to act.

All I ask is that people respect my boundaries.

Most do.

Every now and then though, I get someone who is convinced they can change my mind.

They tell me how great we’d be together.

How much fun we’d have.

How hard they’d cuddle me.

How they’d take me to dinner.

How I’d be missing out.

The thing is…

If I ever date again, it won’t be because someone convinced me.

It’ll be because life naturally put the right person in front of me at the right time.

No sales pitch required.

Right now, I already have three full-time jobs.

DJing is a full-time job.

UPS is a full-time job.

And believe it or not, this page is a full-time job too.

Last week alone I spent over 40 hours writing posts, replying to comments, answering messages, and trying to be the best Emotional Support Dad I can be.

I’m not complaining.

I’m explaining.

Because a relationship isn’t something you squeeze into the cracks of your day.

A good relationship requires time.

Attention.

Communication.

Compromise.

Presence.

Showing up.

Making room for another person’s needs alongside your own.

That’s not a part-time commitment.

That’s another full-time job.

And if I ever do it again, I want to do it right.

The truth is, after four years of being single, I’ve built a life that works.

My routines work.

My schedule works.

My priorities work.

I don’t answer to anyone except myself, Pooh, and Mr. Bueller.

So if someone ever manages to sneak past all those defenses and into my life, it’ll probably come as a surprise to me too.

Because it won’t happen through persistence.

It won’t happen through convincing.

It’ll happen because one day I stop explaining my schedule…

and start asking questions.

❤️

Drew Does Dallas

I need your help.

I’m starting to build next year’s Dirty Pop: Monsters of Rock sets.

Think 2000s rock, emo, pop-punk, alternative, post-grunge, guilty pleasures, all of it.

So tell me…

If I was going to remix ONE rock song from the 2000s and drop it on a packed dance floor… what song has to make the cut?

Lifehouse?
Evanescence?
Papa Roach?
The Killers?
Yellowcard?
Nickelback?
My Chemical Romance?
3 Doors Down?
Hoobastank?
The Used?
Paramore?

Nothing is off limits.

Drop your picks below.

If enough people mention the same song, I might actually remix it.

🎧
Drew Does Dallas
Dirty Pop: Monsters of Rock 2027

THE OLDER I GET, THE LESS I WANT TO BE IMPRESSIVE.

When I was young, I wanted to be famous.

Not kind.

Not wise.

Not peaceful.

Famous.

I remember telling my parents when I moved to New York that I was going to make it no matter what.

They told me I’d never do it.

And if I somehow did?

I’d regret it because I’d spend my life alone.

At the time I thought they were wrong.

Now I think they were only half wrong.

In 2001 I walked away from a good job managing a Bombay store on Long Island making about $65,000 a year.

I packed up my life and moved to New York City to chase a dream.

Like most people in their twenties, I thought I could have everything.

The dream.

The career.

The family.

The relationships.

The stability.

Turns out life doesn’t really work that way.

Every dream comes with a price tag.

For a DJ, that price is usually time.

Birthdays.

Holidays.

Weddings.

Weekends.

Relationships.

You spend years watching everyone else gather while you’re boarding another flight.

And if you’re lucky?

You get to live the life you dreamed about.

I’ve played around the world.

I’ve remixed artists I grew up listening to.

I’ve performed for crowds I never imagined I’d stand in front of.

I’ve seen countries I never would have visited if I’d stayed home.

I’ve met thousands of people.

Maybe I made it.

Maybe I didn’t.

I’ll let you decide.

What I know for sure is that I don’t regret seeing the world.

I don’t regret taking the chance.

But these days?

The things I want have changed.

I love nights at home with Pooh.

I love my routines.

I love the small handful of people in my life.

I love waking up in my own bed.

I love peace.

Don’t get me wrong.

I still love DJing.

I still love performing.

I’d love a few more good years behind the decks before I eventually hang up the headphones.

But somewhere along the way I stopped wanting to impress people.

And started wanting a life that feels good when nobody is watching.

Funny how long it can take to figure out the difference.

❤️

Drew Does Dallas

One Of The Most Important Friendships of My Life Started in a Bathhouse.

Let’s discuss bathhouses kiddos.

Every time I mention that I don’t go anymore, a few guys inevitably slide into my DMs to tell me I’ve become a prude.

Which honestly makes me laugh.

Because just because I’ve become selective doesn’t mean I’ve become boring.

It just means I stopped settling.

These days I’d rather have no connection than a mediocre one.

I’d rather go home alone than spend my time with someone I’m only halfway interested in.

That’s probably the biggest difference between 43-year-old Drew and 23-year-old Drew.

Because for most of my life?

I was wild.

For twenty years I traveled the world DJing.

I played afterhours.

Circuit parties.

Pool parties.

Pride festivals.

I was around all of it.

Then somewhere around 40 it was like a switch flipped.

My priorities changed.

My relationship with s*x changed.

My relationship with myself changed.

Which is funny because after spending years struggling with anorgasmia and finally making real progress, you’d think I’d be making up for lost time.

Instead I’ve become even more selective.

Because now that something feels valuable again, I don’t want to share it with just anybody.

But here’s the thing people get wrong.

Bathhouses were never really about s*x for me.

They were about possibility.

The chase.

The anticipation.

The mystery.

The feeling that literally anything could happen.

Most of the time I wasn’t even hooking up.

I was too shy.

Still am, honestly.

People see the DJ.

They see the guy on stage.

The guy who’s traveled the world.

What they don’t see is that I’ve always been painfully introverted.

So while everyone imagines me running around a bathhouse collecting phone numbers like Pokémon cards, the reality was usually me laying by the pool, hiding behind sunglasses, people watching.

Most of the time I was too afraid to approach anybody.

But I met some incredible people.

One of my best friends came from one of those places.

We hooked up once.

As he was leaving the room I looked at him and said:

“You’re gonna think I’m crazy, but I have a feeling we’re supposed to be best friends.”

He laughed.

Shrugged.

Left.

A few weeks later we bumped into each other.

Then again.

Then again.

Before long a friendship developed.

Years later he’s still one of my closest friends.

Life is weird like that.

I’ve always had moments like that.

People think I’m nuts when I talk about it.

But sometimes I see things before they happen.

Nothing dramatic.

Nothing movie-worthy.

Just little moments.

One day I was walking home from the train and suddenly pictured myself bumping into a couple, knocking coffee out of a guy’s hand, and then them asking me where the farmers market was.

Ten seconds later it happened exactly that way.

Another time I was grocery shopping with one of those awful carts that sounds like a dying lawnmower.

A woman gave me a look and I joked:

“Yeah, I know. But it’s not like a better cart is waiting at the end of the aisle.”

I turned the corner.

There was a better cart sitting there.

Stuff like that happens to me all the time.

Maybe it’s intuition.

Maybe it’s coincidence.

Maybe my brain is just weird.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

But back to bathhouses.

Whether people like them or not, they’re a massive part of gay history.

Long before Grindr.

Long before Scruff.

Long before Instagram.

Bathhouses were some of the only places where gay men could gather openly.

They weren’t just places for s*x.

They were community spaces.

Social spaces.

Places where people could be themselves without constantly looking over their shoulder.

In New York during the 1970s, the legendary Continental Baths became one of the most important gathering places in gay culture.

Before she became a superstar, Bette Midler performed there regularly while Barry Manilow played piano.

Think about that.

One of the biggest entertainers in the world got her start singing to gay men in a bathhouse.

Then AIDS arrived.

And everything changed.

Bathhouses became the center of one of the biggest and most painful debates in gay history.

Some closed.

Some adapted.

Some disappeared forever.

But whether you love them or hate them, you can’t tell the story of gay liberation without talking about them.

As for bathhouse etiquette?

Respect comes first.

Always.

No means no.

Silence means no.

Looking away means no.

Nobody owes you attention.

Nobody owes you conversation.

Nobody owes you s*x.

If somebody isn’t interested, leave them alone and keep moving.

And for the love of God, shower.

Finally, my favorite bathhouse memory.

Many years ago during Pride I paid off the front desk attendant at Club Dallas to let Domino’s deliver pizzas inside.

About thirty of us crammed into the mirror room and absolutely destroyed those pizzas.

Grown men climbing over each other for slices like civilization had collapsed.

For fifteen glorious minutes it looked less like a bathhouse and more like raccoons having a feeding frenzy behind a dumpster.

No s*x.

No drama.

Just laughter.

Honestly, that’s probably the part people outside our community never understood.

Sometimes the most meaningful thing about gay spaces wasn’t the s*x.

It was the friendships.

The freedom.

The feeling that for a few hours you could stop pretending to be somebody else.

And that’s a piece of gay history worth remembering.

❤️

Drew Does Dallas

Nobody Warned Me Loneliness Gets Different After 40.

A lot of people assume I’m not lonely.

Some think I’m lying.

Maybe because I’m a DJ.
Maybe because I’m visible.
Maybe because they think having followers means having people.

It doesn’t.

What people don’t understand is how isolating DJ life can be.

In 22 years, I’ve had 13 weekends off.

Thirteen.

While most people were building routines, friendships, relationships, and communities, I was on a plane, in a booth, or in a hotel room.

I have a handful of friends.

That’s it.

I don’t even know where adults make friends anymore.

And before anyone mistakes this for a pity post, it isn’t.

It’s just the truth.

Male loneliness is real.

We’re taught to work.
Provide.
Push through.
Stay busy.

Then one day you look around and realize you’ve spent years building a life and somehow forgot to build a community.

The other day someone told me I couldn’t possibly be lonely because I’m “hot.”

Leaving aside the fact that I disagree with that entirely, loneliness doesn’t care what you look like.

Being attractive doesn’t guarantee friendship.

It doesn’t guarantee connection.

It doesn’t guarantee someone is checking in on you.

And it definitely doesn’t guarantee someone is waiting for you when you get home.

My days are spent working.

My nights are spent at the gym and watching movies with Pooh.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.

At the end of the day, I’ve got Pooh.

And honestly, I’m okay with that.

I’m not angry about it.

I accepted this life a long time ago.

Sometimes I don’t even know if I’d want it to change because it’s what I’m used to.

But I also think the modern world has made isolation normal.

We’re all staring at our phones.

We’re scrolling.

Watching TikToks.

Watching other people live instead of living ourselves.

We’re connected to everyone and somehow closer to no one.

Most of us are guilty of it.

I know I am.

A lot more people are lonely than they’re willing to admit.

Especially men.

❤️

Drew Does Dallas

IF I DID THIS WITH MY BELIEFS YOU’D TELL ME TO SHUT THE F*CK UP

Can we talk about how socially acceptable it still is to force religion onto strangers in public?

If I’m on a train, at a grocery store, walking down the street… I should be able to exist without being cornered into someone else’s sermon.

And somehow if you say “please don’t preach at me,” you’re the rude one.

Meanwhile if I stood there explaining my beliefs for an hour to a captive audience who didn’t ask… people would tell me to shut the f**k up immediately.

If I stood there preaching the “Gospel of Jesus Christ and Dark Room Saints” to strangers on the train or outside a grocery store, people would lose their minds.

But somehow this is socially acceptable.

Believe whatever brings you peace.

Pray.
Go to church.
Read scripture.
Light candles.
Talk to God.

I genuinely don’t care.

But once it becomes talking at strangers who didn’t ask to be part of it, it stops being faith and starts becoming entitlement.

Not everyone shares your beliefs.

And that should be okay.

Today a woman preached on the train for an hour so loud I could hear her over my audiobook.

An hour.

Last week a guy approached me at the bus stop to, get this… preach the word of Trump.

He tried handing me a pamphlet with the Constitution on one side, the Ten Commandments on the other, and a picture of Trump on it.

I did not take it.

I don’t validate that s**t.

I told him politely to stop.

Then I said, “Matthew 6:5.”

He looked at me and asked, “Are you a believer?”

I smiled and said, “No.”

He said, “Enlighten me. I’m not familiar.”

Figured you don’t.

And I said, “Of course. That’s the verse where Jesus says not to flaunt your faith publicly and not to pray on the street to be seen by others. To keep your faith between you and God.”

He replied with John 3:18, which basically says:

Whoever believes in Jesus is saved. Whoever does not believe is already condemned.

Basically…

Believe what I believe… or you’re damned.

Then he looked at me and said,

“I feel sorry for you.”

And I smiled back and said,

“You’re trying to control me with fear.”

Because that’s exactly what it was.

Fear.

Believe this or else.

Follow this or else.

Submit or else.

And when that doesn’t work… pity.

Again he said,

“I feel sorry for you.”

And all I said was:

Bubs, I’m not the one standing at a bus stop preaching to a gay guy who didn’t ask for any of this and somehow knows more about your own book than you do.

He made the sign of the cross and said,

“God bless you.”

I told him to shove his blessings. I don’t want them. I don’t need them.

And to have the day he deserved.

That’s trash behavior.

Walking around telling strangers they’re condemned.

Telling people they need saving.

Telling people what your God thinks of them.

I get that some of you believe you’re helping.

I really do.

But a lot of the time it doesn’t feel like helping.

It feels like validation-seeking.

Like if enough people agree with what you believe, then somehow it proves you’re right.

I tried Christianity once.

It wasn’t for me.

And honestly I haven’t felt that judged since I had my blood family in my life.

What a horrible way to live.

The amount of judgment I experienced during my brief religious phase was unreal.

And the contradictions never end.

One verse contradicts another.

Rules get cherry-picked depending on what’s convenient.

People follow the parts that benefit them and ignore the parts that don’t.

Circular logic.

Mental gymnastics.

Over and over.

These same people wanted the Ten Commandments displayed in schools.

People like Ken Paxton fought hard for that.

Meanwhile he’s in the middle of a divorce after multiple affairs and has faced allegations involving taxpayer money.

But that’s okay somehow.

That’s the cherry-picking.

Rules for thee.

Not for me.

Wild how I’m expected to follow rules that don’t even apply to me while the people shouting the loudest seem free to ignore the ones they claim matter most.

I actually respect Christians who keep their faith personal.

The Matthew 6:5 Christians.

The ones who live it quietly without forcing it onto everyone around them.

But there don’t seem to be many of those left.

Because what I mostly see is crosses as jewelry.

Crosses on shirts.

Crosses on bumper stickers.

Jesus fish on cars.

Bible verses in bios.

Faith everywhere…

except in the actual behavior.

Believe whatever you want.

Seriously.

But leave strangers alone.

❤️
Drew Does Dallas
Philosophy by Drew