But before all that, I went to Peter's apartment in St. Paul. It was a lovely chill night of wine-drinking, and Peter is a delicious source of gossip as he knows all of the names I drop. We are opposites, he and I. At 19, he is already "over" the club scene as he went through his bar-star phase when he was ridiculously young but with a fake ID and connections. I, on the other hand, am 26 but think it's all new and exciting, and therefore have the same wide-eyed lust as a silly, naive, high school junior would. Nevertheless, I instantly had to tell him of my past weekend and summer of love, and his opinions were scorching and hilarious.
"You're friends with Taylor?!"
"What? He was nice to me! He let me have some of his drink!"
"I don't know. He acts like he's hot shit."
"He is kind of hot shit, though. If I looked like that, I wouldn't be nice to anybody."
"Wait, is that PHILIP?!"
"Yes! I don't talk to him, though."
"That bitch is MY age! He goes tanning way too much. He has pock marks everywhere."
"But look at his buff friend! I had to get a picture with him just to prove to myself that I actually met him!"
At this point, I think Chuck had rolled his eyes so far backward they made marks in his brain. I talked about possibly being promoted at work, and Peter and I discussed name brands for an hour, which made Chuck roll his eyes back AGAIN. I slept on the couch under a blanket with hot shirtless men on it (Peter only has the best things), and in the morning I realized that my car had been towed.
Apparently, you can't park in front of a driveway in St. Paul.
Chuck drove me to the impound lot, rubbing my leg in support and constantly apologizing, but I really wasn't that distraught. I mean, yes, it sucks, and it's another month that The Money Fairy won't come, but when something like that happens, you have two ways to react to it: You can feel like the world is against you and is ending, or you can realize that shit happens. Also, I have a Discover card.
I wasn't going to go out this weekend. I was going to save money and be a grown-up. But NO, Minneapolis had to be hosting the Gay World Series, and I had to go not just out of loyalty for the team that washed my car last month, but because I can't resist jersey chasing. A "jersey chaser" is someone who is obsessed with athletes and tries to bed as many as she can.
On Friday night, I moseyed over to the 19 Bar, where a nice man struck up conversation with me and let me see his apartment in Oak Grove Towers. We live on the same street, and most of the time, when I go home with a dude, it has nothing to do with wanting to be physical with him, it's just because I'm nosy about what his apartment looks like. His building is a block away from mine and I am seethingly jealous that they have vending machines in the lobby and ours is in the fitness center. Such complaints I have!
He told a horribly inappropriate story about a sexcapade, and then somehow we got on the subject of boys in college. Did we hit on them? Did we do things with them? And so forth and so forth. I then had flashbacks of a boy who hit on me when I was a freshman in college, and I was too stupid to go for it, because I either didn't think I was attractive enough or I thought he was going to kill me or his friends were going to kill me, and I always regretted it. I know people have much deeper and complex stories about the "one that got away," but that's my non-Internet version of one. The last time I saw him was randomly in an elevator two New Year's Eve's ago, and thank God I didn't have my laptop or a Smartphone with me, or I would have rang in in 2011 with drunk Facebooking.
Instead I decided that five and a half years after we sat on a couch together at a house party in Menomonie and I insisted that I liked girls even after he had his arm around me and whispered, "Jakey, c'mon, I'm serious, I know what you like" would be a perfectly appropriate time in life to add him on Facebook. In a related story, I am single.
Also, he added me back, which means I can totally tell him Happy Birthday at some point.
Still, I didn't go out that Saturday for Sina's birthday because I had to work at 7 A.M. the next day. Even without drinking or going out, I still stayed up until 4:30 in the morning. Why do I do this to myself?? I got through the 7-4 shift, napped, and found myself at The Saloon. Oh, brother! Ethan, one of the hot twins, won the shower contest and he is so hot and so straight, and a RIDICULOUS sex god from the World Series was the runner-up. It was my fault for swaying the contest as I cheered for both like a fairweather fan, but Ethan won me over by having a Hugo Boss belt.
I spent all of Monday feeling nauseous about my drunk Facebooking, and because I had to spend 11 hours at work! I know that some people do that every day and how dare I complain, but I was exhausted. Nevertheless, LUSH was officially kicking off the Gay World Series, and I can't turn down an expensive night of cavorting with athletes. I drove my car there with plans of picking it up the next morning, and I mingle, mingle, mingled. I told the man from the shower contest that he was robbed, and he rolled his eyes at me. I take it back!! Ethan is the true winner forever and for always!! I want to say Liam slept over, but the days blur.
Wednesday I was scheduled to shoot for a movie, but we got "rained out". Unfortunate! Liam texted me and we actually went to some games at the Gay World Series so I would at least be a dedicated jersey chaser. My favorite teams were the Dallas Drillers, the New Orleans Baby Batters, and the L.A. Gala, who had the *best* cheers. They would have won my imaginary spirit award. Two male strippers from CAMP Bar were handing out flyers, and later a park employee asked Liam and I if we were the ones doing so. I was flattered that he thought we were strippers.
That night, we *had* to go to LUSH for dollar drinks, and I again left my car there. I debated what to wear and decided to wear my ridiculously tight size XXS (not a typo) T-shirt from Alternative. I wore it to Valleyfair on Gay Day because I wanted to look twinkalicious, and Peter advised me not to put it in the dryer, but I totally forgot and did anyway. Whoops!! I told Liam that he could NOT make fun of my outfit when I got there, and he busted out in laughter upon seeing me, then advised me to not tuck it in.
I chose to not be such a wallflower, and I mingled! We ran into the strippers from the park that afternoon! Good thing we didn't go to CAMP!
The other stripper was too busy for photos as he was busy grinding on this girl all night, and I wonder if he was an escort. Hmmm. I should see "Magic Mike" again. You know, just for research.
A tall boy from Lawrence's after-Pride party was there and gave me a side hug. He always forgets my name but he's always so nice to me!! Love is cruel.
On the way out, I saw the boy who is friends with Football Guy (a.k.a. the love of my life and future husband), and then I decided that it would be a GREAT idea to drunk text Football Guy at 2:30 in the morning ON A WEDNESDAY, because I am classy that way.
He did not write back. The restraining order is in the mail. Did I mention that I'm single?
Liam slept over and I platonically enjoy sharing a bed with him. He doesn't take up a lot of room, and he doesn't snore or thrash around. Thursday I worked until close, and because I am such a grown-up, I locked my keys in the car *and* I had to borrow the loss prevention agent's cell phone to call AAA because I also had left my phone at home! I spent all day worrying if Football Guy would have written back with a "Who the fuck is this?" or "Please stop contacting this number", but instead I got nothing, which I suppose is for the best. Liam skipped The Saloon that night, but he didn't miss much because I didn't get there until 1. I ran into Davis and his posse.
"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," I said.
"Oh, you did interrupt, but that's okay," he said. "I'll buy you a shot later."
Then I hi-fived Taylor, but I did it the girl way, and on the rebound I accidentally slapped a muscle bear right in the face! OH NO. And this is why I cannot be a manager for any of the baseball teams. Then I went to the back patio and saw Philip talking to Football Guy's friend, and while for all I know they were discussing thermal aerodynamics, I imagined they were talking about me!
Philip: "Oh my god, that Jakey guy texted him at two in the morning last night. DESPERATE. Out of your league much?"
FBF: "I know, right. And do you know he's 26? Ew."
Philip: "Oh my god. That's like nursinghome. Hey, do you want to count my abs?"
While on the patio, Star Quarterback walked by looking pouty and sexy as usual and rocking a yellow tank top, and Jared smirked.
"I know something about Star Quarterback," he grinned.
"He's going to have me murdered?" I asked.
"No," he said. "He has a pimple on his back. He's self-conscious about it. He keeps covering it up and moving his shirt."
"Awww," I said, and it was a genuine aww. He was a human in that moment.
The nights all blur together, but I'm pretty sure Thursday ended with me sitting outside of the club, Jared vacillating if he was going to leave with a gentlemen or not, and I was finding myself outside with Davis, Taylor and their posse but not really with them, because they are the cool kids. And I don't say this to be a martyr or a whiner, but I was sitting there and no one was really talking to me, or announcing where they are going, and that is fine, because the biggest lesson that I learned all summer that I keep repeating is that nobody owes me anything -- I went to college with Davis but it's not like we were best friends in those years, and he wasn't gay until after I left -- and it felt like the time when I was a freshman and the cool seniors let me sit at their table, and I blew it by saying that I thought that Ryan Fritze was cute and Tyler Bauman looked at me like I had farted in church, and that was the first and last time I ever sat at the cool seniors table.
Anyway, Taylor was on the phone with a relative of his who is a celebrity and tabloid fixture (no guessing!) because he was downtown and could possibly offer a ride, but the relative balked at picking people up at The Saloon because it is a gay bar and what if that got reported that he was seen outside of there? Stars! They're just like us!
Anyway, they all left with baseball players to go do ... cool people things, and I took a cab home. I really wasn't going to leave with them. I was just bored and have a delayed circadian rhythm. Luckily, Neighbor Girl was up hosting her regular after party and I stopped over to make a cameo. I brought over some rum that Erin had given me from Haiti, since Neighbor Girl always supplies us with wine and never expects anything in return. I picked the wrong night to leave early, because I later heard that they went swimming in Eric's building! Crumbs! But I was exhausted, as the long work shifts and the constant jersey-chasing were starting to take their toll. Jared came over at about 4:30 A.M. while I was watching Lita vs. Ivory for the WWF Women's Championship at Survivor Series 2000 on YouTube (I am so cool like that, you guys), and was a total bed hog. Time to upgrade to a California King that will take up my entire apartment.
Friday I slept until late, and Liam and I went to more baseball games in the afternoon, where we schmoozed with a very nice player from Seattle. We had met him Wednesday night at LUSH and discussed the only things worth discussing about Seattle, which are Grey's Anatomy and that a boy I met on the Internet who broke my heart was from there, and for an entire year my eye twitched whenever it was mentioned. We watched the New Orleans Baby Batters put in a great peformance, and then I thought about this other boy I met on the Internet who was from Metairie and was the closest thing I've ever had to love, a real love. Did I mention I am single?
Later that day I was on Facebook and I got a message from my friend George asking if I have a 28-inch waist and if I would like to do modeling. George is one of the most flamboyant men in all of Minneapolis, and he is also the only good sex I have ever had (and that was, like, a year ago because I am only a fake slut. Seriously, you might as well call me Sister Jakey at this point. And while my low sleep number may be embarrassing, I just read that gonorrhea is becoming more and more drug-resistant, so there.) I thought George was going to ask if I wanted to model jeans, but he wanted me to model underwear, and I declined, flattered as I was. "Get someone with abs," I wrote. "Do you think your friend Joey would do it?" Oh, right. Joey is in town tomorrow for his birthday. Oh, and then there was that whole thing that happened ....
Friday was going to be the night that I stayed in and did laundry and rested and did not spend money, but LUSH was having its 3rd anniverary and since LUSH is my favorite bar and I agreed to meet a friend there who is 21 and shy and needed a wingman, I decided it was my social duty! We sat in a chair for half an hour and his friend went on about how at Eau Claire everyone laughs at Stout, and even though I didn't graduate from Stout and don't necessarily feel a lot of loyalty for it, I was still perturbed by it. I was also perturbed by how much of a wallflower I was! Philip was there lifting his shirt up for people. Davis was there with his friends. A nice boy from the baseball team was there and waved hello. People I recognized from previous summer nights, at this very bar even, were there, and I inexplicably felt too shy and unworthy to talk to anybody, at the same time that I kept encouraging my 21-year-old friend to go out there and mingle! Liam and Jared were at The Eagle and begged me via text to meet them, and after 20 minutes of inner debate, I decided to call Favian and get a ride there. I can count on one hand the number of times I've been to The Eagle, and it's fun to occasionally mix it up and find yourself in a different group of people. Besides, I had been to The Saloon so much in the past week that you could send my personalized mail there and I would receive it.
By sheer luck, Favian picked me up in THE STRETCH HUMMER. Right when I thought the night couldn't get any better, the radio station played Mariah Carey "Loverboy". I soaked up the moment.
I practiced holding an imaginary rifle at The Eagle (we were going bear hunting!), but I'm never in my element there, although I enjoyed booty-dancing with Jared in front of all the muscle bears. At 1 A.M., we made the wise decision to walk to The Saloon. Neighbor Girl was there! It was so lovely to see her outside of the 19 or her apartment. On the way out, her friend got shoved by an asshat, and a brawl almost broke out, and this was the same night that a brawl broke out at Lush! What was going on in the water? She balked at the idea of walking home to Loring Park, and declared that now it was too late for after-bar because we spent 20 minutes on foot. Eric (the fedora one, not Prince Eric, although I saw him several times this week and it was never not awkward) ordered a sandwich from Jimmy John's with such specificity that you would have thought he was dining at Le Cirque. Jared and I ordered Milio's when we got back in the apartment, and they called us back in five minutes tht the last delivery truck had gone out for the evening. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. We had a Lean Pocket instead, which is so not the same thing. Jared used the sleeping bag this time, and slumber was much better.
Joey was going for Pinnochio, and I was going for Sailor Twink (and Jared and I were going to a sailor-themed party later that night). He was in town for his birthday and got a room at the Marriott, and thankfully, everything felt NORMAL. He had three gal pals with them who were lovely (I told one of them that I wanted to make out with her), and Jared and I escorted them to the '90s, thoroughly enjoying our VIP cards and being able to use the side door while they looked on in envy (that alone may be worth the price, as I'm debating if I want to renew mine this fall). I only mentioned Kevin once, and that was in an organic way as we were talking about drinking and I mentioned that he plugs his nose when he takes shots, a trait I find both adorable and laughable. Joey claimes he ruined his hair, but I thought it looked fine. Whatevr.
Anyway, while Jared was getting a drink, I was talking to Joey while the girls were getting pictures taken of the giant black penis that adorns the foyer of the Gay '90s. "That reminds me of three St. Patrick's Days ago," I told the girls, and they didn't get it at all. Oh, youth! Anyway, right there, in front of the big giant penis, Davis entered with one of the boys from the Hot Boy Group, whom I'm pretty sure I drunk-messaged on adam4adam once.
Again, nobody owes you anything.
So, I had this moment in my head, do I acknowledge them? Do I say anything? Do I keep talking to the girls?
"Jakey," he said as he walked by, sparing the awkwardness. "I love you!"
It was a moment! A sweet, unsolicited, selfless moment. The girls' jaws were open as if I were some sort of a local celebrity, and I felt like a person again.
Jared and I said good-bye to Joey and the girls after "Starships", and Joey and I had the most awkward good-bye kiss ever, because I honestly didn't know if I was going to kiss him on the lips or do the New York housewife air-kiss thing, so I think I tried to do both, and we ended up kissing each other's collarbones. D-List!
Anyway, Jared and I made it to the Armory for the World Series closing party. $20, they said, and they *do* close at 2. We had 55 minutes, and I had to make it count! Unfortunately, I had lost my Listerine Strips and could not flirt.
I realize that in the grand scheme of things, if I had to lose anything that was on my person (cell phone, money, ID, credit card, keys), the Listerine Strips were the least important. But still! They were my lifeline! Jared bought my drinks because they didn't have any whiskey, and I eventually found some people to mingle with, including the nice men who brought me to their apartment on Groveland Street before I thought one of them stole my cell phone battery. I spoke to a beautiful woman who works for Target Corporate and we discussed the strange phenomenon of reverse discrimination that happens to beautiful women in the workplace, in which other women in the office hate you and the men do not take you seriously, and I regret that I forget her last name so I couldn't add her on Facebook, because she was intelligent as she was beautiful (also, attractive men do not run into this problem. The world is not fair that way). The man from my birthday who likes the young, YOUNG guys was flirting with a boy who I always see, and I think he looks like he's nine years old and could be in a British boy band. I laughed as I cried inside.
Jared was adopted by nice bears who later paid for his cab home, I went home and went on Grindr even though my picture isn't uploaded, and I am pretty sure I accidentally messaged the nice man whom I rode roller coasters with at Valleyfair. I really do need to hook a Breathalyzer up to my technological devices.
I did not hook up with any baseball players, but I did realize I need to practice good pick-up lines. These were all I had so far:
"Hi. You look like you can bench 117. Do you want to do it right now?"
"Hi. I've had my driver's license since I was 23. That means I have spent a LOT of time in the back seat." This is best followed with a wink.
"I put out for air conditioning." (You can also use central heating in the winter)
I really am taking a week off. No, REALLY.