I overslept on Memorial Day. I do not remember if I was supposed to work and was again exhibiting the tired behavior of showing up hours late, if at all, for my shifts; the store had been closed since St. Patrick’s Day, my pay was cut, and I felt ambivalent and resentful (although grateful for benefits and podcasts). I overspent any stimulus money on ridiculous and embarrassing alcohol-fueled acts of hedonism that I knew were really spurred by chronic loneliness. It had been almost two years since I pretended I had a boyfriend. He moved on publicly, and I reacted publicly, to the detriment of myself and everyone around me. Reid and I mutually agreed to not renew our lease in Whittier but we still had two months left, and I was in my twin bed in a tiny room. I hadn’t even started looking at new apartments.
All of these problems that seemed massive enough to keep me in bed all day would not matter the day George Floyd was murdered by a Minneapolis policeman outside of Cup Foods that afternoon. We all reacted differently to the events that unfolded the next few days. Reid got drunk that night and went live online for the web talk show we had been hosting. Later that night, he expressed contrition. “What am I doing?” he asked me through tears. “How is this helping anything?” As the days went on, he became a vigilante of sorts, patrolling our neighborhoods at night and watching the small businesses near our street corner; New York Slice of Pizza, Harm’s Convenience Store, Pimento’s. He went to protests on Lake Street, which started peaceful and escalated into fiery violence, while I sat in our living room and watched it unfold on MSNBC. A pick-up truck with an Oklahoma license plate was now parked in front of our building, in a way that suggested the driver had never parked in a city before, and also didn’t care. I was most unnerved by the cars with no license plates that were driving around our neighborhood. Whittier is between uptown and downtown and isn’t super close to the freeway -- not that it would matter, because the city had implemented a curfew.
The first day of the curfew, Joey and I went to Mystic Lake. I was working at his store on its first day of opening after COVID, and they closed their doors again at 2 P.M. that afternoon. I felt so bad for the store manager, who I had known since a September afternoon in 2008. We were actually winning when we got a text at 5 PM saying Minneapolis was going into lockdown curfew at 8 PM! Mystic was an hour away from the city! Lee lives in a high-rise with his roommate, a psychiatric nurse named Sonny who looks like the cutest smart kid in your science class. He graciously invited us to spend the night there in the name of safety concerns. Joey and I raced to Culver’s and the liquor store, and I packed like our homes were going to be on fire, the way buildings would eventually be on Lake Street. “You don’t need your laptop,” Joey admonished. I packed it anyway, and other things I would not use during my one night having a slumber party at Lee’s. We managed to get there by 7 so we could watch the finale of RuPaul’s Drag Race. Lee doesn’t watch the show regularly but decided that night his favorite was Jaida Essence Hall, who won and made the Midwest proud. I watched most episodes of the season at my parents’ house, and she was their favorite, too. Joey yelled at me for making a mess at Lee’s and throwing my shit everywhere like we were staying at a hotel. We spoke of our own pasts and traumas and silently cried as the city continued to burn. Joey and I went to the memorial site a few weeks later. There was still a lot of international media there, and a sense of solemnity and respect. We also knew better to not take selfies, a somewhat annoying phenomenon from well-meaning white people who should know better.
Although delayed another week, my store opened again. Pride was cancelled, but I filmed two horrible stand-up sets, one from Lee’s balcony and one from my parents’ guest room. The former never saw the light of day, and the latter was for Columbia Heights Pride. I formed a little sextet with Chuck, Raymond, Charlie, Joey and Randall, and we often had quiet nights in playing board games (and one night at Vegas Lounge where I won pull tabs, went to my brother’s apartment, and we got in a big stupid fight). Chuck and Raymond redid their basement and have a dart board for whenever we miss the 19.
A friend of mine was having a going-away party. It was at the same house Steve lived in. I ate shit and apologized to Jaxon. Conversely to Steve’s beliefs, I didn’t do it because I wanted to go to the party. Yes, I wanted to go to the party, but only if things were copacetic. “It will be awkward for everyone,” Steve had said, and I didn’t want to walk in like Mimi Imfurst on Season 1 of RuPaul’s Drag Race: All-Stars. (I promise I watched more TV shows besides RuPaul's Drag Race this year). I wrote it as a memo and edited it before sending. While the contents of it can remain private, Jaxon accepted it with a grace and maturity that went beyond his years, and I was grateful for it. I had a marvelous time, got to re-connect with Darren, avoided a flower pot when someone threw one at somebody (and they thought I was going to cause all the drama!), and only wanted to teleport to Alaska once, when I accidentally went into their room after I went to the bathroom. Ok, by accidentally it was totally on purpose. I didn’t touch anything. It was emotional masochism. I thought maybe standing there would help things all make sense, or I would get some kind of closure. Closure is a myth and I just felt resentful and sorry for myself. Steve and Jaxon moved to the suburbs, in a neighborhood I will never travel to, and I am at peace with that. He bought an adorable puppy after the first week, so bringing tiny and adorable things home can be a new tradition I don’t need to understand. Someone at the party tested positive for COVID, and while they don’t think they got infected until after the party, I spent ten hours the next week on the phone with a corporate hotline and was told to stay home for another week. So much for my sexy sexy birthday party.
I wanted to have a birthday at LUSH. They closed. I really miss LUSH. I miss performing there, I miss the queens, I miss the people. I was never employed by them and wasn’t privy to the issues that plagued it and don’t want to dismiss any of that. Selfishly, as a patron and perfomer, it had become the most consistent place I was performing, and it was both a personal and professional bummer. I did get to have a birthday lunch at Stella’s Fish Cafe with Erin, Joey, and Jared. How excited I was to have Erin in town from London. She is getting her Ph.D and is studying grief and stillborn children. Very uplifting stuff. The boys and I went to the beach and walked two miles back to my apartment. I wrote horrible text messages to myself that I forgot about until yesterday when I was copying a hyperlink for later use. That Sunday, Erin, Joey, Chuck, Raymond, Randall and I all played croquet in my parents’ backyard using a set that my Great-Grandma Julia had! I do not know why she kept a croquet set when she lived in an apartment in Starbuck, Minnesota for the last decades of her life. Loretta bemoaned that she should have mowed the lawn first, because the yard is very hilly and caused obstacles. Joey kept quoting Heathers. I refused to swing the traditional way and played like a golfer, which may have been why I got fourth. (Chuck won and Raymond got second, so it was not a good day for singles) Charlie came after the game and was annoyed he missed it, and I win the Hypocrite Award for being annoyed that he arrived so late. He got me a satchel and a Trish Stratus magnet. Chuck, Charlie and myself all have birthdays the same week (The Week of the Persuader in my birthday book), but I never want to do a joint birthday party because I am a twin and spent my whole childhood sharing a birthday. However, this year nobody could really have one. Not the spring babies, not the summer babies, not the fall babies. Everything is cancelled. Maybe we can do a half-birthday bash. I wouldn’t mind sharing a half-birthday party. Charlie went on a road trip to South Dakota with Steve and that was during a week that Steve blocked me on everything because I was being ridiculous. I found out that Tuesday from Steve. Four days later, Charlie texted me to ask for my new address so he could send me a postcard. I did not respond with grace.
“You’ve got some fucking nerve,” I texted back with haste.
“I would have told you if you would have asked me anything about my trip,” he shot back. “You took no interest in it.”
My parents brought Dane and I to South Dakota when we were 13, in a Jeep with no air conditioner, and we were so bored we came home a day early and my mom cried. "You boys are so ungrateful, she whimpered. When I was your age, the only other state I had ever been to was Wisconsin, and that was because our bus driver got lost on our field trip to Red Wing. But we were like, “Oooh, we’re in Wisconsin …"
“I didn’t realize I had to ask for your entire itinerary,” I said.
“I asked you on Sunday if I could hang out with Steve without it being weird and you said yes,” he responded.
“Hang out!” I repeated. “Not go on a road trip for a week when he’s blocked me on everything!” It went on from there and our friendship never recovered. Did I mention our birthdays are one day apart? Two gay Cancers having a beef? I am really bummed about it. I hope they had more fun than my family did.
Yes, dear reader, I again have a new address. And it’s not my St. Anthony estate! Reid found a place right away in Loring Park. Would I finally return to the neighborhood that was my blog’s namesake? Rent is much more than it was in 2012, but it was also the last time Venus was retrograde in Gemini, and it felt like a full-circle moment! But you could also argue that it was going backwards. I also knew that wherever I lived needed to have parking, because one year of struggling in Whittier was enough. By circumstance, luck, and my Uncle Ander very generously printing out documents for me at his house because the printer at Loretta’s had no ink, I was able to obtain a Section 42 apartment in the North Loop. THE NORTH LOOP! I KNOW! It’s still rather surreal. I haven’t lived alone in six years and it has been quite an adjustment. I have already had visitors. Erin came the first day after moving in before she flew to Europe that evening, and it was a bittersweet moment. Steve brought a bottle of wine. Joey and I played Nintendo Wii and listened to “Cardigan”. Reid chastised Comcast on my behalf and I finally got cable a week later (but I lost a piece of my Firestick during the move! Such complaints!). Kennedy, my babygay friend, visited before we went to a brewery, and he wears a chain with his birthday displayed and I try not to take it personally. I wish I liked beer because there are about five breweries per capita in my neighborhood. I don’t get it. Even Ron came to visit with a friend when he was visiting from California. Chuck installed my bidet and should be nominated for sainthood, and then we walked for two miles because we ended up on a bike trail and you have to stay on it for long enough until you return to civilization. I continue to marvel that I have lived in this city for so damn long and still find secrets and gems, even though 12 years ago I was convinced I wasn’t staying. I am even more ancient now. I consider myself to be aimless. I plan on meeting a beautiful douche bag who lives in the fancy building next door, and he will scoff at me when he finds out I live in the short building. And it will be okay because there are a lot of dogs and I need to learn how to be alone anyway. Yet I’ve already had at least ten people visit! I can still be social even though I live by myself and don’t have a cat. Last week I went to two different birthday parties! One was in the suburbs with cute boys from Snapchat who did push-ups on the deck and the other was at a building a block away from me, but I put the wrong address in on the way from the other party! Thankfully, the Uber driver was queer and knew Jared and his friends from sober living, and it felt serendipitous. I jumped in the pool.
