2021: My Year of Owning It (Part 1)

I may possibly edit this with visually appealing pictures, or do an addendum with more details. However, Dear Reader, I really wanted to get this out there before midnight, and nothing motivates me like a deadline. I also want to go to the pool and hot tub because I booked myself a room at The Westin, which is my happy place. I cannot afford to do such an impulsive thing. That is the first thing I will own

I had to re-learn a lot of lessons this year. My most important one is that my life is not a Real Housewives show, that individual friendships matter more than the group, or who is the queen bee of the group, or who likes who better in the group. But maybe it's the nature of gay men that we do this. In any case, I went from being a Season 7 Dorinda Medley to a Season 11 Dorinda Medley, and it was truly sad. Lisa Rinna, on another housewives show, always talks about "owning it". So with this, I can only hope to begin owning it.

I went on a medical leave for the month of March, in a way to save my job as my attendance was dismal. I planned to be lucrative and healthy that month. Then I wouldn't get paid for it, and not knowing where your money is coming from is not very good for your mental health. And thus, I pretended to live like nothing was wrong, even though I technically didn't have a job (other than freelance delivery driving for UberEATS).

Because of COVID-19, my dear friend Erin couldn't go back to London right away, and it was a lovely benefit to have here as long as we did. She, Jared, Jayden and I playing Mystery Date was a highlight of the year. Erin, Jared, and I went out to eat at The Loop, which was known to be a "hotspot". I stress that this was at the end of March, and I had a vaccine booked at a pharmacy that I knew would be on the way to Treasure Island Casino. Speaking of casinos, my mother drove my father to one three hours away to get his vaccine, and I declined her offer.

The weekend before I was going to return to work, my friend Elijah was planning a surprise birthday party for our friend Duke. I am going to let you know how complicated this group was by the number of names I will drop.

The party was at Robin's house. I was going to go with Jayden, even though at the last minute we both expressed feelings of uneasiness. Jayden was sort of on the outs with Lee, who he felt acted differently whenever he hung out with Kelly, who played a very exaggerated version of Jayden in a play I wrote once. I didn't share the same perception, although did find it odd that they seemed to only speak in Schitt's Creek quotes as if it was their own language. Also, last time Duke was drunk he had offended my 21-year-old friend baby gay Kennedy, and I wanted Kennedy to condone that I was going to this party before I went. He did, because Kennedy was the youngest but was somehow the most emotionally mature out of all of us. I was excited for the surprise party even though I felt pangs of sadness because the happiest day of my life was when Steve threw me one, and that was a different life. Everything went off without a hitch, Duke was surprised, we sang karaoke, Elijah brought delicious food, and when we played games I got to sit by Robin's hunky fiance, who we somehow kept giving random Canadian surnames.

All was well in my gay corner of the world, and I was excited to go back to work and cherish the opportunity and second chance to be perceived as a functional adult in the world.

And then, well ...

Just as Icarus burned by flying too close to the sun, I thought I was invincible after almost making it to my first vaccine. And I got COVID. So did Jared, because he couldn't smell cologne. I think we got it from The Loop. And then I gave it to half the party, including Duke (happy birthday!), Robin and his fiance (thanks for having us!), and someone else who then spread it to his sister.

Thankfully, none of them experienced major symptoms and were healthy after their quarantine.

As for me, I got it bad. Worse than my bout of Influenza B during that Valentine's Day, or my bout of Influenza A during that St. Patrick's Day. No, this COVID on Easter kicked my ass. Also, what is with it with my health and spring holidays???

I felt so bad for my boss and co-workers, who now had to see my return delayed for another two weeks. I felt so bad for everyone at the party. And I didn't want to feel bad for myself, but I did feel bad for my mother, who essentially saved my life. Because she is a nurse at North Memorial, I got VIP treatment when I visited to get fluids after a week, as I could not keep a damn thing down. It hurt to even swallow. 

During some nights, I thought I would die from it.

I realized during those nights that I didn't care if I did, and it would be easier for my loved ones than if I died by suicide.

I lashed out at my health-conscious friend Casey when he said he wasn't surprised I got it. He was gracious enough to accept my apology, and understand that I was only upset about his comment because I was really sick, and if I wasn't then I might have thought it was funny.

The mental illness and depression never went away. I also learned that I could not drink the way I did anymore, as I could no longer remember names and conversations I had after one or two, and my attitude and demeanor changed me into a mean drunk.

But did I stop, Dear Reader? No. And now we continue to Own It.

I went out after my first vaccination, which was stupid. I ran into Steve. I wasn't used to seeing Steve out in the wild, even though I had plenty of time to get used to it. He was newly single, and bought a house. He is seven years younger than me. Millennials only have something like 12% of the housing market, I read in an incredibly depressing New York Times article about a Brooklyn couple trying to buy a house in Austin. His success should have made me feel nothing but happiness, and instead I felt sad, jealous, and pining for a life I didn't necessarily want.

I tortured that man for years. He started hanging out with Lee a lot, and it felt like Lee stopped inviting me to things. I felt weird about this because I thought Lee and I were rather close, but it had to all have been in my head. Lee wouldn't have stopped hanging out with me because of Steve. That is stupid. How insecure would I be to think that?

A month later, I met up with Reid at The Saloon during Pride Version 1.0 (Minneapolis basically had two Prides, but the second fell on my birthday and the busiest season of work). We said hi to Lee, and then he walked away and moved, and I realized Steve was with him. They both walked away. It was still all in my head, and I wanted to see my friend Seth anyway! Seth was helping me plan my birthday party and used to live with Steve, Emilio, and Emilio's hunky 20-year-old boyfriend Josh, who is a very good singer. I got drunk and tried to kiss Josh once and felt terrible and sent them both a gift card and a note and it was never discussed again. 

I went back into the bar, which was the last thing I should be doing. Kennedy walked up to me full of exuberance. "Hi, Mom!" he cried. (He is my baby gay and calls me Mommy, and this isn't weird at all. You're weird). "Let's hang out soon just me and you. I hope it isn't awkward that I came here with Lee and Steve."

"Oh my god, no, of course not," I lied through gritted teeth. NOW IT WAS AWKWARD. BECAUSE NOW I KNEW.

An hour later, I made an absolute fucking ass of myself on the patio when Steve asked Kennedy if he wanted a ride. He meant back to Lee's where his car was parked, but in my tequila-soaked wisdom, I thought he meant something completely different.

"GO FUCK HIM," I yelled loud enough that people staying at The Hampton Inn could hear. "GO. I DOIN'T CARE. YOU'RE SINGLE AND I DON'T GIVE A SHIT. HAVE A GREAT TIME."

"You're insane," Steve whispered and they both left.

Kennedy texted me the next day and said we needed to talk. I was hung over and working at the outlet store in a different city, so I was already in a mood. "No, we don't," I said. "I'm embarrassed and you don't owe me anything.":

"But I'm your friend and you screamed at me," Kennedy said.

"I'm sorry I did that," I said.

"I wasn't going to sleep with Steve," Kennedy said.

"It's none of my business," I said, and that was the truth.

"But I wouldn't do that to you," Kennedy said, and for the second time this year, I couldn't figure out how my youngest friend was the most direct and emotionally mature out of anyone I knew.

Steve even forgave me and graciously invited me to his post-Pride party, and there wasn't any drama at all until the end, when our perpetually shirtless friend William gave me the business for basically inviting myself, and then I felt really embarrassed and stupid. I was only there to see the dog, anyway.

July: It Gets Worse, And Not Just Because I Turn 35

Kennedy, Piano Man, Jayden and I went to a 4th of July drag brunch on the CRAVE rooftop, where Seth was planning my upcoming birthday party. I hadn't seen Piano Man in person for a while, and he still oozed sex. It was also hot as hell, and I don't know how the hell those drag queens didn't get heatstroke. "I didn't know this was outdoors," I apologetically told everyone as I chugged an entire pitcher of water.

"You're so obviously into him," Kennedy giggled.

"I am only woman," I demurred.

When it was over, Piano Man drove back to Red Wing, where he was staying with his family. Jayden declined a ride home from Kennedy and walked elsewhere. We giggled that he was getting laid. He even turned off his location. "Good for him," I declared, and thanked Kennedy for the ride home as he left to work his managerial shift at Zumie's, because that is what you do when you are a Gen-Z gay. I stopped in once and felt like a grandparent, but I still bought socks that say FUCK IT and I have no shame.

I would see later on Snapchat that Jayden had gone to Lee's to play games. I was not invited. Jayden had earlier expressed dismay that he wasn't invited to things. I did not take this well. I said terrible things in anger. It got so bad that Jayden wasn't even going to go to my birthday party. How eighth grade was this?

Seth planned my birthday party at CRAVE. I got drunk and cancelled it because I was mad. Seth was beyond livid at me. I put the event link back up, and my friends were confused as hell but understanding about it. Jayden and I even reconciled, as Reid was a good Judy and helped explain his possible perspective to me. I think it can be a good thing to have the strong feelings I have, but it is not good to express those feelings in a way that hurts others.

As for my party, Seth did a masterful job of planning it -- then said he was sick and didn't show up! It still went off without a hitch. Jared even showed up first! Reid, Jared, and my parents sat at my table, as did my hunky friend Bryce, who looks like a sexy lumberjack. Steve came with Randall, Chuck and Raymond, and later my friends Denzil and Ashley showed up. My brother bought his own posse, including his nonsexual life partner Art, and they sat with Jayden, who showed up and brought his sister! All was well and I learned the importance of grace and forgiveness. Reid and Jared missed the group photo because they were out smoking. Everyone gave me wonderful gifts. Randall got me a Trish Stratus T-shirt, Chuck and Raymond got me enough Listerine strips and candy to last me at least a month, and my brother gave me a beautiful airbrushed drawing of my beloved tortoise shell cat, Penny Ann. 

But cycles kept repeating themselves, and we finally got to the pinnacle of every Real Housewives season: THE GROUP TRIP! In which I was even worse than Dorinda. I was the Ramona! Which we will get to when I get back from the hotel tonight, because there are three hours left of 2022 and I want go to the hot tub, get decently pretty, get my outfit together, and somehow make it to The Saloon, where I will not scream at anyone or drunk message Steve or wallow in self-pity.

Next episode: The highs and lows of the group trip, Reid's exciting new ventures, and the most devastating loss of all.

Unsent

 I acted like a fool and a jerk in many ways and I believe in owning my shit and that I acted badly and hurtful to you. I am embarrassed and sorry for that. There is no “but this” about my behavior. I screamed at you on your birthday. I said many cruel things in the months before that, things that I had no right to say and things that I had no right to have an opinion about how much they would hurt you even if I was “just mad”. I was 34, not 17.

I can also be beyond hurt that the day you found out my cat was dying and I lost my health insurance, you told me I was toxic and you didn’t want to be my friend anymore after a disagreement that happened over Snapchat, where text is often misconstrued. To be fair, I drunk messaged you *again* and said awful things that are shameful and ridiculous. I do not defend or excuse this abusive behavior. You unfriended me on every social media platform, as is your right.

*Then* you sent me a card, postmarked from Minneapolis when you got back from your recent trip, thanking me for being on your last trip before that. This is *after* you had unfriended me on everything. I can not feasibly contact you in any way to discuss this discrepancy other than in person, which I feel is playing into the narrative of my behavior being erratic. I was confused by it, I was hurt by it, and I will never understand your intention. Did you write it before the fight? Was your roommate supposed to send them out and forgot? Or was it to be one last dig? I stared at that envelope for two days before opening it.

You still show up in my search bar, from “Friend” to “Person”, 481 mutuals be damned. I’m just trying to get my Monopoly Slots coins for the day. 

I am not a victim of anything but my own poor behavior. I am also allowed to feel hurt and confused.

#76: Cliffs Notes

 -I got COVID in April and my brain has never been the same.,

-After the world fully re-opened, Lee started hanging out with Steve and stopped hanging out with me.

-We went to Chicago for Jayden's birthday.

-Jayden and I broke up and I am mourning it worse than I will any other loss of my life.

-I will write all about this in longform when I am ready.

Untitled Episode #75: 3 A.M.

 I will soon write of April 2021 -- and how I lived and almost died. That is dramatic, but the spoiler alert is that I got COVID and so did many of my peers but I am the only one who, to my knowledge, was actually sick. And I was already technically sick before that, because I went on FMLA leave at my job for bipolar disorder. The joy of mental health treatment in America is that I was deemed mentally ill enough to have my job protected for a month, but not mentally ill enough to be compensated for it.

It went well.

I went to The Saloon tonight because I left my coat there on Friday. I was not planning to go The Saloon on Friday, either. I met up with my friend Randall at The Eagle because his friends were taking too long and because I had a bad day at work, I had decided I was going to go to Mystic. Thankfully, I chose a different negative coping skill and met up with Randall instead, where we were reunited with our friend Malcolm, who is an improv and writer genius in the city. There was also a nice man who insisted on buying our drinks and was very nice. I was self-conscious because I was scruffy. However, i wasn't too worried about my appearance because it was The Eagle and The Eagle closes at 11.

I'm going to be at The Saloon in an hour, said my text from Ron.

Ron is my friend who lives in California and looks like an Abercrombie & Fitch bag from 2004. I think of us as good friends, and when we interact one-on-one, I am not particularly nervous. But in a group or club setting I feel weird about it, because he is my friend who can't help it that he is offensively attractive, and I have feelings about feelings. But I didn't even know he was in town!

Randall, our friend Miguel, and the man who insisted on buying our drinks and cover (who was very nice and told me to stop being jittery) went to The Saloon, and Ron didn't get there until 12:15 A.M. and he did not have a shirt on and I jumped in his arms and it was lovely even though an old man next to me quipped "Quit drooling", and I felt self-conscious but also upset. The only reason I know Ron is because of the gig I got at the Gay '90s in which I narrated tacky gay porn in a bar that was attached to the men's bathroom. And the only reason I got that gig, which is one of the rare gigs I have ever had that required a 1099, is because I was ostensibly talented and could draw people to a venue.

This was all supposed to be in a later blog that I actually work on. I am supposed to be talking about 3 A.M.

Because I had gone to The Saloon on Friday, I had lost my coat. It was not expensive or fancy but it was a spring jacket! I did not go The Saloon on Saturday because I had a Truly Citrus at Chuck and Raymond's house and it turns out that stuff causes an allergic reaction, and I was not about to show up at The Saloon after four Zyrtecs and two Benadryls. 

But I went tonight, and I was relieved that tonight was low-key than Friday and Saturday. (Friday was bumpin, and I heard Saturday was even busier! People have been pent-up like crazy!). Nothing eventful happened other than I found my coat, hung out with my friends like Lee and Carl, and my coat was recovered.

Lee lives in a high-rise on Marquette, and Carl lives a block away. We walked to Lee's place and I walked home, which I was fine with because I had just bought $19.97 headphones from Target, which are different than the $200 Airbuds my mother bought me and told me to never leave the apartment while carrying them. I walked by Nicollet and Marquette and saw the clock almost reading 3 A.M. on the dot.

I am overkilling the point, I guess, that I was born at 3 A.M., precisely, on July 15th, when I was supposed to be born on August 23rd. It is the only time I was very early for anything. (BA DA BUM BUM CHING) Also, me?? A Virgo??? I do find it fascinating that as an adult I would be close friends with someone born on August 22, but bygones.

My mother was studying for her nursing boards at The Radisson in St. Paul that night. I had my prom there and she shared that her water broke there. She was "twice as big" as she should have been but said she just couldn't resist Dairy Queen.

Anyway, her water broke at midnight. Her friend Sara rushed her to the hospital and my father raced there. I was born at 3 A.M., on the dot. I thought I knew everything about this story there was to tell, but it was only last year that my mother casually shared, "They grabbed you right away. They wouldn't let me hold you." I will never know what it is to give birth, and I can't imagine the panic she must have felt, delivering a child a month and two weeks early with no explanation.

I was 4 pounds and 6 ounces. The placenta never came out. The doctors whispered to each other. Then, according to the family lore, they looked at my mother and one of them said, "Okay, Mrs. Emmert. We figured it out. There's another baby in there."

And according to my mother, a large nurse pinned her down and screamed "PUSH!" in her face, because I can only assume that giving birth is not something you want to repeat all over again, but she did. My twin brother was born, only three ounces heavier than me, at 3:19 A.M.

My Uncle Mark was living at home when this happened. He says he remembers Grandma Shirley, who was only 49 at the time, answering the phone at 5:30 in the morning. "Twins?" he remembers her responding on the phone call. "Twins????"

She drove from Blaine to Osseo to pick up my Grandma Jeanne, and famously forgot the gas cap at the gas station.

Dane and me with Shirley's mother, Great-Grandma Julia. She lived to be 103 and was very superstitious. To this day, I will not wear socks to bed or open umbrellas indoors.

It is vain of me to speak of my birth as if it was a stupendous event. It's not like my birth was like The Star. 

I am a chronic night owl. Seeing 3 A.M. on a clock, majestically in the heart of downtown, on the heels of another Mother's Day in which I could not afford to buy my mother a nice gift, caused uncomfortable reflection. I could only think of the mother who has been subsidizing much of my life because of my own poor decisions and unwillingness to correct them, the mother whom I resented and blamed for all of my academic failures, the mother who was too overwhelmed with dealing with the imminent death of her untreated mentally ill mother to adequately be the mother her untreated mentally ill son needed at 20 years old, the mother who faced a horrifying situation at 3 A.M. when she was not even a full eight months pregnant and pushed anyway.