Hello, dear readers! It’s certainly been a while, hasn’t it? I imagined I would just start a brand new blog. Would I call it Loring Park 2.0? Elliott Park? Warehouse District? I write this in my new ninth floor apartment overlooking the North Loop of Minneapolis, where traffic zips by and I feel more Mary Richards-like than ever. There is a “J” above the fridge. Jared stops over every weekend. “Mary!” he cries. “Rhoda!” I cry back and we embrace, discuss the men in our lives, and have nights out on the town.
...Oh, just kidding. Y’know how I moved in with my parents until my tax refund came back? That’s gone. I took out a loan. That’s gone. I can’t have nice things. I’m still with the parents, at 32. Sometimes in order to feel like an adult, I get hotel rooms for the weekend. It doesn’t take a math genius to figure out this is not the way to financial freedom. If only I weren’t such a whore for room service and being called “Mr. Emmert”. I think it’s because I’m always called “ma’am” on the phone, and therefore such a salutation is surprisingly empowering and masculating. The AC Marriott has been my favorite because on the screen it says “Welcome, EMMERT JAKEY” and I can put on YouTube on the big TV and I actually have more fun watching WWE divas and Mariah Carey videos than going out. For a while I forget it’s a hotel and pretend it’s my own apartment, and I am a successful adult with a laptop that works and I didn’t screw everything up and I haven’t been a lovelorn unaccomplished alkie for 10 years.
Sigh.
Anyway, let’s recap my summer not-in-the-city but often-visiting-the-city, shall we?
January was a crazy month, children! A month of good-byes, hellos, public promiscuity, complicated feelings, and new friendships. I am even using an Oxford comma and I usually don't enjoy them. It was that eventful.
***
Our friend Chris, who had a code name on here once but I forget what it was, moved to West Hollywood after leaving his local corporate gig. A festive going-away party was held in Golden Valley. I felt blessed to be around so many people I enjoy, and not just because they had free booze, pizza, and a 24-pack of 5-hour energy drinks. It's like they knew I was coming! I arrived with Joey and Jared. We played flip cup and I was a diva and played with vodka. Among the other guests was Victor, whose boyfriend's sister is marrying my uncle in June (small world!), and Steve. Steve is 21 and flirts with me but he flirts with everybody and I never know how to feel about it. I've decided to stop thinking about it and letting it be.
My good friend Peter visited from Washington D.C. for a week! He treated me to Masu Sushi on my lunch break. We were going to go Dutch but Wells Fargo withdrew money for a loan payment that I thought my mom was making on my behalf and I literally had no dollars to my name. Peter covered the lunch but I felt terrible and ashamed and embarrassed. He is 22! And in college! And works three jobs! Peter always inspires me because he has hustle like no other. I am beginning to wonder if part of the reason I am such a financial/emotional mess is because hustle might be innate. I am a three-time college dropout. I haven't been to the gym since October or an open mike since December. If I ever achieve hustle, it will be because I watched a lot of Oprah on YouTube or got really desperate. I was not born with hustle.
Meanwhile, at The Saloon (of course!), I was at T.J.'s bar pretending that he isn't moving to Taiwan. Perhaps when he does it will finally end the chapter of my bar star career. That is why I cried so much when he told me he was leaving. I couldn't stay Peter Pan forever, and not just because I am getting bald and poochy (fuck you, aging!).
I was talking with Joey and Jared when a tall man built like a former linebacker came up to us. "Uh, sorry," he said. "Are you Jakey Emmert?"
"Who's asking?" I inquired, because I don't know if someone is friends with the broski or if they're friends with Celebrity and want to beat me up.
"Uh ... we're friends on Facebook," he said sheepishly. "I just moved to Minneapolis. I love your blog."
His name was Jonathan. Jared rolled his eyes so hard they almost fell out of his head. I, of course, loved it! Hashtag fauxmas. We had a lovely conversation about his days in North Dakota but then he had to leave because one of his friends was super wasted and it was time for damage control. Been there.
"We don't even have the same taste in men," Jonathan lamented. "But then when he gets drunk he always decides to go forever who I like."
"What does he like? Broskis?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said. "And I like ..."
"Twinks?" I said with evident disdain because I am an insecure bitch.
He corraled his friends and the drunk one apologized for being drunk but I told him he was fine. I've had to deal with Jared passing out in public, for God's sake.
"I gotta go," Jonathan said. "But .... fuck it."
Then he grabbed me and we made out in front of everyone. Danny saw it from his bar (which is behind the kitchen, behind TJ's bar, and there's a window, if that makes any sense to those not familiar with the Saloon layout).
Then a dude who I hear likes the boys young -- like let's get the Feds involved young (allegedly!) -- made out with me, too! I felt flattered and skeevy because I always think I look super old.
"All I can say is Auntie Debby!" Jared wrote on Facebook. Auntie Debby is my alias when I get too drunk. She is recently divorced, hates her job, and has the false confidence and sexual prowess of a much younger and prettier woman.
"Stop making out with everyone!" Danny wrote on my Facebook.
We moseyed over to Danny's bar. I should now point out that it was a full moon this evening, and it was in Cancer.
"How many people are you going to kiss tonight?" Danny asked.
"I might as well make out with a third person and score the hat trick," I said. At this very moment, Steve walked by. I looked at him with lust and he looked at me like I had known he had an upcoming day off and asked if he could help me move into a new apartment that day.
"Ugh," he said. "Fine."
Then I made out with Steve. Surprisingly, I did not get strep or mono from any of this.
I have no idea if I get in, if I will go, or what I will think of myself if I get in or if I do not get in.
Work is ... promising. Like, I might even be perceived as an adult there. I just had my six-year anniversary. Now, if only I could get my ass out of bed and on time. You'd think I would have this down by 28.
***
It was the day before Labor Day when Paul Ryan asked if I wanted to go to his house and cavort with his frat bro friends. While that sounded lovely, I already decided I was going to head to The Slutoon (shocking!). Jared decided he wasn't going out, and Joey reluctantly agreed to ride in the Uber with me provided he got shotgun, and we would Uber to pick up Paul Ryan -- who lives near the University of St. Thomas -- and then head to The Saloon.
Um, y'know how Uber has "peak rates"? I have never paid more than $10 for an Uber, although I have admittedly only taken it as far as Northeast Minneapolis from Loring Park. Apparently, everyone and their dog wanted an Uber to celebrate Labor Day, because it would have cost $100 round trip to pick up Paul Ryan in one and have us be delivered to The Saloon. And let's not get started on the ridiculousness of the fact that I would be paying for the Uber despite the fact that Paul Ryan had just told me how much he made last month and it is more than I make in a year. Stay in school, kids.
Since I hadn't started drinking yet, I decided I would pick up Paul Ryan myself and then the three of us would walk to The Saloon together.
"I can't believe you're doing this," Joey kept saying as I was getting dressed.
"I know," I said. "But think of it as me being Mommy and I am trying to find a good stepdad for you."
It was raining, and I was already wet when I walked up Lasalle Avenue in my usual parking spot (right next to an always-empty commercial parking lot -- so Mona, my tina Toyota Yaris, usually scoots in. I used to park across from there but I got a $35 parking ticket once). I put music on and ventured to St. Paul, where I am sure I made a fool of myself trying to park and nearly causing a three-vehicle crash (seriously, there were at least three different frat boys standing in their yards amidst the commotion).
I walked into Paul's house and lamented that I didn't have an umbrella. "I have one," he said.
"Good," I said. "Now put on your pants. We are leaving."
"Jakey," he grinned. "Don't you want a cocktail first?"
"No," I said. "I am driving. And I'm all wet. Do you have a hoodie I can steal?" I used to do this when I went to Kevin's house all the time. Kleptomania is part of my charm.
"You can have my Cambridge one," Paul Ryan offered.
"Oh, that looks too expensive," I said. Even Kleptomaniacs have morals. "I'll just take this one." I chose a waterproof blue reversible Billabong zip-up hoodie. Paul Ryan chose a Polo button-up, shorts, and Boss suede shoes.
"Suede?" I asked. "It's raining."
"They're already ruined anyway," he laughed. "I don't care. Why aren't you parked in front of the house?"
"Because I got disoriented and I can't parallel park to save my life," I said. "Now walk fast."
"We're walking by my car," Paul Ryan shared. "I have a Toyota Escalade."
"I have a Toyota Yaris," I said. "Her name is Mona."
"Aww," he said. "We both have Toyotas. We have so much in common, Jakey."
Interestingly enough, a Toyota Yaris is compact and frisky while a Toyota Escalade is large and ostentatious. Sometimes, we are what we drive.
We entered the car, and Paul Ryan, as the tallest person to ever ride shotgun with me, looked absolutely cramped.
"I'm sorry," I said. "It's not really a tall-person car."
"You drive like a white person," Paul Ryan said.
"I still haven't finished my college application," I said.
"Finish it, bro," he said. "That place needs people like you. Everyone there is so ... sheltered. You would have a unique perspective."
We drove up to Lasalle Avenue and my spot was taken! Curses! To Clifton it was.
"Paul, I am very bad at parking," I explained. "You have to do what Jared does and look back and tell me if I have room."
"Remember when I fucked you?" he asked.
"Paul!" I cried as I almost hit a construction cone. "Now is not the time."
"Jakey," he laughed. "Your leg is brushing up against mine. You're getting me hard right now."
"Paul Ryan!" I cried as Mona brushed up against the curb. "Focus!"
"I was pretty intoxicated when we had sex," he said.
"Yes, well," I said as I felt my face get hot. "You clearly knew what you were doing."
"Really?" Paul Ryan asked. "Cool." Boys are soooooooo stupid.
We got out of the car and stood across of a house for sale. "Why would you want a house downtown?" he asked. "Especially Minneapolis. I would never want to live here."
"I want that house," I said.
"Of course it's a Corbett Realty property," Paul scoffed.
"I would like a house for my thirtieth birthday," I said as we walked arm-in-arm, prom-style.
"Really? Not like a trip or something?""
"I just think it would be nice to have a house," I said. "That isn't my parents'."
We arrived back at my apartment and pre-gamed. Paul Ryan was incredulous that Jared was not going and cajoled him to join us. By cajole, I mean he told Jared he would pay for his cover, and Jared got dressed in 45 seconds. Paul Ryan passed the time by trying to show me and Joey his nudie pics, but I would have none of it.
On the walk there, Paul Ryan and I shared an umbrella. I always fake date boys who are rather masculine. This makes me feel guilty for a variety of reasons. As a result, every now and then I have an intense need to demonstrate that I can be "the boy" when needed. Therefore, I insisted on holding the umbrella. However, this did not really work because Paul Ryan is seven or eight inches taller than me.
"Jakey," he scoffed. "I'm getting wet."
"Then you hold the umbrella," I said. "God damn."
We arrived and Paul Ryan took back his offer on paying Jared's cover. Jared started walking home in the rain. I got him to come back.
"I want to go shake my thing," Paul Ryan said. He and Jared did so while I mingled and gossiped. Paul went home with a twink and Joey was outraged the next morning.
"What an asshole!" Joey cried. "I can't believe he would do that."
"I wasn't even mad about it," I said.
"Why not?!" Joey cried.
"Because we never made plans for after," I said. "And I have his hoodie."
I still do, by the way. It is comfortable as all hell and I am not giving it back.
***
I went to the State Fair! I would post pictures but I have temporarily de-activated my Facebook. I will explain this later.
It was lovely to spend time with my extended family, even though the bus ride was horrendous. The driver begged me to wait for the next bus, but I said "I'm little" and stood between a group of mean seventh-graders. I hung on for dear life.
***
I had the opportunity to meet Detox at The Saloon a few Thursdays ago. I further recapped it here. She didn't get on stage until 11:40 (doors opened at 10) ,but she was beyond gracious and genuine during her Meet and Greet, and I felt The Saloon had things organized much better than when DWV appeared last April. I gushed about how when she performed with Battle of the Seasons at the Varsity Theater in December, she was the only queen who gave a genuine, heartfelt speech about being there for the fans. I knew at least two people who went to her after party, so she is a friend in my head. Special thank you to Liam for taking the picture of us, because I am an excellent photojournalist and therefore my phone was dead by the time I got to go up in the line.
Also, Christ, I am getting old and fat.
And when I am older and fatter, I will look at that picture and think of myself as gorgeous, because life is like that.
***
I had the most "Jakey"-ish night on a Thursday, when I did stand-up comedy at Nye's Polonaise Lounge! It is a great room that they run on Thursdays, where you are in the basement and it feels like an old-timey club. A really cute boy that I used to work with was there. I went up first, which is always difficult, and the way the light is run there, you can't see for shit when you're onstage, an aspect I have yet to get used to. This was the day after the news of Adrian Peterson allegedly beating his 2-year-old was released.
"I'm going first and there's, like, 17 of us tonight," I told the audience. "And we're all gonna want to be cutting-edge and ahead of everything when it comes to current events. So, I thought of a game. Just drink every time someone makes an Adrian Peterson joke. And hopefully you have a sober cab, because you are going to be flat on your ass. Much like you would be if you were dating an NFL player. That counts. Drink!" I had fun.
I stayed until the show ended, as is the polite thing to do (and it's not like I was in a hurry! Afterward I was going to Honey, which was just across the street). As I mingled, a comedian who I had never seen before came up to me.
"You're awesome," she said.
"I did okay," I said. I need to read Lean In.
"No, I'm serious," she said. "If you work hard, you're going to be a star. Even your voice is funny. And your material is smart."
Well, shmuck.
But isn't that a novel concept? That you will be a success ... if you work hard. I lost that somewhere. I dropped out of school at 21, was still furious with my mother for ruining my life and was still furious with myself for thinking she had ruined it, and I just kinda gave up, but I also thought that I would somehow still become rich and famous.
Huh.
The evening was marred because Joey and Jared were feuding, but I fixed it when we got home. Joey saves his emotions for when he can no longer accept them, and Jared is constantly on a stealth audition for The Bad Girls Club. I suppose this is the best dramatic re-enactment of it all:
The three of us, along with my best friend Erin McCloskey and my reading-to-filth mother, will be going to Miami together at the end of the month. Thoughts and prayers are appreciated.
***
There is a new boy in our group named Steve who just turned 21 and is smooth-skinned and babyfaced and therefore everyone is in love with him. I haven't decided yet, so I just hug him more than is appropriate. I don't think he has it figured out.
We like Owen, too. He works at The Saloon and is kind of a dork trapped in a hot model's body. Some people are just cursed that way.
Cordero brought me too many drinks at The 19 but then Dollface showed up so I spent all night flirting with him like an asshole. And then I didn't even go home with him! I don't know what I am doing.
I did get a parking spot now, so there's that. I pay $75 to a former Marine named Lowell who is approximately 100 years old and as many pounds. He has a tiny flip phone. I love him.
***
Speaking of not knowing what I'm doing, I went from being an MTV alcoholic to an A&E alcoholic. It was time to dial it back, as the kids say.
The kids don't really say that, Jakey.
Shut up! I am hip!
On a Friday, I was supposed to meet everyone at LUSH, but Jared left without me, so I pouted at The 19, and then I took an Uber to Sean's, and I pre-gamed at his place and then met the kids at The Saloon. Paul Ryan was there and could barely stand up. He travels with an entourage, so they walked him out in one piece.
Then Kevin was there.
"Jakey, we need to go home," said Jared. "We work early."
"Go away!" I cried. "It's Kevin!"
In my head I was all
But instead I was probably all
I had not seen him in four months and did not know what I was expecting.
"You should go home," he told me.
"My family doesn't ask about you anymore," he added. "And I lost weight, which I know you cared so much about."
He did look very much like the 'old Kevin' (well, young Kevin, if you know what I mean). I wasn't going to go home with him anyway, but it would have been nice to be asked. And I get why he said what he did, because it is human nature to want to win. I've done the same thing with other people.
But why was he so standoffish with me? I wasn't that drunk and sloppy.
My Facebook at 3:30 AM said I AM SO SAD.
Okay. Maybe I was.
Sunday was an even bigger shitshow!
I met up with Jared and Joey at The Eagle and we received applause by re-enacting the lift during "(I Have Had) The Time Of My Life". My Uber driver was new to the job and did not listen to directions. When I got there, Joey and Jared were talking to Ricky! The nerve! I acted like a wife who had walked into her husband banging the secretary on the desk.
"It wasn't like that," they promised. "He just came up to us."
"Whatever!" I cried. "This is a betrayal!"
I went to order my drink and was even more horrified when the bartender called me Ricky!
"Um, what?" I asked.
"Do you know Ricky?" the bartender said.
"Yes, but I'm not him," I said.
"He spilled his drink," the bartender said.
I get that The Eagle staff is not fond of the twinks and the twink-adjacent, and I was an odd mix of offended and flattered. Ricky and I are both blond, but he is tan and buff and can have his shirt off in public without people averting their eyes. I wasn't sure what to think.
We tried running to The Saloon but we got there at 9:59 and the bouncers claimed it was ten and made us pay cover. The nerve!
Oh, it went from bad to worse, children. Because Sunday is 2-4-1's night. And Sunday is football day. And boys were wearing Vikings jerseys. And one boy was wearing an Adrian Peterson jersey.
I immediately went to Facebook and typed that there was a hot guy in an AP jersey and I wasn't sure how I felt about it. Then I drank some more. Then I went on the patio and told everyone.
"Oh my god!" cried my friend Doug. My friend Doug is, like a biochemist or something that requires 130% of your brain power, so when he parties, he parties hard. "You should spank him!" he cried.
"THAT SOUNDS HILARIOUS!" I cried. In my vodka-soaked stupor, this would be my finest hour. I'd spank him on the ass, he'd be all "What was that for?', I'd be like "You're wearing an AP jersey!" and we would all laugh and be merry.
Short-term effects of alcohol include the risk of injuries, violence and fetal damage.[11] Alcohol has also been linked with lowered inhibitions, though it is unclear to what degree this is chemical versus psychological as studies with placebos can often duplicate the social effects of alcohol at low to moderate doses. Some studies have suggested that intoxicated people have much greater control over their behavior than is generally recognized, though they have a reduced ability to evaluate the consequences of their behavior.
Now imagine you are a young and attractive gay man -- for some of you this may be a stretch -- and you are at The Saloon with a group of your peers. You are there to have a good time. You are not there to get spanked on the ass by an old, intoxicated skinny dude who thinks his assaulting you is hilarious.
Of course, one understands this the next day. When they're sober.
So I spanked the kid. And he did the best and worst thing he could have done, which was not respond to it at all. I walked back to the patio with my proverbial tail between my legs. My joke completely bombed.
A boy who looked like he could be on Teen Wolf came up to me moments later. "Hey," he said calmly. "I just want you to know, next time you feel like spanking my boyfriend again, you're gonna have to go through me first. Fuck off."
It was really the perfect thing a boyfriend could have done. He wasn't all machismo about it -- he never raised his voice or his hand -- but he let the point be clear. Even though I told Facebook that I spanked the kid and he was trying to get me out (and it had 13 likes! In one hour!), I deleted the whole thing when I got home. By protesting what I thought was a perceived acceptance of violence with violence, I had solved nothing, I had likely ruined someone's night, and I had made a complete ass of myself in the process.
The next day I realized that I still had not finished my college application, I still had not launched JakeyEmmert.com despite going to a former high school classmate's house for a gracious offering of Weebly 101, and in general, I was just becoming super obnoxious.
I de-activated my Facebook.
Which is super stupid to do for my "comedy" "career", but that's going about as well as spanking strangers at the bar.
It will be back up when the website is up.
It's strangely freeing not being on Facebook. Now every time my phone dings, I think it's something important. Then I find out that it's spam from Twitter or my friend Chuck telling me he has gas, but still! It's better than compulsively checking Facebook, right? I would post, like, eight things a day. And then You-Know-Who would be "online", with a green dot next to his name, and I would just sit and stare at it but never think of talking to him because I had nothing to say, and then the green dot would disappear, and I would just get sad about the whole thing. STILL.
I should apologize to the dude I hit, but I don't know his name. Maybe it's best to let sleeping dogs lie. Maybe he's not really that mad about it. Maybe he'll throw a drink on me the next time I go to The Saloon. Maybe his boyfriend will bash my skull in. Maybe I'll send them both matching Bridgewater jerseys.
Next week: Will Jakey really get his website done? Will he really stay in during all of October because he wants to look like a human when he goes to Miami?
The day before I officially became a 28-year-old lady, I had a meet-up with some fellow writers of L'Etoile Magazine/LOLOMGBlog.com at Club Jager. I sat by a boy who looked just like Cordero, only if Cordero was heterosexual and sober. It was jarring.
The meet-up itself was enjoyable. People discussed fashion and Broadway and the closing of Cause and the Fringe Festival. Jahna, the L'Etoile editor is 31. Maggie, the LOLOMG editor is 25. Straight Cordero is 21. The girl next to me was 21. She went outside for a little bit because she was going through serious things.
"Wait, how old are you?" someone asked me.
"I'm gonna be 28 tomorrow," I said.
"You don't look it," Maggie said. "I thought you were younger than me."
"No, I'm just really immature," I said.
I don't really feel that old, though. I'm not embarrassed that my age will make me unpopular; I am embarrassed that my age points out how unaccomplished I am. I am seriously debating going back to school, because I don't want to be 30 and working retail. I want to be 30, working retail, and paying back expensive student loans (as was discussed at the meet-up). It's the American dream, isn't it?
***
He called me two days after my birthday only to ask if I was going out (I was closing).
"I'm working nine days in a row because I asked for my birthday weekend off," I said. "Thank you for wishing me happy birthday, though. That was really sweet of you. Oh, wait. You didn't."
He sounded exasperated and I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. "I was going to," he said. "And then I got distracted and ---"
"It's fine," I lied.
"So, how old are you, now? 34? 35?"
"Fuckkk youuuu," I said.
He laughed at his own joke and even though no one could see me, I tried to fight smiling. I always loved his laugh the most. My favorite laugh in the world is Jared's, but his is probably second. It is scratchy and full of gravel and suggests he has been smoking for more years than he has been alive.
"I'm 28."
"28 isn't that old. I'm 26."
"But all my friends are younger than me! Erin is my age and she's married, but I hang out with Joey and Jared the most, and they're 23. Everyone I know that's from high school and Stout is married or engaged and has fancy grown-up jobs."
"That's a good point. I'll bet if you hung out with people older than you, you'd feel like the young one of the group."
"True. But I'm not. I'm the old lady. But hell froze over last week and I actually had sex. At least I'm not going to be the 40-year-old virgin." I had absolutely no reason to tell him that.
He said he would be downtown that weekend. I texted him that Saturday. When he didn't respond, I was only surprised that I was surprised.
On we go.
***
Another day, another MUSCLE GAY POOL PARTY!! The man on the left is Chad Bushman. He was in my Fringe Festival play last year. (I am so nostalgic about the Fringe Festival! I wrote about it for LOLOMGBlog.com. Go look at it) When he read for the part, I immediately thought he was too attractive to do it because I had envisioned his character as more of a frumpy loser. However, he nailed it, and I realized that the fact he was so good-looking would make it even sadder that his character had completely given up on love and going to the bar.
The only other person I knew at the party was Tan Man (minus a brief and random cameo from my friend Jenny!). I mingled with him and his friends, who are all professional dancers. One was gay and one was straight and the gay one introduced his friend as "my straight boyfriend". It is a phrase I have heard a lot this summer, and I find it fascinating. I suppose the closest thing I have to a straight boy-friend is my bro-ish co-worker. To have a straight boyfriend, I think there can be absolutely no sexual tension at all, and he has to be full-on, 100% straight, not 'flirty when I drink a little' straight. I have tried straight-adjacent boyfriends that made me really sad, but that is sooooooo Season 2.
Chad's party was really fun. It was a mix of "circuit gays" and a sense of suburban normalcy. They live in Lakeville, so neighbors with kids were there (Chad and his husband have three teenagers). The moms of the group thought that the straight boyfriend looked like Maxs from Dancing with the Stars. I sat in the hot tub with the impossibly chiseled dancers because I was strangely feeling good about myself. Tan Man and I went to the bathroom together because we are girls, and he spanked me while I was peeing and I got it all over Chad's bathroom. Chad has his own cleaning business, and his home is immaculate. I felt shame, the kind you have when you're walking your dog and she decides to take a crap right in front of the church you attend.
Chad and his husband hired a bartender who had a 12-pack. I enjoyed telling everyone he was my ex-boyfriend.
That night, I came home and Jared's mom stayed with us! We went out to the bar but I got there super late because my stomach was mad at me. Jared got sick at the bar and wouldn't leave the club! It was a stressful disaster. The next day, he was miraculously on time for work while I was an hour late because I was having stress-induced diarrhea.
There was a lot of unnecessary bodily fluid in that story.
Kevin called me that day. We were going to have lunch. He said he would call me on Wednesday to confirm and then he never did. And maybe it's okay. You have to set your own boundaries. He is fixing himself and his life piece by piece, and I tend to cause disorganization.
***
I was excited for the following week because my friend Peter was visiting from Washington, D.C.! We went to Flip Phone, where the theme was appropriately "Thank You For Being a Friend."
There was a shot there called "Blanche's Dream" that was a nightmare. Ugh! I love Flip Phone and I love Honey, but I cannot recommend their specialty shots anymore. Maybe the whole thing was a prank by Sophia.
Also, I have no idea where the shoes I am wearing in that picture are, and that makes me sad.
Later, at The Saloon (this show's version of "Meanwhile, across town..."), one of the cigarettes people asked Peter for a survey and he was livid. They come up to us all the time. Markie asks for our ID's and wins prizes. It's a win-win, especially for Markie, because he won a free trip to Montana courtesy of Marlboro. I wasn't even jealous, because I watched all three episodes of The Real Housewives of New York City when they went to Montana, and you could tell those ladies were all bored.
"This shit just doesn't happen in D.C.," Peter said. "But everything is three times more expensive." He was not feeling The Saloon. He asked the bartender about his Scorpio tattoo and the bartender seemed like he didn't even know what Scorpio meant. Meanwhile, we talked to a cute "straight" guy who was in the Army.
If that wasn't enough, Paul Ryan was there with his boyfriend of the week, who was hot and British. He once told me I was #7 on his sex buddies list, and the British dude must have been #2 or #3. Instead of feeling pouty and insecure, I instead decided I would attempt busting his balls all night. However, Paul Ryan is cavalier and always several steps ahead.
"Jakey," he bellowed. "I got bored today and bought something." Before I could react, he produced a key to a Lexus.
"Kiss me," I demanded. He always texts me on nights I'm closing.
Peter and I went out a few more times during his week in Minneapolis. On the last night, we met a Marine with dimples who laughed at my jokes. I never saw him again and he wouldn't get Peter's information because he had no interest in long-distance romance. It may have all been a dream. I was happy Peter visited. I know how hard it is to not only transfer schools, but to do it cross-country. His hard work and pragmatism inspire me.
I keep running into this boy. By "keep running into" I mean I have met him twice. He is 19 and he is kind of bromo-ish with a slight yet sturdy build and wears a snapback. He told me he was from Kansas and that it's very anti-gay and he seemed very sad about it.
"But I'm from Wichita," he said. "Which is the best city in Kansas."
"It's no Lenexa," I said.
"Jakey, aren't you jealous that I'm so young?" he smiled as he touched his rubber face. "I have so much collagen."
"You're out past curfew," I said. I did not want to make out with him at all.
I felt a strange impulse to photograph these two before we went out one evening. I talk so much game about flirting and drinking and clubbing, but I think I'm really happiest when it's just the three of us chilling out. Maybe that comes with getting older.
It is not always rainbows and butterflies. Some struggles are long over. Some are just beginning. Through it all, we have each other and our laughter.
***
The funny and talented Isaac Witty put together "The 2nd Annual Be Annoying on Facebook Awareness Day". It was on a Monday night and I worked 9-6, so I headed to The Corner Bar right after work. People who knew how to do screencaps had actual examples of what they found annoying, but I am so computer-illiterate that I didn't even do that. I just stood in front of my douche shirtless selfie and talked about the time my dick pic went viral. My friend Kate is on the right and she missed my set but she enjoyed the rest of the show. We drank at the 19 afterward. My bartender TJ was there with a lady friend and looked good. He invited me to Chino Latino but I didn't feel very great. It was a Monday, after all.
Kate, however, was flabbergasted that I declined the invitation. "Boys with glasses are monsters in bed," she informed me. Sean later joined us, we played trivia, and then Sean and Kate went gallivanting while I went home. Kate lost her passport at the 19 (but retrieved it), and I got another freaking parking ticket. Before they left, we met the SEXIEST MAN EVER. Oh my god. He had shoulder length hair which isn't really my thing, but he had big muscles and made eye contact when he talked to you.
"I'm straight," he told me on the patio. "I mean, I've fucked dudes before, but whatever." I never saw him again.
My luck with comedy continued. Daryl Horner (who has been on a bit of a social media hiatus lately) graciously offered me a hosting gig at The Palace and an opening spot for him at The Pourhouse that following Friday for his DVD taping. I LOVE THE POURHOUSE.
I re-arranged my work schedule for the Palace gig and then it got cancelled. However, one of my high school friends was in town, so I was happy having the time off and was excited to hang out with her, even if it meant sacrificing the miracle that was parallel parking right in front of my building. It never happens.
She cancelled our plans while I was in her driveway.
This is why I hang out with gay men in their early twenties all the time. They don't do that shit.
The Pourhouse night was amazing. I bought a new suit from the kids' department at Nordstrom. C2 by Calibrate is my favorite!
It was that rare night when I felt like a "real" comedian, y'know? I mean, even though I was just the host (ess), I had never been to a venue where I was treated so well (part of this, I'm sure, was a testament to Daryl). I got five comped drink tickets and they let me order top-shelf with them. One of my co-workers and her husband came, as well as Sean and Jared, the latter of which I was thrilled about because his laugh is identifiable and infectious.
Needless to say, when Daryl's raucous hour was over, I was plowed. It's a miracle I was able to close the show without slurring or tripping.
We then went back to Sean's majestic apartment, where I drank even more. Sean is like The Pourhouse in that he also treats me like royalty when I visit. We stood on his balcony and listened to Mariah Carey and talked to his neighbors. Then he put on the Dolly Parton version of "I Will Always Love You."
While I was laughing and smiling, I was also crying. Maybe it's because I was mixing 5-hour energy drinks with copious amounts of alcohol.
"I loved him so much," I told Sean as he embraced me.
"I know," said Sean, even though I'm not even sure if he knew who I was talking about.
It was truly one of the best nights of my life, so it's only fitting that the following week proved amazingly difficult.
Anyone who has met me for more than ten seconds will not be surprised to know that I have issues with anxiety.
It's a double-edged sword. On one hand, it's what makes me Jakey, y'know? Especially in comedy. I am described as "high-energy." One of the comedians from the Facebook show even shared this on his own Facebook (which was super nice):
Was asked "is that just a bit or is he always like that" by a guy pointing at Jakey Emmert. I said "bit? No...not a bit. Do what so many boys before you have done...just hang on and enjoy the ride".
But I could be calmer. At work and in stand-up, I get told I talk too fast. My manager has suggested using my high energy for the better, and I found that to be constructive. I am used to being hyper and always being on Level Nine when the rest of the world is at Level Five.
But that Saturday was a different kind of anxiety. It was waking up with my heart rapidly beating on very little sleep. They closed the freeway. Jared and I were super late for work. I was such a nervous wreck that I made Jared drive. Maybe it was because Friday was such a great night that any day after that would seem like a letdown. I was drinking too much and having too much caffeine and not sleeping enough and I just needed to calm down. Tomorrow would be a new day.
The next day I felt the exact same way.
Monday came around and I just -- I could not. I woke up at 8 and work was at noon and I was going to jump out of my own skin and my mind was going a thousand miles a minute and I hated Jared and I hated everyone who was texting me and I hated myself and I hated everyone at the Mall of America and I JUST COULD NOT DO IT.
I called work and was my usual frantic self. "I'm sick!!" I cried. "I mean, I am, but I'm not!! I'm not peeing or puking but I just -- I can't!! I don't need the whole day off!! I just ... AAAGGGHHHH!"
"We'll be fine," my very calm co-worker told me. "We'll plan on seeing you at four."
Chuck took me to Dairy Queen. He is a nurse so we discussed anxiety. I went to work at five like a dedicated employee, and then Jared, my mom and I went to see a production in the Fringe Festival that my friend Robin was in. And things got a little better. I am trying to have less caffeine and I am trying to exercise more and be more aware of my emotions and control over them.
I made a CD mix with the Rainbow Interlude at the end. I listened to it over and over.
"Petals" is such a sad song. God damn. I didn't realize that she often performed the "Interlude" right after. Rainbow is a very good album from beginning-to-end. People don't really make albums with that in mind anymore. It initially wasn't my favorite, but it's grown on me.
I know there is a rainbow For me to follow To get beyond my sorrow Thunder precedes the sunlight So I'll be all right If I can find that Rainbow's end
I will be all right If I can find that Rainbow's end
Am I really going back to school? What if I don't get in? What if it's too hard? What if they make me take a math class? What if the 18-year-old boys are mean to me and think I'm creepy? What am I even doing? Should I just try to write a book? But what kind of book would it be? What if I lose my job? What if I stay at my job forever while my friends all get promoted and move to California? What if I lose all my hair? Will I be in debt my entire life? What is going to happen when my parents get old? Like, old old? Where will I be when I'm 30? How did my life become like this? Why did I live on the computer from ages 21 to 25 when I should have been out there living? Why can't I ever be on time for anything?
I will be all right If I can find that Rainbow's end
There are bugs in my room.
Next week: We say good-bye to summer! What will fall bring?
I survived Pride Weekend and it is a goddamned miracle.
bricesander.tumblr.com
I am a JOURNALIST now! I ventured to The Eagle on the Friday the week before Pride Weekend where Log Jamz was presenting the Forest Disco. While I was able to preview it for the "What's What" section of L'Etoile Magazine, I was hoping to write a substantial article about it for LOLOMG.Blog's "LOL/OMG On the Town!" feature. Unfortunately, journalism is all about being on time and they want things to be written 24-48 hours after an event has happened, not, like, three weeks later. This is probably what they teach you in journalism school.
So, I'll just write about it here instead.
I am never quite sure of myself when I go to The Eagle, but I've become kind of tight with DJ Fancy Restaurant in a social way (I even got on the list once!), and I was going with my best friend Erin. There were $4 specialty drinks if you wearing flannel or no shirt at all, but they were all rum-based. I was briefly worried that Erin would take her shirt off for the sake off feminism, but she was driving. She also pulled a Jakey Emmert and left her debit card at the restaurant she was at previously, and this was after we drove around downtown Minneapolis forever to find the drive-up Wells Fargo ATM because she didn't want to get out of the car.
It's probably why we're best friends.
Anyway, the event wasn't very crowded, probably because a lot of people hibernate before Pride, and I couldn't find anyone to interview! Celebrity was there and sat directly across from us, so of course I diverted eye contact like we were in eighth grade.
What would I say, anyway? "Your Twitter was soooo interesting today!" The moment has to be organic. And it has not been organic when I have stood next to him at the bar, or when he has stood behind me or next to me on the dance floor, or when he liked my comment on Facebook under his personal account, or that time we were stuck in an elevator together at the Hyatt. That last one never happened, but it is definitely in the realm of possibility. Also, my goal is not to bang him because if this is She's The Man, he is Channing Tatum and I am Eunice. I just want to get my picture with him and borrow one of his hoodies and never give it back.
I was getting nervous! What if I had no story? Here are my notes from that evening:
Oh! The one valid thing about this whole story is that I spoke with Joe Thorson, who is the captain of the Minneapolis Mayhem Rugby team. I was trying to bust his balls about how I wasn't being recruited for rugby. In my mind, I was being hilarious, because I have the same height and weight as I did in ninth grade. Joe rightfully took me to school.
"We're not about recruiting people," Joe told me. "We are about empowering gay men -- or all men, really -- to do things that they felt they could never do." He educated me on why so many athletes are closeted, and conversely, why openly gay men feel sports was something they could never do. An acquaintance of mine told me that the rugby team was the first time he had ever felt accepted in his life, and I believed him. We also met a very nice heterosexual ... half-back? Half-kicker. Sidekicker. God dammit. I am a horrible fake journalist.
Erin had to turn in early, so I texted my friend Sean, since we usually go to Jetset together and Jetset is closer to The Eagle than The Saloon. Erin dropped me off at his apartment and we ventured to Jetset.
Several people from my high school got married that weekend -- including one of my dearest friends from that time who I haven't seen or spoken to in years. I'm sad about it, but not in an angry way. . The last time we hung out -- six years ago -- I had just moved back home after completely fucking up my New York college experiment, and I was bitching about how when I was in high school, my mom would hide the PlayStation controllers without telling us why, and I could literally hear her mentally check out at that point. And why wouldn't she? She was a college senior with her shit together and a bright future, and I was a Peter Pan manchild who had squandered my ticket to success and freedom. I am five years older than my closest gay friends, and I don't find that to be coincidental. People grow up at different times. Every now and then she'll heart one of my pictures on Instagram, and even that's more than I have a right to ask for.
I bring this random nostalgia up because one of the other St. Anthony weddings was there, and it was a random high school reunion! At Jetset! Who knew? I ran into Under Armour, who is good with names. Sean bought me a few drinks. It is an unspoken social contract we have. He is a bit older than me and has a job that reflects that. I am a social butterfly and my disposition reflects that. Therefore, he buys the drinks, and I help him mingle. It's not like I'm hot shit or an expert at sex or dating (I still have cobwebs back there if we're talking about that). I'm just helpful with being outgoing. Sean was in a long-term relationship for, like, eternity. It didn't work out. When that happens, you have to reset everything. You have to learn how to flirt and date all over again, and the older you get, the more difficult it is. For example, tonight's lesson happened when Sean was trying to put an after-bar together ("after-bar" is when you have a nightcap in someone's apartment).
"Do you want to come over after?" implies sex, so I was trying to get him to say, "I'm having an a-bar/after-bar if you're interested", which implies things are platonic and in a group setting. I also cringed when he told his neighbor that he recognized him from Grindr. Yes, Sean lives in a building that is practically entirely populated by young gay professionals, but you can't just say that. "I know you from Grindr" is the new "Karen, you can't just ask people why they're white."
Anyway, I had about three drinks at The Eagle, and then two at Jetset, and Miles was there and I was trying to resemble a grown-up and talk to him about his new business venture because this was Jetset, and then Celebrity was there but I'm pretty sure he changed clothes in between, and I was on my fourth drink when I made it back to the patio to talk to a kid from high school who has recently come out. And good for him! We discussed the clubs. And otters. And how he never came out because he played football, which reminded me of the conversation I had with the rugby team captain, in earlier moments of sobriety. And how the groom's mom saved my cell phone after the high school graduation party and I wrote her a card in gratitude. And how I had one hook-up in high school and people still talk about it, because this is fucking St. Anthony.
"You never hooked up with anybody else?" he asked.
"No," I said. "I liked a lot of people."
He said a name that I forget. He said a second name. Then I slapped him, because feelings are dumb.
We're going to talk about The Real Housewives of New York City for a little bit, and I promise this will all make sense.
First of all, I am the only one watching this season and that makes me sad, because Carole Radziwill is my life. She is everything that I would want to be if I was on a reality show: Self-aware, open, understanding of the genre that she is in, and blogging the hell out of it the day after it airs. But I cannot be Carole. Because, since I am delusional, financially destitute, and lacking a strong moral compass, I am Sonja Morgan.
Let me explain.
In this episode, Kristen goes to Sonja's dilapidated townhouse to get a facial on the balcony (is there anything more lovely than a facial on a balcony? I love summer). Sonja wasn't even there because she was at a dude's house the night before, so Kristen starts without her. The facialist says a bunch of gossip about people that may or may not be true. Sonja gets there, and the facialist says that she heard that someone ran into Sonja in Los Angeles and she was at a bar flirting with Carole's ex (but then-current) boyfriend, Russ.
Kristen is all "OMG! He slept with you?!" and Sonja is coy. She smiles. She doesn't say yes, but she doesn't say no. She likes the attention. It makes her feel desired. It makes her feel it helps her socially. She has no regard for the feelings of Carole or Russ. A rumor is a rumor. People talk. Whatever.
We will get back to this when I go over the recovery party at Lawrence's, but it applies here, too, and yes, I am being obtuse and cryptic on purpose.
When you don't squash a rumor -- or even an assumption -- down on purpose, because you are enjoying the high that it gives you, without regard to the other people who are being talked about, you are being the Sonja Morgan. You are not being the Carole Radziwill (who has a Peabody, and an Emmy, and has been on Oprah). You might not think this will matter, because surely it won't get back to the person being talked about, and definitely not back to you.
But it will. Because you can take the boy out of St. Anthony, but not the St. Anthony out of the boy. Or something like that.
And that person whose feelings you put aside for your own five seconds of an ego boost will call you every name in the book. That person will call you out on the fact that you, with the low self-esteem and insecurity complex, you got a high and a power trip off of a fire that came from a match that you didn't necessarily light yourself, but when the flames got high you sure as hell fanned them instead of pouring water on them. That person might even say you're a psycho and a sociopath, and your feelings are hurt not because that's a mean thing to say but because Holy shit, that's not exactly wrong.
Live life like you're on a reality show. Don't let them give you a bad edit.
On we go.
Oh, I could talk about the fact that Sean and I ended up bringing a boy and a girl home and the girl passed out on the kitchen floor while me and the dude made out on the couch and his tongue was pierced, but to say that after I was just proselytizing and trying to redeem myself for bad behavior would feel dirty, and not in the fun way. So let's not.
I will say that Sean randomly gave me five of his size medium Abercrombie & Fitch shirts, tea tree oil, and cab money. Going to Sean's apartment is like Christmas.
It has been raining so much this month! Rumor has it that it'll rain all through Pride weekend, which will make all the religious people feel validated. One morning I was walking the two blocks to my car and I got so wet that I had to buy new pants when I went to work. They were red cords for only $7 because I got them from the boys' department.
I moved in with Jared. I haven't had a roommate since the year I moved out of the dude house and lived with my uncle Ander. I was probably very spoiled living with Ander, because Ander was a dream roommate. He's a Virgo, so he cleaned all the time and only pestered me about taking out my own garbage. He traveled a lot for work, never deleted my shows on the DVR until after I had watched them, and we had a two-bathroom. The only drawback of living there was that we were in St. Anthony, and I didn't become a bar star until my Loring Park days. However, I could no longer afford a studio in Loring Park (the rise of luxury buildings meaning the rent for the poor folks is going way up, too), so a two-bedroom was a salient option.
I joke that we are married. We have already gotten in fights at Target. He is organized. I am more financially responsible (which is faint, faint praise). We know each other's bowel movements. He has Netflix.
I think it will be okay and I just have to find a cute boy to teach me how to parallel park. I have had many friends offer to teach me, but I am 13 years old and therefore I want it to be a cute boy. Y'know how I never got my driver's license when I was 23? When I was 23, my mom hired a hunky driving instructor named Dan Ryan, but I never learned anything because I was too busy looking at Dan Ryan the whole time.
I am currently parked on Oak Grove Street and it is Pride weekend so I cannot go anywhere until Monday morning.
***
Writing for LOLOMGBlog.com has been such an unexpected blessing. My editors have been so patient with me as I know as much about WordPress as I do about arithmetic (a typical e-mail: "Great article, Jakey! But the pictures need to be this many pixels and that many pixels and you have to cut and paste this and click this button and then click that button and spin around three times"). The really fun thing is that I can suggest things to write about if I'm already going to them, so I jumped at the chance to write about seeing Kathy Griffin at Mystic Lake Casino.
She was nothing short of amazing. She went for two hours. Meanwhile, I did five minutes at House of Comedy on Tuesday and they weren't even all that good.
***
There are still shenanigans at The Saloon, a place I should have been avoiding before Pride. First of all, I left my phone there, and when I came back it was dead, and they wouldn't release it to me until I could prove it was mine, so Joey and Jared had to bring my charger over there while I was still getting ready. My mature self appreciated their integrity and security, but my immature self was like, God DAMN, Saloon! I could buy a house with all the money I have spent here.
I ran into Cordero out of nowhere one night. "It's good to see you, shrimp," he said, and he ate my face. I didn't want to be that slutty person making out at the bar, and I also know that I have about two good years' left of fuckability, tops.
The problem with nightlife -- and I don't know if it's unique to gay bars or not -- is that alcohol brings out the douchiness in people. My father always told me that when somebody tells you something and they are intoxicated, believe them. Unless you are talking to me, because I am never one to gossip or tell tales out of school.
Jared and I were preparing to leave one night, and Chuck was going to drive us home (Chuck often does so, and I don't thank him enough). Someone -- who wasn't necessarily thin or ripped -- called Jared fat. Jared popped off, to the point that I thought he was going to get arrested. "Okay, we're done," I said, and I speed-walked across the street, thinking he was going to be behind me.
He wasn't, so I turned around to go get him. And then he thought, in his 2:45 A.M. wisdom, to go back to the guy and start shit.
Children, I WENT CRAZY. While Jared later told me he wasn't going to punch the guy, I had no way of knowing that. "WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?!" I cried, and I ripped my shirt off, in hopes that my horrendously pale skin would ware off any other offenders. It's hard out here for a Cancerian when people don't listen to him.
A week later, we were on the patio when a drunk man came up to us. I have met him before and he seemed very sad. On this evening, he seemed just to be mean and kept telling me that my skin was oily.
I wasn't even mad. "My Norwegian skin is not oily," I said. "It's dry and pale. You need to learn how to read."
"Um, I have a Ph.D," he slurred. "What did you get your degree in?"
"I don't have one," I said (which is a whole different blog entry). "I don't mean that kind of reading."
It didn't even upset me because there's so much that he could have read me for -- my thinning hair (hi, Ricky), my paleness, my anorexic yet hoggish body, et cetera et cetera. It made me sad, really. If you're going to be a mean drunk, stay home or drink club soda.
He used to work for WCCO for two seconds so he thought he was hot shit. Meanwhile, my favorite tall weatherman Jerrid Sebesta of KARE 11 is leaving town! He read my Tweet on the air once. When the wind blows, I will hear his name.
Leave the memories alone, Jerrid.
***
Jared and I went to The Saloon on the Wednesday that Cher was in town and pretended we had gone to the concert. I ran into Football Guy! Football Guy lives here now. He is my Minneapolis version of a celebrity crush because I had a big crush on him first, but now everybody does. I cannot blame anyone who has two eyes and a heart, to paraphrase Jack Donaghy.
"Football Guy!" I cried. "I'm not wearing make-up and I wish I would have gone to Cher but I didn't and ----"
Football Guy cut me off by imitating a loud siren and I couldn't tell if I was offended or turned on. It was the only interaction I had with him that evening, because he spent most of the night with a douchey sidekick who spent the whole time bragging about how many Instagram followers he had. I can not.
Celebrity was there and everyone was looking and I felt awkward and then O-Town's "Liquid Dreams" came on and I started screaming because I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU, ASHLEY PARKER ANGEL.
I lied to T.J. and told him that Football Guy was my boyfriend.
"Really?!" T.J. asked.
"No," I pouted.
"He's huge," T.J. said. "He would crush you."
"That's kind of the point," I said.
T.J. and I were going to go to the movies but he keeps going out of town for weddings.
"How many weddings has he gone to?" Jared asked.
"He comes from a big family," I said.
"He's from Wisconsin," said Jared. "I'm sure there's nothing to do but hump!"
I may have put this joke in last week. I don't care. I like it that much.
***
***
I was on Facebook and found out from Kevin's mom via a Jesus meme she posted that Kevin has gone to Florida.
Florida is a euphemism now, because not even I am that much of an asshole.
Feelings are dumb.
***
Erin has a pool at her lovely St. Paul apartment. I took this picture because I thought that wearing swim trunks would mean I had a swimmer's body.
I also took it as this weird self-esteem thing. I put it in black & white because nobody needs to see all my ingrown hairs that look like chicken pox. Not even the Lord.
But I did it to tell myself that it is okay that I did not buy an elliptical or eat nothing but pomegranates or excessively do an ab challenge (like I was supposed to! Ugh!). This is how I look. It's probably how I am always going to look. If I am alive in ten years, I might look back at this picture the same way that I look at pictures of myself when I was 17, shaking my head and thinking, "What the hell did you think was wrong with you? You looked just fine! Now you're disgusting, but back then you were hot shit!"
Also, no one is going to be interested in me for my looks anyway. I'm the goofy one. I'm not the sexy one.
Previously on Loring Park: Jakey didn't exactly have a Valentine, but had good company nonetheless.
On a Tuesday night, I got to do five minutes of jokes at House of Comedy! I mainly talked about my cousin's wedding in San Diego. Jared and Charlie came to see me, and so did T.J., my bartender/therapist! He was with his friend Prince Eric. Halfway through the show, Kevin texted me asking if I could go to The Saloon to get the credit card that he forgot on Sunday (he was going to Vegas the next day). I asked T.J. about it and he said Kevin would have to go to the bar himself with his ID (which is par for the course, and I've forgotten to close my tab an embarrassing amount of times). I called Kevin in the bathroom and he was frustrated.
I was excited to see all the boys and I felt bad that I didn't know T.J. was coming, because I could have comped his ticket! I knew who Prince Eric was.
"I've met you at the bar," said Prince Eric. "I've met you before," I smiled. (I came over to Kevin's for the first time and Prince Eric showed up and asked if I was sleeping on the couch. This was two years ago)
Jared and I went to The Saloon later because it was karaoke! Tuesdays are kind of a sparse crowd. There was a boy who I follow on Instagram. He is from Dallas and moved here and posts pictures of himself working out with his shirt off. I thought he was cute. I was going to say hi to him, but the moment never presented itself, and I believe the moment has to be organic.
Before singing, I stopped at the office just to see if they had Kevin's credit card. They did, but they (understandably!) wouldn't give it to me. I wasn't mad because I got to talk to Eddie who is the cutest bouncer there.
Kevin called and was livid. "Kevin, they're not going to give me your credit card," I said. "I could have your name tattooed on my ass and they would keep it."
He was exasparated. "Wha -- I-- okay," he said. "I love you. I have to go. Bye."
It was nice of him to say that. I don't know. Prince Eric was super nice and cordial, and yet seeing him reminded me that the first time I had gone to this boy's apartment, he invited someone else over. And yes, that was almost two years ago and you would think I would be over something like that. And I am. But seeing Prince Eric made me realize that while Kevin and I will always be friends and I will always have positive feelings about him, I could never feel secure in a relationship with him. If he dated another medical student/stripper now, I really would be okay with it.
Except then I get drunk and tell people I am going to marry him. Whatever.
Jared and I sang Lauryn Hill's (Doo Wop) That Thing and wowed the crowd. We changed the words so they were gayer.
Jocks, you know you better watch out Some twinks, some twinks are only about That thing That thing That thing
***
A week later, WWE Elimination Chamber was in town and Dollface Killer had great seats! I wanted to hear about it, but first Jared and I went to The Saloon, and by the time I got to Dollface's apartment, it was 4 in the morning! He lives down the street.
I must have been really drunk because I instantly asked for water. We watched 2001 Survivor Series, but I only wanted to watch the Trish Stratus match. I didn't even physically react when he took his shirt off.
The next morning, he texted me and told me I was a "fucking alci" [sic]. I was so sad about this that I went day drinking at brunch with Jared and Joey at Brit's Pub and then I went drinking again with Erin at The Pourhouse! Mondays are supposed to be my nights to go to ACME Comedy Club and make my dreams come true!
It was an embarrassing situation. On some levels, I was upset at Dollface. You're gonna call me an alcoholic when every time you've seen me is at the bar and every time you text me is after 2 A.M.?? Yet I am still so damn socially awkward that I have yet to understand that when a dude invites you over at 4 AM, he doesn't want to watch wrestling as much as he wants to, um, wrestle. Also, I talk a big game about how hot Dollface Killer is, and maybe it was karma biting me back. He is so attractive and chiseled that I forgot to realize that he is also capable of having feelings and emotions.
***
Speaking of emotions, Paul Ryan never talked to me again after he got me naked. I shouldn't have been surprised by it. If I were a woman dating straight men, and a man chased me for two months and then we finally got naked and I didn't let him stick it in, I wouldn't expect to hear from that guy, either.
Nevertheless, I saw him at The Saloon that Saturday and it was sooooo awkward.
"Hello, Jakey," he said, in the way that you say hi to your aunt at a Christmas party.
"PAUL RYAN!" I cried. I tried to kiss him, but it was odd because a) he did not recipocrate and b) he is 6'4".
I would have been sad about this, but immediately in the distance near the dance floor was GAY OPRAH! I had seen him at The Saloon a few months prior but didn't know if he would know who I was. This time, he was quite outgoing.
"Hello, Jakey," he sang.
"Hi!" I cried. I really thought it would end there, because he knows everybody. But instead he even introduced me to his friends!
"This is Jakey," he went on. "And he wrote a fantastic play that was all about the Minneapolis gay scene." This meant a lot to me because, of all the five performances we had, Oprah had seen by far the worst one (our second performance, on the Sunday afternoon).
"Thank you, Oprah," I said. "That is very sweet."
"You know, I tried to be an actor when I was a kid," he said. "I even had head shots and everything! And I went to an acting teacher and she said that I 'needed to find a different creative outlet'."
"That is so sad!" I cried. "I think you're doing okay with the creative outlet thing."
It was a lovely moment, and I was truly grateful for it. My ego and self-esteem levels were at optimal levels.
So it is only natural that a week later, they both came crashing to a halt.
It is so ironic that before I left the house that night, I even Facebooked a favorite Margaret Cho quote of mine.
So from the age of 10, I became anorexic, and then bulimic, and then
stayed that way for about 20 years, until one day I just said, "Hey,
what if this is it? What if this is just what I look like and nothing I
do changes that? So how much time would I save if I stopped taking that
extra second every time I look in the mirror to call myself a big fat
fuck? How much time would I save if I just let myself walk by a
plate-glass window without sucking in my gut and throwing back my
shoulders? How much time would I save?" And it turns out I save about 97
minutes a week. I can take a pottery class.
I strolled in with Jared, and we soon reunited with Joey at Danny's bar. The boy from Dallas was there, and he made a comment about Joey's facial hair. I laughed because I thought he and Joey knew each other really well.
"No, I don't really know him," Joey said. "I mean, I know who he is."
"Oh, that's kinda weird," I said. I continued to enjoy the evening. It was crowded, I knew a lot of people, and I was feeling good about myself.
Jared caught me at T.J.'s bar. "You'll thank me for this," he said. "There's someone who I want you to talk to."
I followed him and ran into Chuck, who I haven't spoken to since the New Year's Eve debacle. It wasn't horribly awkward because we were both honest with each other, a surprisingly brazen concept.
"You told me to stop talking to you, so I did," I said.
"I still enjoy you, I just don't think I can be very close with you anymore," he said. We got along fine after that.
We found ourselves back at T.J.'s bar, where I felt an inexplicable need to order a shot. But I am a pussy about shots and always sip them. Dallas and his friends were next to me.
"Oh, I know who you are," I said. "I follow you on Instagram." I saw him on Grindr and he linked to his Instragram profile and I thought Why the hell not? Eye candy is eye candy.
"You follow me on Instagram?" he asked me in the same tone of voice you would use to a three-year-old who told you she went poopie in the potty. "That's so cute. Shoot your drink!"
"I have to sip it!" I cried. "I always have to think of something to drink to."
"You should drink to hair growth," he said.
This is the part in which I tell you that I delivered an amazing and witty diatribe that shut him and his friends down and led to applause from the rest of the bar.
But I said nothing. I suppose I can best compare it to when Donny Osmond went on The Rosie O'Donnell Show and called her fat.
Okay, the above clip is actually of him apologizing (and Marie came out! And they made him sing "Puppy Love" in a dog suit! Hilarity!)
I couldn't find an adequate quote about the incident (but I did find her speaking about it in something called Radiance magazine), so I'll have to summarize it from the first-season retrospective DVD that QVC did for The Rosie O'Donnell Show that I totally bought (and they only did the one season! Boo!).
If you see a clip of the incident, there's a transition on Rosie's face in which her disbelief turns to despair, and that's what I was going through. I was so blindsided by this random stranger insulting me that by the time I was able to process it, he was off to presumably insult other people. T.J. told me that I handled it well and that he was surprised I didn't start screaming. I only start screaming when Wesley is involved.
And it's not like I'm a 100% legitimate professional comedian, but I'd like to think I know a thing or two about comedy. A balding joke is like a fat joke. It's the lowest common denominator. Hell, just last year in this blog I wrote about making an appointment at Hair Club for Men. I have long been aware that my hair is receding and thinning and is the only thing that gives away my age. Wesley would always make fun of my thinning hair, and then I would slap him like I was Stephanie McMahon, and that was fine. When you tell someone they are balding, or fat, or ugly, or a "faggot", or anything of that nature -- you are not telling them something that they themselves don't already know. It's not clever. It's not witty. It's you, as a basic and rancid person, watching RuPaul's Drag Race and having the misunderstanding that "mean = funny". No, it is not. Reading is fundamental because reading is an art form.
I wish I would have said that.
Instead, drunk me at 4 A.M. tagged Dallas in a post and wrote about the entire incident. I did not call him names and did not make personal attacks. I even made a joke, saying I would be sure to wear my best toupee the next time I see him. Chuck drove Jared and I to my apartment and I kissed Chuck a lot, and I texted Wesley at 3:30 A.M. because for a moment in time we were briefly stuck in the parking garage and in my drunken wisdom I thought he would the best person to know what to do.
I had to work the next day, which was a Saturday at Mall of America. Death was not an option.
By mid-afternoon, people had been writing on my post. Quinn defended me, which was really awesome. Dallas responded with his own diatribe. A girlfriend of his wrote twice that I should take the post down. I did that afternoon, because hung over me realized that I am too damn old to be doing such things, and people were fighting about grammar, which was ridiculous and a distraction. Also, Dallas has very good use of syntax and grammar. I am not above giving props where they are due.
It was March 1st, and I decided that for the next 15 days, I WOULD BE SOBER. Seriously, in the past 24 hours, I had done the trifecta of what not to do when drinking:
*Drunk Facebook someone you don't know
*Drunk text the one person you should not be texting, especially at 3:30 in the morning *Drunk kiss someone you're gonna feel weird about the next day
I met up with my parents, Erin and Robbie at bingo and told them this shocking revelation. I stayed at my parents' house that night. Dallas's friend wrote me a very sweet Facebook message at 5:30 AM, again profusely apologizing for her friend. It was nice and she didn't have to do it, and I wanted to respond as such.
Still, doesn't it say something when you're the asshole and you apologize 0 times and your friend apologizes 3 times?
***
Boosting my spirits was my 11th Annual Oscar Party! It was held at my parents' house because not only do I not have television but I have a teeny tiny studio apartment (that I can't afford. Shut up.)
Not pictured are my parents and grandparents. My dad won, with 21 of 24! Rude! Joey got 2nd place for the second year in a row. I got 4th with 18, which wasn't bad. The great thing is that all of my friends were supportive of my not drinking, and I didn't even feel tempted to reach for vodka at any point. I will say that when Chris Hemsworth came out, I had to donate about $10 to the swear jar.
I'll end the spoilers and say that my 15 days went 7 days. It was nothing super dramatic. Joey, Jared and I were at the 19 and Joey and Jared clapped "Relapse! Relapse! Relapse!" But I had learned a lot. First of all, socially drinking (one or two) is different than binge-drinking. And I realized that I stay up until 3 or 4 A.M. anyway, booze or no booze (and by no means am I implying that such a thing is healthy). I was going to the bars so much because I was lonely and need people to engage and inspire me, and a bar is the only place you'll really find that if you're so much of a night owl. It was important for me to find other nocturnal outlets.
I would have drank at the 19 because Chuck was there with Brent and another friend. Brent is ridiculously handsome and I can't stand it.
"You and Brent have something in common," Chuck chuckled (pun!), referencing Dollface.
"Stopppp," I said. "Dollface is mad at me! I feel bad!"
At the end of the night, Brent was ready to vamoose. "Jakey," he impossibly smiled. "I can't be your broski. I'm only half a broski. You need a full one."
I'm still not sure what that means and that is absolutely okay.
***
I was off the Sunday before St. Patty's, so I was happy to celebrate my Irish heritage.
I am like, 10% Irish. Good enough! The night before I was able to reunite with Julie and her boyfriend, and he graciously bought me a drink. T.J. was on vacation in California, so I had to flirt with an entirely different bartender.
I met a gay broski but I don't think he was from town. I flirted and mingled. I yelled at Liam and Joey. It had been over a year since I had done a Sunday Funday, but it sounds like I did it right.
Coming up, I am doing my first ever half hour comedy special! It is Sunday, April 6th at 12 PM. I'm trying to make it a brunch theme! Details are at www.dielaughingmarathon.com
Also, I have another sexy sexy sinus infection because I get sick every time the weather changes. I would move to Arizona if they weren't so weird about gay people.
Next week: Decisions about summertime! Will Jakey stay in Loring Park? Will Jared ever stop snoring?
