Loring Park Episode #65: Garbage Person Dumpster Fire

It took 65 episodes, but I officially became the Vicki Gunvalson of Loring Park. I am not the star of this fake show anymore. I am the maligned villain who thinks she's all that and a bag of Fritos.

In the past, I have written about other people, whether they wanted me to or not, and when they treated me wrongly I called them out. So it is only fair, dear reader, to divulge that in the past month I turned into a full-on garbage person. I cannot present myself as a perfect bastion of innocence who everyone is trampling on for no reason at all. The truth is far from that, children! I turned 30 and evolved into an anxiety-ridden, possessed demon.

I told my friend Tanya about it and she said not to worry because she puts her dumpster fire status on full display. Then I combined the two and decided I was a Garbage Person Dumpster Fire.

In no particular order, here are the horrible things I have done in the past month and a half:

• Made comments in a group setting that I thought were hilarious but instead were hurtful
• On the way to The Saloon for the RuPaul's Drag Race viewing party, I pet a stray dog and realized I somehow stepped in his shit and had dog shit all over my hand. I wanted to run home to wash my hands, but my companion insisted we just stop at Target instead. This would be an apt metaphor, because when our large group got back to the house, I really stepped in shit. I had an impromptu private conversation with somebody in my bathroom. Unfortunately, I have no inside voice despite the sink and the fan running, and everyone and their dog heard it (and whether or not the conversation even needed to happen is up for internal debate). You're an asshole, said a third party in a broken voice, and we did not speak for ten days, ten days of constipation in which I saw their birthday and alma mater everywhere and even watched an HBO show where a character had the same obscure last name. It was not a good stretch of time.
• Made passive-aggressive Facebook posts whose subjects were open to interpretation
• Told a woman my brother was interested in all about our tumultuous teenage years
• Locked my keys in the car twice and then lost them again for the 87th time

Now, let's put our thinking caps together. What could possibly be the common thread in all of these events?

Well, okay, but if we're gonna be a little less self-victimizing, the other answer is ...

Vodka! Sweet and glorious vodka!

And I love vodka.  I love vodka on the rocks. I love vodka with lemonade. I love vodka with Sprite. I love vodka in shots full of sugar and calories. But it was becoming excessive. I searched what little of my soul there was left and decided that I needed to put a moratorium on booze. It was time for Ocsober.

It was October 4th and I could go until Halloween weekend without a drop. It would be hard, but I could do it! When I hosted at the '90s, Tim could make delicious Shirley Temples or anything else that you put Sprite and grenadine with. I could still have sugar! My skin would clear up, my waist would get smaller, and I would stop destroying all of my interpersonal relationships.

I read articles about how to stop drinking for a limited time. They said to tell a lot of people because then you are held more accountable, and that the first week will be the hardest and the last week will be the easiest.

I lasted three days.

Wait, wait. I have a half-assed explanation.

We were all at The Saloon for the RuPaul's Drag Race viewing party. I told people I wasn't drinking. "But you're horrible sober," someone said. "How will we understand you when you're not slurring everything?" At the end of the show, we were all standing in a group: Me, the usual suspects, and our friends including Carter, who is born in the mid-to-late '90s and is blonde with dimples and a really good body. Did I mention I was feeling anxious about situations that I may or may not have created in my own head? Okay.

This older man -- good-looking, though! Short but like a stacked body -- was drunk and was trying to mingle with all of us. Which is fine. I don't think we're a cliquey or snotty group. Just don't be obnoxious about it, y'know? Anyway, Joey, Reid and Steve were annoyed with him so he moved on over to me.

"You're like me," he said. "You're the eccentric one."

Well, I ... guess that's a fair snap judgment? Yes, I have the worst body in this group and I am wearing a hoodie and I am in a weird mood in which I don't want attention (I told y'all it was a weird month. I still went up on stage anyway throwing a plastic bag at a cute boy performing -- it makes sense if you were there. He was lip-syncing to "Firework" by Katy Perry and I happened to have a plastic bag with me because Joey and I went right to The Saloon from Nordstrom Rack. Or maybe that happened a week later. I can't remember.) But, still? I was uneasy. Was this me now? Next year? In five years. I wanted to go home and drink.

"And YOU," the guy said to Carter. "You must just be the pretty one that people only hang out with because you're gorgeous."
Carter smiled nervously through a smile that was tighter than his butt.
"Now, that's not fair, " I said. I don't even know Carter that well, but he's always been kind to me and it was a nasty comment to make. "Carter is not just eye candy. He is also a painter and a sculptor."
"Wait, what?" Carter asked. "No, I'm not."
"Shhhh," I said. "Just go with it."
"Wait, really?" said the creepy guy. "I own an art museum."
Oh, shit. Of all the fake careers and facts I could have made up about Carter, I chose one that actually applied. This was worse than when Erin and I went to Jetset and tried to pretend we were from Seattle and the one hot guy we talked to was from there and our cover was blown.

It was torrential rain outside, and Markie drove Steve, Joey and me to the house. Joey took my car to go to the liquor store. I left my phone in Markie's car and he dropped it back off. I took a shower and shaved my face because we were going to go back to The Saloon. Jared and Mitchel came over. It kept raining. We played Uno. And I got hammered.

                           ***

Not all was awful in the past few weeks. The hilarious Maggie Faris took me on the road with her to Eau Claire to perform at The Plus! I got to be off that Saturday, so first I went to LUSH to play bingo with my friend John from the '90s. I didn't win.

I was sure to be ready on time, because lesbians are punctual! They also drive like demons, because we were in and out of Eau Claire in record time. The crowd was older than I anticipated because it was homecoming weekend, but the show went great and I was able to mingle with friends from Stout who I hadn't seen in nearly ten years!

Maggie and I drove back and I brought her to The Saloon, where she was more popular than I was. She did lament the lack of females there, but, like ... fuck. It's The Saloon.

***

Year in review

A week later, Reid and I went to karaoke on a Tuesday, where I serenaded the crowd with "What A Man" by Salt 'n' Pepa. It was a good time and laughter and deep conversations were had.

And the next morning, we were at Stage Four Nuclear Meltdown all over again. I don't even fucking know. It was 7 A.M. I left the house to drive in my car and scream, and then I came back and tried falling back asleep, but I couldn't, and my heart was going to fall out of my chest. I debated going to a free counselor at a walk-in clinic, but I had to work at 2 and the earliest I would be seen was 1 and I am still new in my job and I didn't really want to tell my new manager, Hi, I'm gonna be late because I'm going crazy but I'll see you at 2:45!, so I sucked it up and even went to work early. In my half hour of down time, I got a call from a study I am participating in saying that I had an STI, even though no one has been back there since the Stone Age.

I clocked into work and didn't need to be around anybody for two hours, which was a nice bonus. I could do this! I clued in Reid that I was not feeling awesome. At 4 PM I reported to my work station, where I am to smile and greet customers and take care of things. I couldn't stop pacing.

"Are you okay?" asked a co-worker.
"No," I heard myself say.
"Do you want to come to the back with me?" asked another co-worker who has turned into my Work Mom.
"Uh-huh," I said in the distance.

She told me to go get water from the espresso bar. I started stirring my straw furiously. The loss prevention agent asked if I was okay. I was silently tearful at this point. I said no but I told him it had nothing to do with work (customers are, like, nice to me in this job). He politely encouraged me to go upstairs to the Human Resources office. It was like school. I walked the escalator up three floors and walked by Reid, who saw the whole thing but was with a customer.

The HR lady sat me in a private office. Oh my god. We officially have a crying room.

"It's not work," I kept saying. "I'm fine. I'm fine."
"Shhhh," she kept saying. "Breathe. Anxiety is physical. You have to ride this out."
I looked around nervously. "This has been going on for a while," I said.
"Should we call your mom?" she asked.
"My mom is on vacation," I sobbed. "And she deserves it! I've drained her out of so much money."
"Do you live with your mom?" she asked.
"No," I said. I don't think the HR lady knows I'm 30!
"I'm gonna leave and shut the blinds," she said. "And I don't want you to do any thinking."

Half an hour later, she snuck me a bag of animal crackers. Having a nervous breakdown at work is a lot like having a nervous breakdown at daycare.

The situation would repeat itself the next night at The Saloon. The Saloon! My safest, happiest, place. I can't go anywhere anymore! I was talking down a friend from the proverbial ledge and maybe I took on his feelings after our conversation ended, because after I was done wiping his tears away and sent him to the dance floor, I saw another friend was holding hands with one of my eight million crushes, and my brain went snap-crackle-pop. Why was this the catalyst?? It makes absolutely no sense. It's not like they were making out or banging each other on the table, and even if they were, it would have been their right! (Well, maybe not the banging on the table thing because of laws about that stuff, but they could have gone home to bang) The bouncers were very sweet and gave me Sprite and even asked if I wanted to sit in the office. Tim let me stay at his place. I lost my keys and my left shoe. Also, Tim has a gorgeous apartment and I should have gone into bar tending.

My shoe was retrieved, but my keys never were, so I had to walk of shame it to my leasing office, which was thankfully in the North Loop (Tim is in the adjacent Warehouse District). There is nothing to re-iterate your newfound trash box status like walk of shaming it in the North Loop, past all of the salons and expensive brunch places and condos you will never be able to afford. I debated telling the leasing company a whopper of a lie (I got mugged! But only my keys!), but decided to just be honest to the beautiful young woman behind the counter.

"I had an ... episode last night and lost my keys," I said.
She found out who my agent was and told me to wait. "Would you like some coffee or water?" she pleasantly asked.
Go big or go home. "Coffee with a LOT of sugar, please," I said. They had a black lab in the office that made everything better. If I ever get my money right and my own, bigger place, I am getting a labrador.

The leasing agent came in shortly after with my keys (and news of a $50 deposit). "Everything going okay?" he asked.
"Oh, well ..." I began.
"...With the house?" he was sure to clarify.
"Oh, just great," I said.

I then stopped at The Saloon for a cocktail. My phone was going to die and my charger was in my car so I bought one of those boost charger things, although St. Loretta made plans to come over to get me a new car key. I felt bad because Johnny was the bartender and he was one of the first people that I told I was doing Oscober (and we know how that went). Nina DiAngelo, out of drag, was putting up Halloween decorations. A handsome 40-year-old from Orlando was there and Johnny and I told him where to go every night as far as the club scene. An athletic man of the same age sat by me but only ordered a water with cherries and said he was kicked out of an earlier restaurant. He later told me his husband was cheating on him and wanted an open relationship. I told him monogamy is not for everyone but both partners need to be on the same page or it's a deal-breaker. An elderly gay couple told me I was cute. You find your people when you're day drinking.

I took an Uber to the government office (I lost my ID on a different night, for the 87th time) and got in touch with St. Loretta, who was beyond annoyed but made plans to deliver a car key to my house. I cried all the way on the walk home and made awkward eye contact with handsome young lawyers. None of them asked what was wrong and for my hand in marriage, but a boy could dream.

Maybe you should get sober

You will make a better atmosphere for everyone

I am trying to help you help me

Sobriety = Rehab

Rehab = Going far away

Going far away = Never coming back

Never coming back = I would miss everyone

It was a lot to think about.

I made plans to go to her house later and then went to my appointment at Planned Parenthood. They were busy! 7 PM on a Friday night at "the clinic" is apparently the place to be. They asked if Joey was still my emergency contact and he had been upsetting me all week, so I let out a big "Awwwwwwwwwwwww. Yessssssssssssssssss." and the lady behind the counter nervously smiled.

I decided to get tested for everything. Considering I probably got an STI from a sex dream, one could never be too careful.

"A lot of girls would kill to be your weight," said the nurse.
"I almost did," I replied. She politely laughed and then I drank the antibiotic-in-a-cup that tastes like sidewalk chalk.

Things got back to normal in the next few days. I was lucky enough to participate in the 10,000 Laughs Festival. My show was at the new Royal Comedy Theater in Hopkins. Even my brother came! It has the fanciest green room I have ever seen in my life. Basically, it's like a kitchenette with a stocked fridge and food and it felt like I was in the Big Brother house. I was especially excited to see Tiffany Norton (a.k.a. Bangs from KS95) again, because she's one of the first people I met doing comedy and I always gravitated toward the ladies.

After the show, we met with people from the city who were thrilled that Hopkins has a comedy club. "We've wanted to do this forever," a lady said.
"I love this downtown," Tiffany said. "It's like Edina."
"Don't say that!" the lady cried. "We'll never be Edina!"
"No, I just mean the architecture," Tiffany clarified. "I used to work for a construction company."
The Hopkins natives invited us for drinks, but we had to go previous social obligations. I kind of felt snobby about it.

Dane and I drove to Plymouth to my friend Lee's house, where he was having a neon-themed party! I didn't own anything neon, so we all just threw neon headbands at each other. It was fun until we played "I Have Never" because I have the sex life of a nun and always feel inadequate about myself playing that game (I spent my prime years living with my parents having emotional affairs on the Internet), and someone divulged that they had sex on someone's blanket, and the owner of the blanket STARTED SHOUTING IN VERY HIGH DECIBELS and if I had the money I would have just ordered him a new blanket from Amazon right then and there. Dane was a very good sport during all the gay sex talk, though. I think he was less fazed than I was!

I still had a good time as Lee is always a gracious host. I left my 10,000 Laughs t-shirt there. Of course I did. They even spelled my name right.

The next day, Steve and I went to Spring Street Tavern where all the comics were having brunch! We got there late (which was my fault -- shocking, I know), so we just sat at the bar and had bloody Marys because I was driving and needed something to sip. Tiffany hung out with us and later she met us at LUSH along with David Harris. Then we went to the mall so Steve could find last minute outfits for his upcoming trip to Hawaii, and my quest for dress pants was fruitless. I literally only bought Chap Stick. It was a sad day in the world of retail.

That night, I did my '90s hosting gig (where I beat Steve at darts in a miracle of miracles) and we were back at The Saloon. Joey reneged on coming to the '90s but made it to The Saloon and he explained that extenuating circumstances were making him act differently than usual, and I understood it. Then Sexy Jesus bought me a shot. Hallelujah.

                 ***

Steve was gone for a week and I didn't know what to do with myself! It's not like we hang out all the time -- I'm kind of like a whiny mosquito -- but who would listen to me repeat the same 50 stories over and over? Thankfully, my work schedule didn't leave much room for partying, and I stayed at my parents' at least one of those nights. That Friday night, Joey and I went to Mansion!

He only want me when I'm not there
He better call Joey with the good hair

We were nervous because we read so much about the dress code and I've read about people being turned away at the door, but I think if you wear black shoes, you're fine (also, Joey graciously let me borrow a sport coat). Also, be sure to go in the regular line and not the bottle service line. I still had my yellow papers from my lost ID but the bouncer was cool. "I don't need that shit, Jacob," he said good-naturedly.

Y'all, Mansion is fancy! We met a friend of Joey's who later lamented that she was turned down by Ricky Rubio. "I even spoke Spanish," she pouted.
"You already have a boyfriend," I said. "You were just talking about how hot he is."
"But it's Ricky Rubiooooo," she whined.

We walked to The Saloon where Joey talked to his hot and ripped neighbor, and across the bar I saw the boy who broke the heart of the boy who broke my heart, and I kind of got it.

(Sometimes you just need some Stevie)

Work at my regular job is steady. Wish I had more gigs but I have to get myself out there more often and no one is gonna do that for me.

I'm working on a book.

I think my Rogaine is working and I am currently less than my drivers' license weight.

I'm trying to have adult conversations about things.

Not everything is about me.

Talk is cheap, though. It's your actions that people will truly remember you by. I can only hope that I would be remembered as a good person instead of a garbage person dumpster fire, but I have no control over that shit. As long as they spell my name right in the yearbook, I'm good. It's Emmert, not Emmret.

Next week: Our Halloween episode! Scarier than me without make-up!

Loring Park Episode #54: The Pride of Stevens Square

Today wasn't fun.

I'm trying hard to get excited for Pride. Maybe it's because I think I'm getting old or have a gut or don't feel like I can afford to go anywhere (not that such a thought will stop me. Did I mention I'm in debt consolidation? And that I am not in debt because of hardship but because of serious impulse control problems?) I must remind myself that this weekend is not about looking good in swim trunks but about freedom of expression, self-acceptance, and being lucky enough to spend time with supportive family and friends.

While driving to South Dakota last weekend, I put in a mix CD called "Songs About Leaving", that I made when I knew I was leaving UW-Stout (ultimately one of the saddest chapters of my life, but that's for an entirely different novel). I had no idea what songs would be on there, only that I knew none of them would be older than 2007 (I am OLD, my children). Track #9 was "My Wish" by Rascal Flatts. I remember my mother loved that song and encouraged me to put it on CD mixes for all the young people in her life. And even though our relationship was absolutely terrible at that time, I had appreciated her for thinking that, and resented myself that I was too blinded by anger to see her the way my friends did.
And then I bawled my eyes out until the song was over because even though I didn't graduate from either of the colleges I went to and I'm *still* being helped by my parents on the edge of 30, I was driving four and a half hours by myself to a venue in which I was going to get paid because people believed I was actually talented and good at something and worth the amount I requested.

I never saw the contract until after the trip and I was supposed to do a lot more work than I actually did. Lesson #300: Always check your e-mail if you're going to be a professional, and being worried about a Christian radio host replying to a novel you sent her at 3:11 in the morning is not an excuse to avoid your e-mail. In a tangent, she wrote me back and it was absolutely breathtaking. Her name is Susie Larson and her show is called "Live the Promise" and today the topic was about avoiding WORRY. I am sending her a Christmas card, but because this is me, she probably won't get it until February.

I have been missing somebody to the point of insomnia, chest pain and gastric distress. I am learning it's okay. From the first time we met I had been convinced that this person greatly needed ME, but now I have realized how self-centered such a notion is. This is a person who needs God and a good therapist, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it. Our last conversation ended with "I'm gonna need a few days" before the car door shut and sped away in the darkness. That was 57 days ago. Not that I am counting.

A month later I would have a nervous breakdown in the parking lot of a hospital and a nurse in a yellow sweater found me and walked me to my appointment. If you are going to have a nervous breakdown, do it at a hospital. Everyone acts like it's totally normal. Yellow is a calming color. Rosie O'Donnell has written essays about yellow, how it is the color of everything that is real and how she felt fame took it away from her. I tweeted her about my meltdown and that the nurse wore yellow. "Nurses r the best," she wrote back. My mother is a nurse. This is not a coincidence.

I have no idea where I was going with this.  -Facebook rant, June 24th 

I was in a strange mood as Pride loomed. It wasn't just about my body. I mean, yes, I should work out, and I was never fat, nor was I ever ripped in years previous, but this is my last summer of my twenties (kind of) and maybe I was projecting.

The first omen that things would turn around happened when my boss said I could be off on Friday! I was leery of asking for Thursday and Friday off since I had asked for every other weekend off in June due to the Sioux Falls gig and my uncle's wedding. Jared wanted to host a big Pre-Pride party on Friday and I had planned on working until six o'clock and coming home to bitch at everyone.

I used this same .gif during last year's Pride episode! Thursday night I met Jared and Joey at Honey for Flip Phone, which is one of the first unofficial events of Pride. Just like last year, I totally forgot how long the line was going to be! I was late because I was Nairing at my mother's house. "Jacob!" she cried. "That smell is going to burn down the house!"

 Joey and Jared let me do cutsies and I immediately felt the rage of those who were behind us and pretending to be our friends. It still took us 45 minutes to get in because the club was at capacity.

"This line is longer than my last relationship," I lamented.
"If this was your last relationship there wouldn't even be a line!" cried Jared.

It should be noted that my Grindr profile says I just got out of a really bad non-relationship and I still think that way.

It took us about 45 minutes to get into Honey, but once we did, it was its usual blast. I did the "Heartbreaker" rap while dancing with Under Armour and he was impressed because he hasn't seen me do it 50 times like everybody else has.

Little did all of us know how our lives would be changed forever the next day.

Loring Park Episode #44: I Know There is a Rainbow

This song calms me down. We'll get to that later.

***

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?

Loring Park Episode #30: I Like Boys That Wear Abercrombie & Fitch

Previously on "Loring Park": Jakey was going to work on his one-man show for the Fringe Festival and FOCUS ON NOTHING ELSE.

It's been a month, children! I apologize for taking so long between episodes. We are headed into the steamy summertime in Minneapolis, and you know that I love summer. I was born in the summer, and it is when I feel the most alive.

I also feel almost sexual, but that's because I put out for air conditioning. Here we go.

***

Of course, the nights blur together. One of the weekends was Wesley's birthday, and I bought him a present because I am a big stupid saphead. He was running late, and I began to panic when I was at The Saloon. My anxiety has become much worse lately, and "Wesley is running late" soon became "Oh god, what if Wesley crashed into a tree?!" My friend Cordero (from episode one!) was there, and calmed me down by introducing me to a shot called a Blonde Headed Slut. It has Jagermeister in it, and I usually stay away from dark liquor, but it did manage to calm my nerves.

Besides, so many other people were there to focus on! THE ORIGINAL SOUTH DAKOTA was there! He even bought me a drink! I should have asked him to pick me up for old times' sake, but I was feeling fat I walked by the impossible sexiness that is Football Guy. He doesn't remember my name, so he said, "Hey, comedian." "Hey, football player," I smiled, and I'm sure I was as red as the paint in what some call The Red Room (I just call it T.J.'s bar). Piano Man was there for his birthday! We discussed my anxiety issues and we practiced breathing exercises on the patio.

Wesley finally showed up and we sat by the fireplace. I gave him his present and then tried to hug him like a broski. I don't know if I did it right. We sat down and then Running Back came over to yell at Wesley for playing "hard to get". I felt awkward because I like Running Back (he's my unofficial dance coach!), so I just pretended to be too drunk to notice what was going on.

I was out at The Saloon the next night (quelle surprise!), and was reunited with Sprite and Abercrombie! Abercrombie is the boy who I sat next to in the hot tub at the New Year's Eve party and he has abs that could be insured for millions of dollars. I re-introduced myself, and then Liam and Roger came in. They had been Sunday Funday-ing and drinking since noon, and could not contain themselves. I bought Sprite and Abercrombie Blonde Headed Sluts from Danny, but then Roger basically started humping Abercrombie, and I was mortified!! We are judged by the company we keep, and now I worry that I will forever be seen by them as an old drunk pervert. There was another very cute boy who was going to the U of M and tried to stop an older man from hitting on me, and I should have asked for his hand in marriage. Or at least remembered his damn name.

I decided to associate myself with better-behaved company, so I was happy to run into South Dakota Version Two!  One of the many reasons I want to be South Dakota Version Two when I grow up is because he has a banging body and yet has no shame in eating French Fries at The Saloon. I, on the other hand, don't even want people at The Saloon to know I eat solid foods or have a digestive tract.

We discussed mutual acquaintances, and then the conversation turned to Wesley's birthday. SDV2 asked if it would be awkward if he messaged him. That's when I realized they didn't know each other as well as I thought they did. Still, I found nothing odd about it, and SDV2 wrote to him on Facebook. No harm, no foul.

I was reunited with Markie and his pals, and he graciously agreed to drive me home, but at first I wasn't listening because I was drunkenly flirting with Ryan Robertson. Ryan was pretty drunk, too, and we discussed the cultural zeitgeist at large and the conflict in Syria.

I somehow got shotgun, and Ryan and Markie's roommate Stephen sat in the back. I live far too close to The Saloon, but it's always nice to have a ride home. Markie pulled into my parking lot, and as he put on the brakes, Ryan shifted his body from the back seat and kissed me on the lips.

He probably won't remember doing it, and I won't ever bring it up (to his face!). That being said, I don't mean to worship the man, but his lips are like velvet pillows.

                                                      ***

Loring Park Episode #22: I Knew You Were Trouble When You Walked In

If I learned anything from the One Direction fanfic I obsessively read last weekend, it's that you need to tell this Kevin guy how you feel NOW. There's never going to be a good time! If you don't, he may run off to London on a photography internship like Harry and you're all alone and depressed in your flat because you just assumed he didn't want to be with you! And then Niall will be forced to come over and drag you out of your pile of Lean Pocket wrappers.

                                          -The irrepressible James, who better be in the same city as me by the time we're  40


I was going to tell him. Life got in the way.

Yes, boys and girls, we are naming this episode after a Taylor Swift song. If you want to decide that now is when Loring Park jumped the shark, so be it. This might be the episode in which I win an Emmy, but I don't want to jinx it.

I wasn't going to go to the club on the night that started this downward spiral. I was attending The Reapies, which is the Minnesota stand-up version of the Emmys. Even though I wasn't nominated, I knew it would be fun to go and see all my comedian acquaintances, and my friend Sina agreed to be my date for the evening. I bought a Jag bomb for my friend Josh Florhaug, who was celebrating his birthday. The show was to start at 8, but because of the Vikings/Packers game, it didn't start until ten. I almost didn't make it because I cut my chin while shaving and it refused to clot. You can see just a speck of it in this picture, taken by the talented Ricky Noren:

The first half of the show was delightful, and I really do feel I'm on some weird wavelength between open-miker and professional. It made me want to work harder and do more, and I felt lucky to be in a room with so many talented people. But I was not lucky enough to have a seat, and Sina left at around 11, and at around the midnight halftime mark, I was debating if I wanted to leave or not. And by leaving, I was preparing to go to bed, not go to The Saloon. There were many reasons to choose bed over clubbing. I had seen on Facebook that Liam had been at LUSH since 8 PM, and therefore I knew that he would be two sheets to the wind by the time I arrived anywhere. I was tired! My feet hurt! I had to work the next day! I had also been invited out by a nice boy from Iowa whom I met on a previous Sunday Funday, and I explained to him that I didn't know if I was doing anything after the Reapies.

"R u out?" Joey texted.
"Comedy thing is at halftime," I wrote back.
"Kevin is here fyi," Joey wrote. "And he needs a place to stay."

Kevin could not have stayed at my place, because my apartment was a disaster (as is often the case). Besides, I did not want to be that girl who jumps at the chance to run into the boy she likes. It is not organic. It is manipulating the situation. I walked upstairs and talked to the hilarious Carolyn Blomberg. I regret to mention that, much like I did with my karaoke outing with Jenn Schaal, we spent only a little bit of time talking about comedy and most of it talking about Kevin, because I am 14 years old that way. I decided to go to the damn Saloon, but first I had to drive my car home and cab it.

Joey was texting me to hurry. When I prepared to walk into my apartment, there was a cab available to take me, but I had to go back inside to check how I looked, because I wasn't sure I was pretty enough. This added another 20 minutes before my arrival. Along with even going to The Saloon that night, that is another split-decision moment that I will always question. I look at the picture above, and while I know I am not Channing Tatum, I also realize that I looked fine, dammit. I do not know what I was so afraid of.

I got there around 12:30, and ran into JARED! I didn't even know he was there! This led to relief because then I didn't even need to worry about Kevin. By this point, I knew where he was, but first I ordered Absolut on the rocks from Danny, because I was nervous. I finally saw him at a different bar. He was in a red T-shirt and was talking with Joey, Liam, and Quinn. Because I am 12, I talked to Joey first, and then Liam (who was pretty far gone), and then Quinn, and then Kevin. I was going to handle this like an adult.

"JAKEY!" he yelled. "Good to see you!"
"Itsgoodtoseeyoutookevin," I articulately replied.
"My niece asked about you!" he said. "So did my mom. She said she loves your expressions."
"Oh," I said, staring at Joey the entire time. "Thatisverysweet."

I have not introduced readers to Quinn yet. He has been there since early fall. He has not been written about because he is quiet. I first met him at a Sunday brunch as a friend of Markie's, and he often goes to LUSH with us on Wednesdays. He smiles a lot and does not say much. He is 23 and lives in my neighborhood. I had yet to have a personal one-on-one conversation, but, save for a time at LUSH when I (perhaps rudely) asked for a ride home and he agreed to one and then later texted Joey that he was backing out of it, I've never had beef with him. If you asked me my opinion, I would say he is a good kid.

"Jakey," Joey whispered. "Kevin has been on Quinn all night."
"Well, so?" I asked. "We're all grown-ups." I was on my second straight vodka drink after that.
"Yeah, but Quinn doesn't even like him that way," Joey said. "He's been texting me 'help' all night."

But what was I to do? Quinn and Kevin kept walking off in various parts of the bar, and I didn't want to seem like a stalker. Jared and I brushed by them a few times, and I had some more conversation with Kevin, but nothing deep, nothing I will remember (I also talked to the boy from Iowa while staring a hole through Quinn). By 1:30, it was inevitable that Quinn and Kevin were going home together, and I honestly was fine with it, because my apartment was really messy. Jared asked if he could stay over and we watched the first hour of Julie & Julia. Because Kevin wore red, I played "White Houses" by Vanessa Carlton over and over. Nothing has changed since college. I am still sexually naive and pining over the unattainable.

And he's so funny in his bright red shirt
We were all in love and we all got hurt

Loring Park Episode #16: Jaymes Vaughn

Previously on Loring Park:

-An emotional affair officially went awry! Roger got drunk and asked Jakey out! Jakey is still closed for business! The CUTEST BOY EVER!

This week's episode begins on a Wednesday night at LUSH, which is the best place to go mid-week (dollar drinks, even though I usually have a Grey Goose Lemonade by the end of the night). I, of course, arrived at midnight because I am inconsiderate that way, but it was lovely to see my usual suspects there: Jared and Joey and Liam and Markie and our friend Esquire, who just passed the bar. South Dakota Version Two, a.k.a., the CUTEST BOY EVER, was on the dance floor and I was blushing just talking about it. I also realized that I remembered nothing of the conversation we had, except that we discussed the weather and the probability of coat check.

"Wait, that's *all* you remember?" Esquire asked. "You don't remember anything about him telling you had a 'positive aura'? He must have mentioned it five diferent times."

No, I remember none of it. And it's not because I was piss-drunk, either. When I later told this story to my brother, he scoffed, "What, were you that lost in his dreamy eyes?" And, yes. Yes, I was.

I didn't talk to him that night, though, because he was dancing with his hot friends. I hate high school. MANUEL~!, the boy who stole my cell phone the week prior and then gave it back to me two seconds later when I said "Excuse me", was starting fistfights on the outside of the club. SOME PEOPLE. Joey and I briefly snuck off to Legends, where I ran into the same St. Anthony girl that I encountered last week! Small moments! Joey is enjoying his new life living with the Muscle Gays, and is allegedly planning a dinner party. Fancy! We will discuss politics and glute exercises.

Back at LUSH, I gave Jared $25 to take a cab home so I could go to A-bar with the boys, and that was only because I knew that Ryan Robertson was going to be coming with us. Ryan Robertson appeared nameless on an earlier episode -- I met him for two seconds at LUSH and he helpfully gave me workout advice -- and while I have never had another actual conversation with him, he has always been as cordial as he is dreamy. Markie, Liam, their friend Blake and I drove together while Ryan drove beside us, and I was a delightful mix of loopy and nervous.

Markie lives with Lawrence and we all trekked down to the basement. Ryan laid on the bed perpendicular to Liam while I sat on the edge of it, and spastic conversation was had. We all went on Grindr as a joke but I have a *horrible* Grindr picture these days, a tragic side effect of always losing your cell phone. Star Quarterback was on Grindr and I refuse to believe that he is 6'2" and 180 pounds.

"He used to be fat," Liam said.
"Still," I said. "That boy is LANKY." And I am not bitter at all.
"I'm 5'11" and 155," Ryan Robertson shared.
"You are *not* 5'11," Markie accused, because Markie is the expert on all things, including height.
"Pssh, I am too," Ryan Robertson said.
"No," Markie yelled. "I don't believe you".
And I, who had said nothing to Ryan Robertson since that fateful night in April in which I learned what ab exercises I should be doing in the morning, decided to pipe up. "Well, stand up," I said. "I'm 5'7".

He stood up in all his lanky sexiness and we stood back-to-back, like you do when you're in grade school and wanting to find out who is the tallest kid in the class. Markie immediately whipped out his measure tape (what, who doesn't have a random measure tape on their nightstand?) and declared that Ryan Robertson was exactly four inches taller than me! And thus ends the closest I will ever be getting to romance with Ryan Robertson.

Loring Park Episode #5: A Departure, A Mugshot, and a Surprise

Previously on "Gays of our Lives": Joey prepared for his departure, but not before introducing himself to Kevin, he of the frat-boy demeanor and the pouka shell. Jakey threw up.

                                                   A Departure

Two Sundays ago, I was preparing for the inevitable. Joey, who had become my newest running buddy over the past month (and my first experience at what gay parenting felt like), was moving back to Wisconsin, and it was to be his last hurrah. After work that night, Jared called me and said that his friend Rachel wanted to venture to the St. Paul bars instead, as she had grown weary of the insular gay high school that is The Saloon. I empathized, but told him that it was Joey's last night in town and crossing the river just wasn't feasible. Joey arrived at my apartment at around 10, and because I am such a considerate host, it took me half an hour of gabbing before I finally put pants on.

"I was so worried about you the other night," I said, trying my best to not address the elephant in the room (*cough cough* didyousleepwithkevinnotthatIcare *cough* cough*). "What time did you get home?"

"Oh," he said nonchalantly. "We ended up going to his place."

"Doesn't he live in the 'burbs?" I asked, my eyes narrowing into slits.

"Yeah, it took us a while," he said. "We played chess."

Now, I use "board games" as a colloquiasm for intercourse all the time, so this did not faze me. "Joey, we're grown-ups," I said as I spackled foundation all over my face. "You can call it sex."

"No, we actually played chess," Joey laughed.

"Wait, isn't Kevin dumb and fratty?" I asked, and this is when I realized that I am absolutely awful at snap judgments.

"No, he just looks like he is," Joey explained. As it turns out, Kevin is older than me by a few years (this never happens anymore), works a lucrative big-boy white-collar job, and is still reeling from a relationship that crashed and burned after two years. "He's actually really deep," Joey went on. "Like, he started crying when he started talking about his ex-boyfriend, and what his family means to him. He's not at all like we thought he was."

"I am not good at this first impression thing!" I exclaimed. "Like how during the entire time we were doing the play, I thought you were this snobby twink who probably goes to The Saloon all the time and never gives anyone the time of day, when really you're a shy boy from Wisconsin who hardly ever went out until you met me!"

"It's because I have natural bitchface," Joey said. "I can't help it. Everyone always thinks I'm a bitch before they get to know me because I can't control my face. It's a problem."

On our walk to The Saloon, he dropped another bombshell. "Oh, he said you're cute, by the way," he shared.

"Joey, don't!" I cried. "You don't have to say that. But, oh my god, really? Like how?"

"Yeah," he said. "He was like, 'Oh, Jakey's cute'. Oh, and he doesn't know you threw up. He just thinks you passed out."

"So embarrassing!" I cried. "My #1 crush is in my apartment and it's the one time of year I vomit. My life is a crappy young adult novel. It's even worse than when I drunk Facebooked Star Quarterback."

We made it to The Saloon, where we soon met up with Jared, and later ran into Liam. Hanging out with Liam at The Saloon is weird because you will try to have a conversation with him, but every ten seconds someone walks by and grabs his ass. The life of a gAy-lister.

I need to write about these things sooner than two weeks after they happen, because that night at The Saloon is all a blur. Liam and Joey did the whorebox together while I told Jared all about Kevin, ordered another drink, forgot I told him about Kevin, and then told him the whole story again. Jared took the train home, and Liam, Joey and I walked across the park. I regretted my decision to wear dress shoes and decided it was more comfortable to walk home with my dress socks hitting the pavement. Liam checked into my Grindr and messaged dozens of people, which made for an awkward morning. I used a bed sheet as a makeshift blanket for Liam to sleep on the floor (unbeknownst to me, my mother packed a sleeping bag somewhere in the closet -- whoops!) and gave him a Minnesota Twins T-shirt to cover up his tank top, and we fell asleep to the MTV Movie Awards. Twilight and Hunger Games won damn near everything and I just felt flipping old.

I remember Channing Tatum. I remember Josh Hutcherson. I remember Joey asking in a whisper if he could be the big spoon. I remember him whispering in the darkness that he was leaving. I remember the door closing. I remember looking at Liam sleeping peacefully on the ground underneath the bedsheet that he thought was a blanket and realizing that had I been left alone that night, I would have bawled my eyes out. I am blessed to have a great number of friendships in my life, and while I would never think to rank them, there has been something very cosmic about my friendship with Joey. It was the most positive thing to come out of an experience that left me otherwise sour and bitter  (seven months of rehearsing a play that never came to fruition). When I entered the gay world of Minneapolis at 22, I was jaded and abhorred myself, and seeing it from the perspective of a 20-year-old from Wisconsin allowed me to view it from a more appreciative and optimistic lens. He encouraged me to dream my dreams while never losing sight of his own. I thoroughly enjoyed introducing him to not just my gay friends but also people from Big Louie's Bingo ("How do you know all these people?" he had asked. "Oh, Mike is my dad," I said nonchalantly after half an hour of conversation, and when he cracked up, Marcie the Bingo Queen was convinced I had said something dirty), and my longtime friends Greta and Erin. For the past few weeks, almost every day had been an adventure, of seeing the city in a new and refreshing way, and while I realized that the boy wasn't dying, he was just moving, his absence was still something I secretly mourned for a few days.

A Mugshot

Later that week, Liam messaged me and told me he was going to be at the 19 Bar with Markie. Since the 19 is a block away from my apartment, I decided laundry could wait and I could make a cameo. Markie, Liam and their friend Marty were outside on the patio, and I quickly became weary of the smell of smoke. Anthony was there but I did not greet him because I only talk to him when he is in the mood to say hello to me. I know, did I learn nothing from the Jim Wilson fiasco (Episode #2)? Markie has always been supportive of my comedy "career", and I began to fully appreciate getting to know Liam as a person and not just a pretty face at The Saloon. Marty was in the mood for deep conversation, and kept talking about getting over his ex-boyfriend (it's one of those disgusting situations where they're roommates so they're broken up but they still fuck. Never let this happen to you, ladies and gays). I started talking about how I should stop feeling so insecure whenever Anthony is in the same room, and he was half-listening and thought Anthony was my ex-boyfriend, and I was too tired and wheezy from the smoke to explain that Anthony isn't into skinny dudes, but then I felt bad because the only reason I know that is when I was on his Facebook (by sheer and total accident! Not really!) and he and a friend were talking about boys from the Boardwalk and he admitted such. In a related story, if I looked like Izak Pratt, I would be naked right now.

Still, Pride Weekend is coming up, and every day I have been saying that I am going to work out (oops), eat right (oops), and not go out drinking in order to protect my wallet, waistline and liver (oops oops oops). Friday, Liam texted me and asked if I was going to LUSH for 3-for-1's with our friend Michael. I had first met Michael the same night I first met Liam, and only the second night I hung out with Markie. It was in November and was the first time I had ever done a stand-up comedy show at Ryan's Pub, and I still look back on it as one of the best nights of my life. Not only was I on a real show with real comedians, but Markie had brought along Michael and Devin, two remarkably dressed and attractive gays who intimidated me to death until I actually met them and found them to be as friendly as they were tan. That night, we went to The Saloon to celebrate Liam's birthday, and Michael and I were the only ones in the bar who knew all the words to "Shoop". Michael has a boyfriend, a day job, and a house in the suburbs, and therefore he doesn't go out as much as he used to, but he's someone who I always wish I hung out with more than I do, as he cracks my shit up. LUSH, voted best gay bar in Minneapolis/St. Paul by City Pages magazine, is my favorite place hands down, but it is in Northeast Minneapolis and therefore I am not a regular like I once was (I once had a ridiculous crush on the heterosexual barback who went to my high school. And yes, I drunk Facebooked him once, too).

For budgetary reasons, I decided to take the 10 bus from Nicollet Mall to LUSH. On Fridays, 3-for-1's go from 7-9, and then at 10, 2-for-1's begin to kick off Blush Fridays, which is the bar's lesbian night. All of Minneapolis was on the 10 bus when I got on at 7:30, as it was the first time in my life I have been on a bus that was at full capacity (at one point it went past a guy waiting, and he gave us the finger!). The bus was full of children, and four young girls who couldn't have been older than 15 were standing next to my seat, loudly talking about how drunk they were going to get and how the last time one of them came to work hung over, she successfully convinced her boss that she had the stomach flu. Kids today!

We arrived at Central & Spring, and I got out of my seat and nearly ran over the four teenage girls. "Sorry, this is my stop," I said meekly. "Ours too," they said. "Are you going where we're going?!" It turns out that they weren't a quartet of tweens, but rather four lesbians with amazing skin! "Yay! I have a posse!" I cried, and we marched into LUSH together. I grabbed my first of the 3-for-1's (instead of making you triple-fist it, LUSH gives you tokens for your other two drinks) and met the usual suspects outside on the patio.

First, Liam and I ran into a burlesque dancer we know who very politely critiqued my make-up (I was wearing SET liquid foundation). He recommended I go to the Armani counter at Nordstrom. I appreciated his advice, but the next day I found myself spending over $200 at the Clarins counter with John Paul (and ladies and gays, you must go to him and imagine you have a money tree in your backyard. The boy is a miracle worker).

I reunited with Michael and hugged Devin, who lamented that we don't hang out anymore. Devin and I had one sexual dalliance and I have always been attracted to him, but life gets in the way sometimes, y'know? I promised I would make a better effort to text him. I finally sat on the patio with Markie, Liam, his gal pal, and an attractive bartender that did not find me amusing at all. Devin and Liam moved to another table and stared comic daggers at us. Marty started crying when talking about his roommate/ex-boyfriend/fuck buddy and had to go inside for a little bit.

"Devin got really good-looking," Attractive Bartender said. "I wonder what he's been doing."

That made me feel confused.

"Did you guys hear about Star Quarterback?!" Markie asked. We were on the patio so it was okay to shout, but Markie really has no inside voice. "He got arrested in Florida for cocaine possession and a weapons violation! His mugshot is online!"

"What, who?!" someone (Liam?) asked.

"STAR QUARTERBACK!" Markie shouted. At the risk of being Captain Obvious, I should make it clear that Markie was not shouting "Star Quarterback", but rather the kid's real name.

"Shhhhhhhh," I cried. "Don't gossip."

"Who's Star Quarterback?" Gal Pal asked.

"It's complicated!" I cried.

"Did you guys fuck?!" Gal Pal asked with wide eyes.

"It's complicated," I repeated, because then I realized that if I shared that I had a crush on him for several months and drunk Facebooked him once but he never knew I was alive, that it would be a much less juicy story than the possibility of us once having a one night-stand or quasi-relationship. "Just don't say his name so loud," I gently told Markie. "Call him Fred."

"Oh my god, anyway, we will not be seeing Fred for a while," Markie said. "He resisted arrest, too. What a fucking idiot. The mugshot's online. You can Google it."

 I later Googled the mugshot and sincerely regret it. It felt wrong, voyeuristic, and like a violation of an implicitly established trust. I do not really owe Star Quarterback anything -- hell, especially now that our paths will never cross -- but it still felt unsavory of me to gawk at his mugshot like he was some celebrity on TMZ or The Smoking Gun. Speaking of TMZ, I think maybe I was most curious about the possibility of him doing a Paris Hilton smirk. He didn't, of course -- he looked as broken and scared as anyone would in such a situation -- but because he is, or was, the Star Quarterback, he also managed to still look flawless and beautiful. Nothing is greater proof that you've won the genetic lottery more than managing to look like a movie star when you're facing 10 to 30 in the hoosegow and you've got the ass of a 16-year-old girl.

Liam and I decided we were heading to The Saloon, so I called Favian. We were going to ride from Loring Park in the stretch Hummer, but because I am a dumb-ass and temporarily misplaced my wallet, we got downgraded to the regular town car because Favian got a call from a group of 14 during my frantic search. In a related story, my birthday is next month and I IS GETTING A STRETCH HUMMER, Y'ALL.

Our driver was talking to the dispatcher at the beginning of our trip, and Liam was getting antsy. "Is he gonna talk on the phone the whole time?" Liam said, and then, fresh off his 3-for-1's, he mouthed off. "Are you not gonna talk to us at all!?"

"He's just joking!" I cried. I was mortified. I adore Favian and his drivers, and thus I felt like a parent whose child throws a temper tantrum in the middle of Cub Foods.

Jared met Liam and I at my apartment, and it took us an hour to decide on my outfit. Liam and I split a Lean Cuisine (twink diet?), I slathered SET make-up all over my face again, and this trio was ready for an all new episode of "Gays of our Lives".

A Surprise

Liam met up with his Gal Pal, Jared was put in charge of my keys, and we mingled like the socialites we are. I again told Jared all about what Joey had told me about Kevin.

"I know," Jared told me as we moseyed up to his favorite bartender. "You told me twice on Sunday night and again at work on Monday."

"Right," I said, almost disappointed. "Why can't I ever remember anything? I will have Three Olives lemonade, please." I think I answered my own question.

A gorgeous Latino boy in barely-there briefs walked around with a tray of Jag Bombs. It was an identity crisis, because I absolutely hate Jagermeister, but I adore a tan and visible abdominal muscles. "Can I call you Menudo?" I asked. "Is it offensive if I call you Menudo?" Lesson: Usually if you have to begin a question with "Is it offensive....", the rest of what you are going to say is probably offensive.

"You can call me Tony," he said through a pained smile. He totally wanted to kick me in the Caucasian balls, I knew it.

"Do you even know who Menudo is?" I asked. "Oh, youth." I overtipped him and chugged the Jag Bomb, pretending that I didn't have to be at work the next day at 11.

It was a Jagermeister Miracle, because right as I downed the drink, MARIAH CAREY CAME ON THE SCREEN! I figuratively lose my shit when Mariah Carey comes on. It was the "Honey" remix, and I was drunk enough to think that I could hit a high C note (I tried. It wasn't pretty, but Jared found it hilarious). We were next to two black guys, one of whom was in a tank top and was so built that I assumed his body fat percentage was subzero.

"Oh my god, Jared," I slurred. "Check out Chocolate Thunder over there."

"Oh my god, go talk to him!" Jared encouraged.

"NO!" I cried. I did my usual shy-boy routine and stood in the corner and pouted.

"Oh my god, Jakey," Jared said with an eye roll that was nearly audible. "How are you ever going to meet people if you never approach them? I wonder if Gay Oprah is here and we can talk about eyebrows again."
"STOP BOTHERING GAY OPRAH!" I shouted. Nicki Minaj blared on the dance floor, and Jared and I went to go dance as was our duty. I checked my phone to see the time (1:30), and Liam was asking if he could sleep over.

As Jared booty-popped and I did whatever the white version of booty-popping is, we realized that Chocolate Thunder was next to us.

"Jakey...." Jared smiled with a mischevious grin. "Come on."

"No!" I cried adamantly and I downed the rest of my Three Olives lemonade. As I set it down on the bar, I looked from across the whorebox and through the artificial fog, and there he was, sporting a tight blue tee-shirt, a lost look on his face, and that damned pouka shell necklace.

"Jakey," Jared said softly. "If you don't go talk to him, I'm disowning you."

I walked over like I knew him and smiled hello, then danced near him. The boylesquer would be so proud.

"I want to go to the patio," Kevin said.

"Okay," I smiled, and I took his hand and walked him over there.

"It just gets too hot in there," he smiled.

"Why do you have a Southern accent?" I asked.

"All my clients are from there," he grinned. "It slips out." He said out like Matthew McConaughey.

'"I'm sorry I puked when you came over," I shared. Why did I bring this up?! Damn you, Jagermeister Truth Serum!

"I didn't even know you puked," he said. "I just remember you passed out in your closet."

"I miss Joey," I whispered.

"Me too," he grinned.

"Come dance with me," I said, and took him by the hand to the dance floor. I made him go on the whorebox, and he peeled off his shirt like a model in those awful Bod commercials from the mid-2000's.

"Who's your friend?!" a man in his thirties shouted over the music. "He's fucking hot!"

"Ugh, I know," I said, rolling my eyes. I was rolling my eyes at Kevin's goofiness, the fact that I so predictably found him irresistible, and the brazenness of our fellow whoreboxer. I hopped off the box for a bit to give him some distance, and then quietly freaked out like a middle school girl next to Jared before he did the splits. Kevin licked my cheek like a dog and I immediately worried that he would start coughing and complaining about the taste of liquid make-up.

Jared left for the train, but not before throwing my keys back at me (lifesaver!). Liam regrettably agreed to crash at Gal Pal's house. And before I knew it, 3 A.M. had struck and I was walking out of The Saloon hand-in-hand with Kevin. This was happening.

We made it not half a block when we encountered a pretty blonde girl in her early twenties. "I'm sorry," she said. "Can you guys walk me to my car? I just don't feel safe."

"Of course," I said. "We're two strapping young men. We'd be happy to protect you."

"Where are you parked?" Kevin asked.

"The University of St. Thomas," she said. "I go there for law school!"

"Oh, no shit!" Kevin said. Then they started talking about grown-up stuff like LSATS and local law firms and I lost interest. The blonde girl graciously drove us to my apartment building, and I thoroughly enjoyed the moment, selfishly wondering if the blonde girl was attracted to Kevin, if she realized that he wasn't on her team, then hating myself for thinking that "straight-acting", whatever the hell that means, is something that should be prized or seen as better than its alternative, because the only females that have ever assumed I am heterosexual have been sixth-graders or sheltered conservative Christians who honestly believed I hadn't met the "right girl" yet.

He took his shirt off the millisecond we got into the apartment. Seriously, dude? I put on my iPod. He criticized every country song I had. He made me download "A Whole New World" and sang it at an embarrassingly loud pitch. He flipped open my computer, saw Microsoft Word open, and sharply criticized my writing. "Oh, that's real choppy," he said at one point, and then he kept reading out loud the Jim Wilson episode in his strange, pseudo-Southern accent that wasn't. I showed him my name in size 10 font in Lavender magazine as if it meant something. "Does this mean I can do jokes about Gay Oprah?" I asked. "I'm actually good friends with Gay Oprah," he said. "I had dinner with him last week." "Of course you did," I scoffed. He chastised me for not having a college degree. He talked about money, which I found gauche, but then I stared at his pectoral muscles and then it shamefully made it acceptable.

We did not do anything physical other than spooning (also, I have a twin bed that I really need to upgrade to a double). I was surprisingly fine with that because I felt myself actually starting to like him, and I hadn't Naired my legs recently.

When I woke up, I was sure to be present in the moment for as long as I could. I snuck in a Listerine strip and he stirred, mumbled, then crunched his muscular arms harder around my torso. I wanted to stay there forever.

I dropped him off at his friend's house, but not before explaining that I'm a terrible driver. It took me three minutes to back out of my parking lot. He couldn't help his laughter. "DON'T JUDGE!" I cried. "I just like watching people live their lives," he said. "That's all."

I love summer.

Coming Up: My Life Turns into an Episode of 'Elimidate'!