Observations on pop culture, gays of our lives, and just trying to make it ...
Showing posts with label Pretty Girl Mafia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pretty Girl Mafia. Show all posts
Monday, May 20, 2013
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Loring Park Episode #27: Tears of a Class Clown
Previously on Loring Park: Jakey cried at The Saloon, and was revisited by a blast from the past.
I cry a lot in this episode. But it was never in front of everyone. I am maturing that way.
I did not cry on that first Saturday. My night began by telling jokes at Johnny Tequila's Drinking Taco. It was the night before Easter, so the crowd was sparse, and I was exhausted having worked a 50-hour week (which I realize that some people do all year around). Mommy was tired, y'all. After only one vodka tonic, my brain cells were shot, and my routine did not go very well. I told all four audience members that I was Bette Midler in The Rose, and nobody knew what I was talking about.
Wesley was adamant about going to LUSH, so he agreed to pick me up downtown. I usually chastise him for wearing the same stupid hoodie, but tonight he cleaned up good and wore a white Banana Republic button-down. I was proud, and somewhere a gay angel got his wings. Earlier that night, Liam texted me asking if he could sleep over, and while I wasn't thrilled about it, I was happy that he was texting at 7:30 P.M. and not at 1:30 A.M. I said it was probable, but that I wasn't sure if we would even be at The Saloon or not.
When we got to LUSH, I panicked and realized I had lost my Listerine strips! I even speculated bringing a back-up pack in case this would happen! "Oh, no!" I cried. I have OCD about Listerine strips. My greatest fears are tarantulas and halitosis. "If I give you $10, can we go to the gas station to get Listerine strips?"
"What?!" Wesley asked. "Now? We just got here."
"I can't have bad breath!" I cried.
"Oh my god," Wesley cried. "You are worse than a chick."
He unlocked the car, and my Listerine strips were on the passenger seat! Hooray! Crisis averted!
"Do you have everything else?" he asked. "You probably need your ID. You look 12."
LUSH wasn't very crowded. We didn't know anybody there except Jason Matheson from FM 107, and by "know" I don't mean in a personal way. I texted my mother of his presence, and she begged me to say something (I still think my mom wakes up and hopes for a few seconds that I grew up to be Jason Matheson before the ugliness of reality sets in), but he was off the clock and I felt it would be rude. Wesley told me of his recent trip to California, but other than that, we sat in mutual boredom. He asked the staff why the place was so dead, and he explained that everyone was at the Eagle. I texted Joey and Jared, and they were there, too! Was The Eagle having a big event that night? Wesley and I wanted to go to The Saloon, but we agreed that we could stop at The Eagle to see what all the fuss was about.
Here's a primer about The Eagle for those of you not familiar with the Minneapolis gay club scene: There is something for everyone, truly. The Saloon, typically, is a younger, trendier, sexy crowd. Jetset is a trendy, sexy, older and more professional crowd (any time I introduce myself to anyone there, I get my own name corrected. "Jake," the Jetsetters say, with firm handshakes). The Gay '90s is hardly considered a gay club anymore. LUSH, the winner of Best Gay Bar in the City Pages last year, is a crapshoot, but on Wednesdays it attracts the same crowd that The Saloon does.
The Eagle, on the other hand, is for those who would not necessarily feel comfortable at The Saloon. The Eagle has bear nights and leather nights. The event we were attending, complete with $7 cover, was called "Bear-a-cudda." I paid the cover since I could already tell that this wasn't a great idea.
We were on our way in when I realized my phone was in the car, but we couldn't find it. "Call my phone," I demanded of Wesley. He did so, but it was stuck under the back seat.
"I'll get it," he declared, and I stood with the back passenger door open while he crouched below the passenger seat. Not only did this look lewd from a certain angle, but I also blushed when I realized I was totally checking out his butt. "I have a hockey booty," a forlorn customer struggling to buy a suit told me a few months ago. I get it now.
Wesley and I walked in, and Joey and Jared were right by the exit. I hugged them and introduced them to Wesley, and soon ran into my fellow comedian friend (and cub!), Matt Iverson! I didn't even notice the hairy, overweight men walking around in their underwear. It's The Eagle. You go there and you expect that. It's part of the scenery, just as The Saloon has the go-go boys and The Gay '90s has drunk 18-year-old girls who are still in love with their hopelessly gay twink pals.
Wesley was not one to hear of my explanation that the gay subculture offers something for everyone, and the further we walked into the bar, the more, erm -- Eaglish -- it got. The men somehow got hairier, fatter, and more scantily clad.
"OH MY GOD," Wesley couldn't stop yelling. "This is not for me. We need to go." But I had paid $14! And it was too crowded for us to turn on our heels and leave. I was beginning to grow worried not just for Wesley's state of mind, but also for his physical safety. His volume was getting louder, and the last thing I wanted was for a muscle bear to pulverize him into the ground (Wesley has an athletic build, and don't think I haven't noticed it, but I didn't want to take any chances). However, the only thing that was about to be pulverized was my ego.
"IS THERE ANYONE ATTRACTIVE HERE?!" Wesley yelled a bit too loud.
"Wesley," I said. "I'm right here."
Then he busted out laughing, in a genuine, boisterous manner that was bigger than any reaction I had at Johnny Tequila's earlier. "That's the funniest thing you've said all night!!" he sputtered.
We went downstairs, where Wesley only grew more traumatized. I bid a quick and regretful good-bye to Joey and Jared, and we were on our way to The Saloon. I convinced Wesley to not start swearing until we got in the car, because I didn't want to get beat up.
"I'm sorry I brought you there!" I cried. He was in no mood to hear my speech about subcultures and how everyone should be celebrated. Liam was texting me and I told him I was en route to The Saloon. I could tell from his texts that he was already wasted. Oh, yay.
Wesley parked the car and I meant to take one Listerine strip, but the wind blew them up and I accidentally took all of them at once! I failed to avoid a Listerine Strip crisis!
"Wesley!" I whined. "Do you have any gum? Or mints?"
"No," he scoffed.
"Oh no! What am I gonna do?!" I was in panic attack mode.
We tried to look for Liam when we got to The Saloon, but I was also nervous because Football Guy was there! The 6'4" sex god whom I once told was a unicorn! "Wesley!" I cried. "One of my biggest crushes is here! I'm so nervous! I'll point him out when he walks by!" He did, and he was with two fifths of the Pretty Girl Mafia, but he was with two of the five that rarely and never talk to me, so my presence was not acknowledged. Also, I had awful breath! I ended up sipping Rumpelmintz like it was water. I finally saw a boy who gave me gum (his name is Tommy and I met him after the Kathy Griffin show in December), and I will never forget it.
"Well," Wesley said as Football Guy and his heaving pectoral muscles walked by. "I'm glad one of us thinks he's cute." Fascinating! Liam showed up and we discussed classical architecture. Meanwhile, Wesley was busy texting Quinn, who was out of town. While Liam was blathering in my ear, I saw a moment happen on Wesley's face. It was a genuinely affected smile, and a look that I had never seen him give me. I realized that I would be the boy that makes him laugh, but never the one that made him smile. It was a feeling that would recur over the week.
We were back at T.J.'s bar in attempts to mingle and Liam went to Froot Loop. Wesley was still texting Quinn and I acquainted myself with Cagefighter for a while. As I was finishing my drink, Liam came back and tried to look at Wesley's cell phone, which didn't go over well.
"You better try to keep him," Liam said. "A boy like that isn't gonna be single very long."
"Yes, I know," I said. Liam sauntered off and Wesley glared as he left.
"What were you guys talking about?" Wesley asked.
"Um .... Easter," I said.
Cagefighter was getting hit on by a group of Asian twinks, and then RYAN ROBERTSON showed up! Liam and I instantly turned into teenage girls.
"Hi, Ryan," we both sang.
"I feel like you are a pop singer and every time we see you, we turn into the Ryanettes," I complained. "Are you going to brunch tomorrow?"
"Nah," Ryan said in his Lochte-like cadence. "My mom texted me and asked if I would come for lunch."
"Well, that's nice!" I agreed. "Cagefighter! Are you going to brunch tomorrow?"
"Yeah, probably at noon," he said. Hooray! Despite my emotional turmoil, I could look forward to brunch.
Wesley left, and Liam and I paid $20 for a petty-cab (which is when a cute boy in a bicycle drives you to your apartment).
"So, Wesley likes Quinn," I yelled, because I was drunk and rancid. "And remember when Kevin liked Quinn, too? And I'm fine with that. Quinn is cute, and he's a nice person! I'm not gonna hate him just because my crushes always like him! But I will say that my fake TV show is no longer called Loring Park. It is called Everybody Loves Quinn. On CBS at 8 PM on Wednesdays."
I cry a lot in this episode. But it was never in front of everyone. I am maturing that way.
I did not cry on that first Saturday. My night began by telling jokes at Johnny Tequila's Drinking Taco. It was the night before Easter, so the crowd was sparse, and I was exhausted having worked a 50-hour week (which I realize that some people do all year around). Mommy was tired, y'all. After only one vodka tonic, my brain cells were shot, and my routine did not go very well. I told all four audience members that I was Bette Midler in The Rose, and nobody knew what I was talking about.
Wesley was adamant about going to LUSH, so he agreed to pick me up downtown. I usually chastise him for wearing the same stupid hoodie, but tonight he cleaned up good and wore a white Banana Republic button-down. I was proud, and somewhere a gay angel got his wings. Earlier that night, Liam texted me asking if he could sleep over, and while I wasn't thrilled about it, I was happy that he was texting at 7:30 P.M. and not at 1:30 A.M. I said it was probable, but that I wasn't sure if we would even be at The Saloon or not.
When we got to LUSH, I panicked and realized I had lost my Listerine strips! I even speculated bringing a back-up pack in case this would happen! "Oh, no!" I cried. I have OCD about Listerine strips. My greatest fears are tarantulas and halitosis. "If I give you $10, can we go to the gas station to get Listerine strips?"
"What?!" Wesley asked. "Now? We just got here."
"I can't have bad breath!" I cried.
"Oh my god," Wesley cried. "You are worse than a chick."
He unlocked the car, and my Listerine strips were on the passenger seat! Hooray! Crisis averted!
"Do you have everything else?" he asked. "You probably need your ID. You look 12."
 | |
| Not really, but it was a moment. |
LUSH wasn't very crowded. We didn't know anybody there except Jason Matheson from FM 107, and by "know" I don't mean in a personal way. I texted my mother of his presence, and she begged me to say something (I still think my mom wakes up and hopes for a few seconds that I grew up to be Jason Matheson before the ugliness of reality sets in), but he was off the clock and I felt it would be rude. Wesley told me of his recent trip to California, but other than that, we sat in mutual boredom. He asked the staff why the place was so dead, and he explained that everyone was at the Eagle. I texted Joey and Jared, and they were there, too! Was The Eagle having a big event that night? Wesley and I wanted to go to The Saloon, but we agreed that we could stop at The Eagle to see what all the fuss was about.
Here's a primer about The Eagle for those of you not familiar with the Minneapolis gay club scene: There is something for everyone, truly. The Saloon, typically, is a younger, trendier, sexy crowd. Jetset is a trendy, sexy, older and more professional crowd (any time I introduce myself to anyone there, I get my own name corrected. "Jake," the Jetsetters say, with firm handshakes). The Gay '90s is hardly considered a gay club anymore. LUSH, the winner of Best Gay Bar in the City Pages last year, is a crapshoot, but on Wednesdays it attracts the same crowd that The Saloon does.
The Eagle, on the other hand, is for those who would not necessarily feel comfortable at The Saloon. The Eagle has bear nights and leather nights. The event we were attending, complete with $7 cover, was called "Bear-a-cudda." I paid the cover since I could already tell that this wasn't a great idea.
We were on our way in when I realized my phone was in the car, but we couldn't find it. "Call my phone," I demanded of Wesley. He did so, but it was stuck under the back seat.
"I'll get it," he declared, and I stood with the back passenger door open while he crouched below the passenger seat. Not only did this look lewd from a certain angle, but I also blushed when I realized I was totally checking out his butt. "I have a hockey booty," a forlorn customer struggling to buy a suit told me a few months ago. I get it now.
Wesley and I walked in, and Joey and Jared were right by the exit. I hugged them and introduced them to Wesley, and soon ran into my fellow comedian friend (and cub!), Matt Iverson! I didn't even notice the hairy, overweight men walking around in their underwear. It's The Eagle. You go there and you expect that. It's part of the scenery, just as The Saloon has the go-go boys and The Gay '90s has drunk 18-year-old girls who are still in love with their hopelessly gay twink pals.
Wesley was not one to hear of my explanation that the gay subculture offers something for everyone, and the further we walked into the bar, the more, erm -- Eaglish -- it got. The men somehow got hairier, fatter, and more scantily clad.
"OH MY GOD," Wesley couldn't stop yelling. "This is not for me. We need to go." But I had paid $14! And it was too crowded for us to turn on our heels and leave. I was beginning to grow worried not just for Wesley's state of mind, but also for his physical safety. His volume was getting louder, and the last thing I wanted was for a muscle bear to pulverize him into the ground (Wesley has an athletic build, and don't think I haven't noticed it, but I didn't want to take any chances). However, the only thing that was about to be pulverized was my ego.
"IS THERE ANYONE ATTRACTIVE HERE?!" Wesley yelled a bit too loud.
"Wesley," I said. "I'm right here."
Then he busted out laughing, in a genuine, boisterous manner that was bigger than any reaction I had at Johnny Tequila's earlier. "That's the funniest thing you've said all night!!" he sputtered.
We went downstairs, where Wesley only grew more traumatized. I bid a quick and regretful good-bye to Joey and Jared, and we were on our way to The Saloon. I convinced Wesley to not start swearing until we got in the car, because I didn't want to get beat up.
"I'm sorry I brought you there!" I cried. He was in no mood to hear my speech about subcultures and how everyone should be celebrated. Liam was texting me and I told him I was en route to The Saloon. I could tell from his texts that he was already wasted. Oh, yay.
Wesley parked the car and I meant to take one Listerine strip, but the wind blew them up and I accidentally took all of them at once! I failed to avoid a Listerine Strip crisis!
"Wesley!" I whined. "Do you have any gum? Or mints?"
"No," he scoffed.
"Oh no! What am I gonna do?!" I was in panic attack mode.
We tried to look for Liam when we got to The Saloon, but I was also nervous because Football Guy was there! The 6'4" sex god whom I once told was a unicorn! "Wesley!" I cried. "One of my biggest crushes is here! I'm so nervous! I'll point him out when he walks by!" He did, and he was with two fifths of the Pretty Girl Mafia, but he was with two of the five that rarely and never talk to me, so my presence was not acknowledged. Also, I had awful breath! I ended up sipping Rumpelmintz like it was water. I finally saw a boy who gave me gum (his name is Tommy and I met him after the Kathy Griffin show in December), and I will never forget it.
"Well," Wesley said as Football Guy and his heaving pectoral muscles walked by. "I'm glad one of us thinks he's cute." Fascinating! Liam showed up and we discussed classical architecture. Meanwhile, Wesley was busy texting Quinn, who was out of town. While Liam was blathering in my ear, I saw a moment happen on Wesley's face. It was a genuinely affected smile, and a look that I had never seen him give me. I realized that I would be the boy that makes him laugh, but never the one that made him smile. It was a feeling that would recur over the week.
 | |
| I wasn't crying yet. |
We were back at T.J.'s bar in attempts to mingle and Liam went to Froot Loop. Wesley was still texting Quinn and I acquainted myself with Cagefighter for a while. As I was finishing my drink, Liam came back and tried to look at Wesley's cell phone, which didn't go over well.
"You better try to keep him," Liam said. "A boy like that isn't gonna be single very long."
"Yes, I know," I said. Liam sauntered off and Wesley glared as he left.
"What were you guys talking about?" Wesley asked.
"Um .... Easter," I said.
Cagefighter was getting hit on by a group of Asian twinks, and then RYAN ROBERTSON showed up! Liam and I instantly turned into teenage girls.
"Hi, Ryan," we both sang.
"I feel like you are a pop singer and every time we see you, we turn into the Ryanettes," I complained. "Are you going to brunch tomorrow?"
"Nah," Ryan said in his Lochte-like cadence. "My mom texted me and asked if I would come for lunch."
"Well, that's nice!" I agreed. "Cagefighter! Are you going to brunch tomorrow?"
"Yeah, probably at noon," he said. Hooray! Despite my emotional turmoil, I could look forward to brunch.
Wesley left, and Liam and I paid $20 for a petty-cab (which is when a cute boy in a bicycle drives you to your apartment).
"So, Wesley likes Quinn," I yelled, because I was drunk and rancid. "And remember when Kevin liked Quinn, too? And I'm fine with that. Quinn is cute, and he's a nice person! I'm not gonna hate him just because my crushes always like him! But I will say that my fake TV show is no longer called Loring Park. It is called Everybody Loves Quinn. On CBS at 8 PM on Wednesdays."
Monday, February 4, 2013
Loring Park Episode #23: Silver Springs, Pretty Girls, and Tarot Cards
Previously on Loring Park: Heartbreak!
My adventures started by going to LUSH with a bunch of straights! I went to high school with Cory and Charlie and we used to do a radio show together. I quit doing it, but they revamped it and have done a great job with it, and I shall shamelessly plug for it here (no, it was not called Macho Men Radio when I was co-hosting, but a boy can dream). Cory and Charlie love LUSH because they know one of the bartenders, who happens to be nominated for a local bartender award (which you can vote for here. This link also made me realize that I need to go to other bars besides LUSH and The Saloon, because Minneapolis really does have a lot to offer, gosh darn it. I voted for Chris and T.J., my imaginary husband).
It was a Friday night, and that is when LUSH does their girl night, so I put a minimal effort in my appearance (not much foundation and a long-sleeve Ralph Lauren shirt from the kids' department). It turned out there were cute boys there, too, dammit! Cory and Charlie are longtime Green Bay Packers fans and lost a bet, so they were in Vikings jerseys, and maybe that's why they decided to go to LUSH. If they're going to be Vikings fans for a night, they might as well pretend to be gay.
There were three other men in our group, and one of them was a very tall and boisterous man named Tony who graciously bought me shots all night. I had enough to dance. The lesbians were dancing like middle-schoolers, creating a circle and waiting for somebody to dance in the middle. Charlie (who, it should now be noted, is very much a bro-ski jock) had enough liquid courage to do one-armed push-ups, and then he picked me up by the waist and we did what I can only describe as the "slutty Channing Tatum move", in which my legs were around him with my chest at his face and he was jokingly thrusting. It was all in good fun, until a gay in a red shirt decided that Charlie was lunch.
And the poor boy. He just didn't get it. Red Shirt started talking to Charlie, and I decided to go mingle. I admit, too, that I was being selfish and immature and decided that I was going to let this bar think Charlie was my hot boyfriend for the evening. He was straight! I was never going to see these people ever again! This was also why I was fine with Charlie talking to Red Shirt, because I definitely didn't want these people to think that I was one of those jealous, clingy, always-on-him type of boyfriends (and these boys do exist. I saw one of them last night).
Charlie is friendly, outgoing, and only sees the good in people. I don't even think he understood that Red Shirt was hitting on him. "I'm with Jakey," Charlie kept saying. "This is Jakey. Talk to Jakey." "I don't want to talk to Jakey," said Red Shirt. "I want to talk to you." Then Red Shirt took off his red shirt to reveal a hot gym body. Then Charlie started flexing. Then Red Shirt started flexing. Charlie, I was trying to communicate telepathically. He's totally doing a mating call!
While this all went on, I had another screwdriver and was that girl at the bar who was crying about a break-up. And I didn't even have a break-up! I had a doomed emotional affair that was doomed from the start, and this shit started in May! Tony was a very good listener and encouraged me to not settle.
Well, the romance ended, and Charlie and Red Shirt got mad at each other. Then Charlie got into defensive fake boyfriend mode. "If he gives you shit, I'll fuck him up," he kept saying. Cory could barely stand. It was time to go. I was able to calm Charlie down, and then right when his mood alleviated, Cory acted like a Bravo housewife and stirred shit again. "There's the guy in the red shirt again!" he yelled. "GOD DAMMIT!" I yelled.
Cory and his bros went home, and Tony, Charlie and I got a town car to the 19. Tony wanted to sit in the front, but he decided this after Charlie and I were in the back seat. Charlie still sat in the middle seat. "I'm serious," he said. "Anyone gives you shit, I'll take 'em down. No one fucks with you." Tony and the driver showed each other pictures of their children.
We got to the 19 and I put "Silver Springs" in the jukebox. I HAVE BEEN OBSESSED WITH SILVER SPRINGS. My father bought me Stevie Nicks' Greatest Hits for Christmas but I haven't even opened it. I have loved "Silver Springs" ever since a lady sang it at Big Louie's karaoke in November, and I have been especially obsessed with it since this latest emotional debacle.
Charlie, Tony, and I mingled. People still thought Charlie was my boyfriend, but I was mature enough to admit his heterosexuality. It's the 19. We met a nice man, and Tony insisted that I go on a date with him. He was getting his Ph.D and will probably rule the world in ten years, but I wasn't attracted to him in any physical sense. God knows I am not Channing Tatum, but there has to be an initial spark there, even if I don't put out. Seriously, the only time I get a 69 is at bingo. (Ba da bum bum CHING.) A nice man drove us to my apartment where the town car picked up the boys. As sad as I was, and as drunk as Charlie was (I kept feeding him Listerine strips), I realized his prototype is not what I am necessarily holding out for, but what I will always hope for. Not Charlie himself (he is happily in a relationship and is, in the words of my father, "a thousand percent heterosexual"), but a boy who will do one-armed push-ups at the bar and will sit in the middle seat next to you in the town car even though he could have slid over to the passenger side.
My adventures started by going to LUSH with a bunch of straights! I went to high school with Cory and Charlie and we used to do a radio show together. I quit doing it, but they revamped it and have done a great job with it, and I shall shamelessly plug for it here (no, it was not called Macho Men Radio when I was co-hosting, but a boy can dream). Cory and Charlie love LUSH because they know one of the bartenders, who happens to be nominated for a local bartender award (which you can vote for here. This link also made me realize that I need to go to other bars besides LUSH and The Saloon, because Minneapolis really does have a lot to offer, gosh darn it. I voted for Chris and T.J., my imaginary husband).
It was a Friday night, and that is when LUSH does their girl night, so I put a minimal effort in my appearance (not much foundation and a long-sleeve Ralph Lauren shirt from the kids' department). It turned out there were cute boys there, too, dammit! Cory and Charlie are longtime Green Bay Packers fans and lost a bet, so they were in Vikings jerseys, and maybe that's why they decided to go to LUSH. If they're going to be Vikings fans for a night, they might as well pretend to be gay.
There were three other men in our group, and one of them was a very tall and boisterous man named Tony who graciously bought me shots all night. I had enough to dance. The lesbians were dancing like middle-schoolers, creating a circle and waiting for somebody to dance in the middle. Charlie (who, it should now be noted, is very much a bro-ski jock) had enough liquid courage to do one-armed push-ups, and then he picked me up by the waist and we did what I can only describe as the "slutty Channing Tatum move", in which my legs were around him with my chest at his face and he was jokingly thrusting. It was all in good fun, until a gay in a red shirt decided that Charlie was lunch.
And the poor boy. He just didn't get it. Red Shirt started talking to Charlie, and I decided to go mingle. I admit, too, that I was being selfish and immature and decided that I was going to let this bar think Charlie was my hot boyfriend for the evening. He was straight! I was never going to see these people ever again! This was also why I was fine with Charlie talking to Red Shirt, because I definitely didn't want these people to think that I was one of those jealous, clingy, always-on-him type of boyfriends (and these boys do exist. I saw one of them last night).
Charlie is friendly, outgoing, and only sees the good in people. I don't even think he understood that Red Shirt was hitting on him. "I'm with Jakey," Charlie kept saying. "This is Jakey. Talk to Jakey." "I don't want to talk to Jakey," said Red Shirt. "I want to talk to you." Then Red Shirt took off his red shirt to reveal a hot gym body. Then Charlie started flexing. Then Red Shirt started flexing. Charlie, I was trying to communicate telepathically. He's totally doing a mating call!
While this all went on, I had another screwdriver and was that girl at the bar who was crying about a break-up. And I didn't even have a break-up! I had a doomed emotional affair that was doomed from the start, and this shit started in May! Tony was a very good listener and encouraged me to not settle.
Well, the romance ended, and Charlie and Red Shirt got mad at each other. Then Charlie got into defensive fake boyfriend mode. "If he gives you shit, I'll fuck him up," he kept saying. Cory could barely stand. It was time to go. I was able to calm Charlie down, and then right when his mood alleviated, Cory acted like a Bravo housewife and stirred shit again. "There's the guy in the red shirt again!" he yelled. "GOD DAMMIT!" I yelled.
Cory and his bros went home, and Tony, Charlie and I got a town car to the 19. Tony wanted to sit in the front, but he decided this after Charlie and I were in the back seat. Charlie still sat in the middle seat. "I'm serious," he said. "Anyone gives you shit, I'll take 'em down. No one fucks with you." Tony and the driver showed each other pictures of their children.
We got to the 19 and I put "Silver Springs" in the jukebox. I HAVE BEEN OBSESSED WITH SILVER SPRINGS. My father bought me Stevie Nicks' Greatest Hits for Christmas but I haven't even opened it. I have loved "Silver Springs" ever since a lady sang it at Big Louie's karaoke in November, and I have been especially obsessed with it since this latest emotional debacle.
Charlie, Tony, and I mingled. People still thought Charlie was my boyfriend, but I was mature enough to admit his heterosexuality. It's the 19. We met a nice man, and Tony insisted that I go on a date with him. He was getting his Ph.D and will probably rule the world in ten years, but I wasn't attracted to him in any physical sense. God knows I am not Channing Tatum, but there has to be an initial spark there, even if I don't put out. Seriously, the only time I get a 69 is at bingo. (Ba da bum bum CHING.) A nice man drove us to my apartment where the town car picked up the boys. As sad as I was, and as drunk as Charlie was (I kept feeding him Listerine strips), I realized his prototype is not what I am necessarily holding out for, but what I will always hope for. Not Charlie himself (he is happily in a relationship and is, in the words of my father, "a thousand percent heterosexual"), but a boy who will do one-armed push-ups at the bar and will sit in the middle seat next to you in the town car even though he could have slid over to the passenger side.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Loring Park Episode #21: Should Old Acquaintance Be Forgot?
Previously on Loring Park: Jakey and Kevin ventured to a famous party house. Jakey has a crush on everyone. But mostly Kevin. Oh, brother.
I spent the last three New Year's Eves (such awful grammar) in downtown hotels. Now that I live downtown, it's the last place I wanted to be. Luckily, I was invited to a New Year's Eve party at the same house that hosted the Daisy Dukes Party I randomly attended. I would be less nervous this time because I knew in advance that Liam, Chuck and Peter would be there, and I could have alcohol.
I was still a nervous wreck the entire day of the party. Kevin texted me at 5:30 asking if I wanted to come over earlier to watch a movie, but I decided that I had to Nair my arms and make sure that I was immaculate-looking. I managed to leave my house at 9 (like I had promised). I tried to buy mixers at Walgreens, but they absolutely failed and I could not get good mixers! In my defense, Kevin had asked for Five Alive and I don't even know what that is.
My anxiety is in reverse with him. Were this a normal friendship (I say the word "friendship" because "relationship" sounds far too serious and adult), I would feel more comfort the more we hang out. Instead, it is the opposite. The more I see him, the more I feel nauseous and anxious, and it's because I like him, more than the way I like the bar crushes, but I can't tell him that, because timing is everything, and I certainly couldn't say it on the way to the New Year's Eve party. What if he didn't feel the same way? Talk about an awkward car ride home the next morning.
Lost in my thoughts, I drove past his house on accident and then took forever to turn around because somebody was tailgating me and I panicked. Suburban drivers are mean, you guys. I finally got to his driveway and into his house. He was wearing a blue button-down and that damned pouka shell necklace. THAT DAMNED POUKA SHELL. It is as ridiculous as it is appealing.
"Try this on," he smiled, and he handed me a cream puffer jacket that I thought was a bit big on me. "That looks good. My mom brought it for me for Christmas but my arms are too long for it, so she said I should see if it fits you."
"Okay," I said through gritted teeth. "We should go. We don't want to be late to the party."
"It's good to see you," he said on the way there, tousling my hair, but not even that calmed my anxiety. It made it worse, actually, and then I got lost before we got to the freeway. I was beyond tense. I was obsessed with my butt, and who would be at this party, and then I was angry at myself for being anxious. This had nothing to do with the fact that we had already seen each other naked. There were going to be boys who look like models at this shindig. Boys born in the '90s who had positive, sunny attitudes and weren't constantly on edge.
“Buddy, are you sure you’re okay?” he asked
“Yes,” I said through clenched teeth. “I just hate driving. I’ll be okay when we get there.”
“Are you …. I don’t believe you, but okay,” he said.
Maybe there is when I should have said something. I convince myself that I don't want a relationship, or something monogomous, because I know I am too inexperienced for such a thing and have no clue as to what I am doing. That being said, I clearly have feelings for him, ones that are stronger than a simple crush, but I can't verbalize them. Instead I cope by listening to Lana del Ray and eating EZ-Cheese.
"I get lost all the time," I managed to say. "I hate driving. I am always running late. I'm on edge 24/7. Next year I will be a grown-up."
"Who says it has to be next year?" he smiled. "You've got three and a half hours left of 2012 to be an adult. You can do it."
I spent the last three New Year's Eves (such awful grammar) in downtown hotels. Now that I live downtown, it's the last place I wanted to be. Luckily, I was invited to a New Year's Eve party at the same house that hosted the Daisy Dukes Party I randomly attended. I would be less nervous this time because I knew in advance that Liam, Chuck and Peter would be there, and I could have alcohol.
I was still a nervous wreck the entire day of the party. Kevin texted me at 5:30 asking if I wanted to come over earlier to watch a movie, but I decided that I had to Nair my arms and make sure that I was immaculate-looking. I managed to leave my house at 9 (like I had promised). I tried to buy mixers at Walgreens, but they absolutely failed and I could not get good mixers! In my defense, Kevin had asked for Five Alive and I don't even know what that is.
My anxiety is in reverse with him. Were this a normal friendship (I say the word "friendship" because "relationship" sounds far too serious and adult), I would feel more comfort the more we hang out. Instead, it is the opposite. The more I see him, the more I feel nauseous and anxious, and it's because I like him, more than the way I like the bar crushes, but I can't tell him that, because timing is everything, and I certainly couldn't say it on the way to the New Year's Eve party. What if he didn't feel the same way? Talk about an awkward car ride home the next morning.
Lost in my thoughts, I drove past his house on accident and then took forever to turn around because somebody was tailgating me and I panicked. Suburban drivers are mean, you guys. I finally got to his driveway and into his house. He was wearing a blue button-down and that damned pouka shell necklace. THAT DAMNED POUKA SHELL. It is as ridiculous as it is appealing.
"Try this on," he smiled, and he handed me a cream puffer jacket that I thought was a bit big on me. "That looks good. My mom brought it for me for Christmas but my arms are too long for it, so she said I should see if it fits you."
"Okay," I said through gritted teeth. "We should go. We don't want to be late to the party."
"It's good to see you," he said on the way there, tousling my hair, but not even that calmed my anxiety. It made it worse, actually, and then I got lost before we got to the freeway. I was beyond tense. I was obsessed with my butt, and who would be at this party, and then I was angry at myself for being anxious. This had nothing to do with the fact that we had already seen each other naked. There were going to be boys who look like models at this shindig. Boys born in the '90s who had positive, sunny attitudes and weren't constantly on edge.
“Buddy, are you sure you’re okay?” he asked
“Yes,” I said through clenched teeth. “I just hate driving. I’ll be okay when we get there.”
“Are you …. I don’t believe you, but okay,” he said.
Maybe there is when I should have said something. I convince myself that I don't want a relationship, or something monogomous, because I know I am too inexperienced for such a thing and have no clue as to what I am doing. That being said, I clearly have feelings for him, ones that are stronger than a simple crush, but I can't verbalize them. Instead I cope by listening to Lana del Ray and eating EZ-Cheese.
"I get lost all the time," I managed to say. "I hate driving. I am always running late. I'm on edge 24/7. Next year I will be a grown-up."
"Who says it has to be next year?" he smiled. "You've got three and a half hours left of 2012 to be an adult. You can do it."
Monday, December 31, 2012
Loring Park Episode #20B: A Long December
Previously on Loring Park:
Sunday Funday! And let’s not get into it.
***
I have never liked December. Years of retail have turned me into a Scrooge. I am little and get cold easily. A friend told me this month that I need to live in Miami, but I am so pale that I am worried that if I lived there, friends and neighbors would constantly assume I was deathly ill.
2012 was a year of change, growth, poverty, heartbreak, disappointment, triumph, SO MUCH FLIRTING, new friendships, strengthened older friendships, an appreciation for family, and maybe just a glimmer of hope. Here’s to financial independence, confrontation of fear of intimacy, and improvement of punctuality.
***
I started working two jobs in December after choosing to go part-time at the one I have had for four years. It is either the smartest or dumbest thing I have ever done. I adore most of my co-workers, but I could not get promoted to save my life, and dealing with certain co-workers plus the nature of the job (December in retail! Hello!) was giving me hemorrhoids. Besides, my ultimate goal in 2013 is to be solely focused on the most stable industry of all: Entertainment. What could go wrong?
This new schedule meant that I could go only out once a week! Horrors! But I strangely enjoyed this, because it meant that instead of showing up at The Saloon at 12:30, you go to places early, leave before bar close, and actually value the time you have to spend with your friends. One night Joey and I even went to LUSH at 10:00 on a Wednesday, and I had to convince myself that it wasn’t a dream. Because I am 13, I had to tell him all about Kevin, as if our table at LUSH was in the middle of a high school cafeteria.
“Well, does it mean anything?!” Joey asked with wide eyes.
“I don’t think so,” I scoffed.
“Didn’t you guys talk about it when it was over?!” he asked again.
“Did we talk about it?” I repeated. “That is the gayest thing I have ever heard.” We danced out our confused emotions, next to Muscle Margaret and Star Quarterback. Muscle Margaret is not to be confused with Muscle Mary, who bartends at The Saloon and is often very cold with me. Muscle Margaret is in his own bubble, where if he thinks you’re worth knowing, he’ll acknowledge you; Muscle Mary sees you, knows you see him, but could give a shit as long as you’re not tipping. Chuck and I went to his bar one fateful night at The Saloon this month, a night that was hampered because I spent all night freaking out about my lost cell phone, only to find that it was in my apartment the entire time. I am the spaciest person EVER, you guys.
I even did a Sunday Funday for the first time ever! I posted a picture last time, but how Sunday Funday works is that you start at LUSH, drinking mimosas and ostensibly acting like a grown-up. Then your mother leaves, and your friends drag you to the Eagle, where good things never happen. You either return to LUSH or to your apartment (for a well-needed nap) before ending your day at The Saloon. It is exhausting and a sport in itself.
I was able to celebrate another Sunday Funday, but before I get into that, I must share events that happened that had nothing to do with clubbing.
Sunday Funday! And let’s not get into it.
***
I have never liked December. Years of retail have turned me into a Scrooge. I am little and get cold easily. A friend told me this month that I need to live in Miami, but I am so pale that I am worried that if I lived there, friends and neighbors would constantly assume I was deathly ill.
2012 was a year of change, growth, poverty, heartbreak, disappointment, triumph, SO MUCH FLIRTING, new friendships, strengthened older friendships, an appreciation for family, and maybe just a glimmer of hope. Here’s to financial independence, confrontation of fear of intimacy, and improvement of punctuality.
***
I started working two jobs in December after choosing to go part-time at the one I have had for four years. It is either the smartest or dumbest thing I have ever done. I adore most of my co-workers, but I could not get promoted to save my life, and dealing with certain co-workers plus the nature of the job (December in retail! Hello!) was giving me hemorrhoids. Besides, my ultimate goal in 2013 is to be solely focused on the most stable industry of all: Entertainment. What could go wrong?
This new schedule meant that I could go only out once a week! Horrors! But I strangely enjoyed this, because it meant that instead of showing up at The Saloon at 12:30, you go to places early, leave before bar close, and actually value the time you have to spend with your friends. One night Joey and I even went to LUSH at 10:00 on a Wednesday, and I had to convince myself that it wasn’t a dream. Because I am 13, I had to tell him all about Kevin, as if our table at LUSH was in the middle of a high school cafeteria.
“Well, does it mean anything?!” Joey asked with wide eyes.
“I don’t think so,” I scoffed.
“Didn’t you guys talk about it when it was over?!” he asked again.
“Did we talk about it?” I repeated. “That is the gayest thing I have ever heard.” We danced out our confused emotions, next to Muscle Margaret and Star Quarterback. Muscle Margaret is not to be confused with Muscle Mary, who bartends at The Saloon and is often very cold with me. Muscle Margaret is in his own bubble, where if he thinks you’re worth knowing, he’ll acknowledge you; Muscle Mary sees you, knows you see him, but could give a shit as long as you’re not tipping. Chuck and I went to his bar one fateful night at The Saloon this month, a night that was hampered because I spent all night freaking out about my lost cell phone, only to find that it was in my apartment the entire time. I am the spaciest person EVER, you guys.
I even did a Sunday Funday for the first time ever! I posted a picture last time, but how Sunday Funday works is that you start at LUSH, drinking mimosas and ostensibly acting like a grown-up. Then your mother leaves, and your friends drag you to the Eagle, where good things never happen. You either return to LUSH or to your apartment (for a well-needed nap) before ending your day at The Saloon. It is exhausting and a sport in itself.
I was able to celebrate another Sunday Funday, but before I get into that, I must share events that happened that had nothing to do with clubbing.
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