Hello, dear readers! It’s certainly been a while, hasn’t it? I imagined I would just start a brand new blog. Would I call it Loring Park 2.0? Elliott Park? Warehouse District? I write this in my new ninth floor apartment overlooking the North Loop of Minneapolis, where traffic zips by and I feel more Mary Richards-like than ever. There is a “J” above the fridge. Jared stops over every weekend. “Mary!” he cries. “Rhoda!” I cry back and we embrace, discuss the men in our lives, and have nights out on the town.
...Oh, just kidding. Y’know how I moved in with my parents until my tax refund came back? That’s gone. I took out a loan. That’s gone. I can’t have nice things. I’m still with the parents, at 32. Sometimes in order to feel like an adult, I get hotel rooms for the weekend. It doesn’t take a math genius to figure out this is not the way to financial freedom. If only I weren’t such a whore for room service and being called “Mr. Emmert”. I think it’s because I’m always called “ma’am” on the phone, and therefore such a salutation is surprisingly empowering and masculating. The AC Marriott has been my favorite because on the screen it says “Welcome, EMMERT JAKEY” and I can put on YouTube on the big TV and I actually have more fun watching WWE divas and Mariah Carey videos than going out. For a while I forget it’s a hotel and pretend it’s my own apartment, and I am a successful adult with a laptop that works and I didn’t screw everything up and I haven’t been a lovelorn unaccomplished alkie for 10 years.
Sigh.
Anyway, let’s recap my summer not-in-the-city but often-visiting-the-city, shall we?
Previously on Loring Park Loring Park Adjacent St. Anthony Blues ...
I have never seen Enchanted April. All I know is that it's a British film and Joan Plowright was Oscar-nominated for it in the year Marisa Tomei won the Oscar. My friend StinkyLuLu wrote about it for his Supporting Actress Smackdown once upon a time.
I probably said this last year, too, that April is never a good month for me. Things always seem to go sour. I have spent Aprils in emergency rooms, hospitals, crying in the bathroom about a boy while reading The Glass Castle, living with my parents for a month because the apartment I wanted wasn't available until May, finding myself on a flight to New York because I got accepted to college at the last minute and I was nowhere near emotionally and spiritually ready for such a thing because I had been secretly been suicidal and depressed for the prior seven months.
It doesn't go well, is what I'm saying.
This year I decided I was going to anticipate it. And maybe that is why my April, again, did not go well. I had put it in the air that life always goes to shit in April. So first we will go to a night in March, in which I was at Jetset with Joey and a gal pal of mine who I won't name.
My gal pal came over first and we pre-gamed with delicious vodka lemonade drinks and read old LiveJournals of ours. Remember those? We went to Jetset without incident, and then within two minutes, she could barely stand up. I realized it was my responsibility to go home with her in an Uber. She almost biffed it on the way to the car.
Our Uber driver, bless his heart, thought that we were a couple. My gal pal came to life as I asked her if she remembered our honeymoon in Mexico, and how I had sun poisoning.
"I told you to bring sunscreen," she giggled. Improv! All was well!
And then, like a light switch, her brain went into a different mode. "Why are you stopping?!" she cried at the driver with terror in her voice.
"The light is red," I tried to explain. "We always stop at red lights."
We got to her apartment, an old brownstone with no elevators, and she insisted that she didn't live there. I showed her where her name was on the entrance and we began to walk up the three flights up stairs. While we were between first and second floors, a young man who kind of looked like Eminem opened his door and gave me a death glare.
I paid it no attention and we made it to the second floor. OK. One more floor. Here we go. And we're walking, and we're walking ....
...And then Eminem comes sprinting up the stairs running at me. I freak out. My friend stumbles and lands on her face.
"Is everything okay?!" he yelled. "Are you trying to do something to this woman?"
"No," I said, speaking rapidly. "We were at Jetset and she got too drunk so I'm bringing her home."
"I thought you might be trying something with her," he said.
"I am gay as hell," I cried.
"Yeah, I get that now, " said Eminem. "Um, have a good night."
I cleaned up my friend and went back to Jetset. Before I had left, I had seen Under Armour was there and so was my friend Ian (who is loud and hilarious), so I messaged them to see if they were still there. They wrote back, and I planned to act like nothing had happened. But then Joey was talking to Miles and it was a deep conversation, and I felt that maybe I should go to The Saloon. But now it was 2 A.M.! The Saloon stays open until 3, so I took a Lyft from a lovely Ethiopian woman who had no idea where she was going. Hennepin Avenue was blocked off. It was a mess. I thanked her for her time anyway and walked to The Saloon at 2:20, where they told me they weren't letting anybody else in.
"Oh," I pouted. "Thank you."
Sven, the dancer and coat check boy who looks like Link from Zelda, was on his way out. "Do you need a ride home, Jakey?" he asked. His smile was the brightest thing on the street.
Sven is like a Manic Pixie Dream Twink, so I was kind of surprised when it turns out he drives a pick-up truck.
"I only live, like six blocks away from here," I said.
"Okay," he said. That smile. I can't.
He pulled over on Lasalle.
And before your mind goes there, I am going to say that we held hands for an hour and a half. I KNOW. I remember back in WWF days, and Jerry Lawler would tell Jim Ross, "If Lady Godiva rode in here, you'd notice the horse." Still, it was a lovely moment. I hadn't held hands with a boy in a pick-up truck in over a year, and that boy was not a manic pixie go-go dancer who was good with animals, but the polar opposite in every conceivable way -- although maybe he was good with animals. I'm pretty sure he had a dog. Anyway, nothing romantically is going to happen between me and Sven. He is nine and a half years younger than me! On paper, it's ten years, but if I say nine and a half it isn't as gross.
Previously on "Loring Park": TJ the bartender moved across the world! A friendship went off the rails! Terri Runnels! Lessons in Comedy
March began with me doing three shows in a week! I loved how busy it all felt. On Tuesday, I was invited to do a showcase at the VFW, on Thursday I performed at Bryant Lake Bowl for the LOL/OMG show, and Friday I had an awesome time slot in the Die Laughing marathon, where I got to do a half-hour set (that's the fundraiser for which I did "Brunch with Jakey" last year).
Show business, it seems, is kind of the devil. Yet you are always learning when you are in the trenches, and that is what I love.
First of all, the VFW show is really fun because they have a DJ by the stage and you can kind of riff with him and it's like having your own Paul Schaeffer. Bryant Lake Bowl was fun because I got to work with my friend Chris again, and Jason Schommer always puts together an eclectic and fun group. And Die Laughing was fun because of what I made out of it.
Other than my mom coming to the Bryant Lake Bowl show (which I really appreciated), nobody else I knew came to any of these gigs. Which is fine because no one owes you anything. I always believe that! But when people on Facebook insinuate they're going, and say they're gonna bring four of their friends, and then they don't, it becomes kind of a letdown. It especially felt his way at the Die Laughing Marathon, because I was led to believe that several folks from my high school were coming. I even brought my old yearbook! Also, the room was held in a HUGE banquet hall, so the audience of less than 20 looked even smaller.
But right before I got onstage, I realized the lesson. It does not matter how big your audience is, or who necessarily is in your audience. I mean, work certain angles if it makes the show better, but don't obsess over it being all women or all dudes or young/old whatever. It matters that you do your best to better yourself as a performer but more so for the people that are there. I let go of my disappointment that none of my friends showed up and had a damn good time on that stage. I was happy to learn that Fearless Comedy Productions achieved their fundraising goal over the weekend. Without them there would have been no Fringe Festival show for me, and I will always be grateful.
I walked to my car and made the drive back downtown. I realized it was a Friday night at 9 and were this just a week ago, I would have called Sean. We would have pre gamed at his apartment and maybe done Jetset or Saloon. Later in the month, Entertainment Weekly would do a full-length article on Delilah, the sappy radio DJ we both admired. It was an abrupt loss that, while certainly not romantic, was nonetheless difficult to process.
I had a paid gig that was cancelled a week later when I was the one who noticed the venue was advertising a completely different show for that evening. The booker felt bad and I didn't take it personally. Still. Show business is the devil.
I did the Tuesday Night Showcase the following week. I didn't do as well as the previous week because I was arriving right from work and was all frazzled and didn't have a clear routine. The crowd was still really cool. After the show, Gabe Noah, Isaac Witty and I went to The Saloon and drank Fireball and watched Latina drag queens and judged everybody doing karaoke. Life does not always have to suck.
My friend Sarah McPeck was the first ever female celebrity guest on Drag Queen Game Night! I was so proud of her. My friend Markie noticed my gut on this evening and later in the month an acquaintance grabbed a fat roll and on Easter Markie (again) would tell me to "suck it in". As stressed out as I have been lately, I am hoping some of it will lead to accidental weight loss.
Here we go, children! This week's episode begins on location, because my friend Charlie and I trekked to beautiful Milwaukee!
Charlie and I are kindred spirits for a few reasons. We are both Cancers. We are both deep thinkers. We can both quote Alanis Morrisette at the top of a hat (him more so than I -- I can admittedly only do so for her first three albums). And while he is six years my junior, we both love that era of WWF/WWE that was the "Attitude" era, especially when the women are concerned. My favorite will always be 7-time WWE Women's Champion Trish Stratus, and his will always be Terri "Marlena" Runnels, who had a remarkably long tenure in the business for a woman. While Terri was never a wrestler (although she *did* win the Hardcore Championship once), she worked tirelessly in different roles, as a glamorous silent manager to Goldust, a shrewd businesswoman in "P.M.S.", a horny little she-devil in a rivalry with The Kat, and finally as an interviewer who would occasionally get thrown into the ring to make one of the bad girls look even meaner (see the times Victoria or Molly Holly/Gail Kim beat her up to get the crowd to boo).
"Do you want to go meet Terri in Wisconsin?" Charlie asked me months ago.
"Sure!" I said. I thought nothing of it. I went to school in Menomonie, WI (about 70 miles east of Minneapolis), so Wisconsin wasn't a far away land to me. I didn't ask any follow-up questions. I assumed we would have a lovely day trip in Eau Claire.
"I'm so excited to see Terri!" Charlie said months later. "Did you take the whole weekend off work? It's in Milwaukee."
My trepidation was quelled when I found out Sean would be there that weekend, too! His family is from there and he was going to be in the city at the same time as us. Charlie and I booked a two-night stay at the Hilton. I felt bad for missing Jared's birthday party and suggested that my mother go on his behalf.
"I'll go if he's not so drunk he can't keep his eyes open," she said. "Maybe next year when he outgrows that kind of thing."
Charlie is from South Dakota and is used to driving for hours at a time with no interruptions, but when I wasn't complaining about wanting to sleep, I was complaining about wanting to pee! We stopped in Menomonie, Wisconsin, so I could relive my college days. We stopped at The Acoustic Cafe, where I was impressed by their gender-neutral bathrooms and horrified by coverage of Scott Walker. Scott Walker is the dirt worst. He is so bad that Republicans from Minnesota are writing letters encouraging businesses to open up shops in Minnesota. True story.
In the car, I asked Charlie for chap stick. "I don't share that kind of stuff," he said. "You need to trim your nose hairs, too."
"Oh, no, I didn't bring my nose hair trimmer!" I cried. "Can I use yours?"
"Ew!" Charlie scoffed. "No."
I understand not wanting to share a nose hair trimmer (and I thought I looked like Cousin Itt until I looked in the mirror and realized that it wasn't that bad), but the chap stick thing threw me for a loop. Charlie would later apologize and I told him it wasn't necessary -- I just found it an interesting quirk. I think of myself as someone who shares everything, but I suppose I am in between the extremes of Charlie and my friend Jacey, who will walk up to you if you are eating ice cream and ask for some and when you tell her you don't have a spoon, she'll say "I don't care" and use yours without even asking. I love her, by the way.
We had a few stops before the hotel room. We had to pee so we found a Burger King and both ordered a small fries. We were the only ones there and it took five minutes. I was going to ask for ketchup but one of the girls behind the counter was crying and I decided my ketchup could wait. Then we went to a store that was part liquor store, part grocery store, and part convenience shop where you could pay your light bill and things like that. We were going to stop at a vintage store Charlie had seen on Yelp but it was all boarded up.
"This is ghetto," said Charlie, who is from rural South Dakota.
"Stop saying ghetto," I said.
"Why?"
"It just ... doesn't seem right," I said. Yes, Milwaukee is 85% African-American and most of its income is in the greater suburbs, and therefore the public schools are not very good, and there are some neighborhoods the police don't even patrol anymore, and this was the first time I had been panhandled walking outside of a Walgreens. Still, I do not feel comfortable using the term "ghetto" when describing an impoverished, mostly black neighborhood. It feels icky.
We finally arrived in downtown Milwaukee. Any fatigue I had left when we were greeted by handsome men in full formal military apparel. Our hotel was having a military ball!!! God is real. My favorite things are ladies in pretty dresses, Marines, and a good love ballad.
Sean was visiting with his parents and joined up with us about 10:00, while Charlie and I enjoyed the WWE Network (and being ripped off by the hotel which tried charging both of us for Internet access. Ugggghhhhh).
Charlie started drinking earlier, but I wanted to wait. If I'm going to be out at 2 AM, I don't want to be half in the bag at 11, y'know? We watched more wrestling and listened to sad Alanis and Mariah song, and Sean was our chaperone for the course of the evening.
First we went to a club called .... Liquid? ... They blur together. We saw some drag queens. It was nice. Then we went to La Cage, which had cash only cover. I was bitching about this because just before our trip Wells Fargo had completely decimated my checking account. It was between these two venues that Charlie was getting belligerent.
I played darts with Sean and two of his friends. A shot boy walked around with a tray.
Sigh.
I am the last person to make comments about somebody's body. When I take my shirt off, I look like an albino 16-year-old girl who is growing slight chest hair because her body is eating itself due to anorexia.
That said, I am not a shot boy. In Minneapolis our shot boys are people like my friend Tan Man who works at two different gyms and is 9% body fat, or my friend Robin who is a classically trained dancer and is 9% body fat. In Milwaukee, the shot boy had man boobs, stretch marks, and was wearing grey Hanes. If you would have asked him who Andrew Christian was, he would have probably thought you were drunk and talking about two of your friends.
Charlie somehow finagled a free shot. And then he continued being rude. He wasn't throwing drinks or anything, but he kept talking about how bored he was, and was generally acting like a 15-year-old girl that you bring to your grandma's house on the lake for a weekend. Also, at one point he made fun of someone's hair and apparently that person has had five rounds of chemo. Whoopsie.
In a surprising showing of maturity, Charlie agreed to go back to the hotel. I paid for his Uber and it was less than $5. And then I was able to see what Milwaukee is like on the town!! By which I totally made out with that shot boy. You can't shame the shameless.
Sean and I ended our night at This is It, which was really quaint and reminded me of the 19. And I met Season 7 RuPaul's Drag Race contestant Trixie Mattel!
No, she was actually there. I didn't just talk to a poster. She was out of drag and was super nice and friendly, and I'm sure I mortified her by trying to present myself as a peer ("I'm a performer, tooooo ....)". I'll be rooting her for this season (And Max, of course, because local girls gotta stick together).
Sean and I went to Toppers Pizza and I ate the whole damn thing. I think I gained a good ten pounds in Milwaukee.
***
The next day, Charlie felt terrible, both in terms of hangover and shame.
"Was I really that mean?!" he kept asking.
"Text Sean about it," I said. It was between the two of them. As embarrassed as I was about Charlie's behavior, he hadn't said anything mean to me, and I'm much more willing to forgive bad behavior if someone is trite about it immediately.
"That's why I don't drink that much," he said.
I do find this fascinating. I drink, um, a bit -- okay, a lot -- and I don't get mean. The worst thing I ever did was slap that kid's ass when he wore the Adrian Peterson family because I thought it would be funny! (Turns out his last name was Peterson and his boyfriend did NOT find this amusing). And there was the time a boy who was a thousand times better looking than me was going to sleep with someone I was in love with and I said "I know the score". Okay. Nobody is perfect, certainly not me. However, I don't get mean! I don't understand the concept of being a mean drunk. You drink to dull your pain, not maximize it. If you're a mean drunk, stay home or drink club soda.
On a lighter note, this is the AMAZING card that Charlie made for Terri.* How creative is he?? We went to Walgreens to buy 99 cent Wet 'n' Wild lipstick, and clearly Charlie is a better kisser than me. Then, on the inside, IT PLAYED TERRI'S THEME MUSIC.
*I suppose I can write here now a note about code names. By using real pictures and even evidence of real names, you might wonder why I am still bothering with the use of code names, at least for this particular "character". I can only suggest that, for this particular person, it is a matter of striving for consistency. There are few people who have never had code names, and they will stay that way.
In the card, he wrote her a beautiful and heartfelt letter about how he was a gay kid from South Dakota and he found strength by doing the "Terri pose" against his fence (when Terri would enter the ring, she would lean against the ropes and do a kiss-face to the crowd, with her back leg raised up in coquettish fashion -- I would do the same thing climbing my bunk at summer camp). He wrote that he was here with his friend Jakey, who was also gay, also a Cancer, and also a fan of all things Divas.
He then wrote that he would love to take her out to dinner and gave her his phone number.
"Is that too much?" he asked.
"Well ... I wouldn't," I honestly said. Truth. I could be in an elevator with Channing Tatum and act like I didn't know him. "But it's also a now or never thing. When will you have this opportunity again? You are braver than me."
Of course, getting to the arena took forever because I left my debit card in the room, the ATM at the hotel wasn't working (but we did get to walk past the Broadcasters Hall of Fame plaques, and there was a guy whose name was legitimately Dick Record. I loved it!), and it was snowing! We arrived and the line to meet the wrestlers was a good 200+ people long.
The other wrestlers were Matt Hardy, King Kong Bundy, and Kevin Nash, the latter of which I was going to have sign my copy of "Magic Mike" and I forgot it. And I have two of them!! While in line we stood next to a young woman and her niece, and she went on and on about who she met and invited us to indie shows she was working on. While I don't follow wrestling nearly as much as I used to, it reminded me of conventions I would go to in Las Vegas with people on the forums of wrestling observer.com -- and as dorky as it sounds to someone not familiar with it, there is this instant connection of kindred spirit and brotherhood that happens with a fellow wrestling fan. Charlie and I driving six hours to meet a particular woman was ample evidence of this.
To meet the wrestlers you had to buy tickets to the hockey game, so we were at the Bradley Center, where the Milwaukee Admirals were hosting the Rochester Americans. The first period ended while we were in line. While I have never seen a hockey game, I was kind of bummed. Those tickets weren't cheap, and when would I ever see a hockey game again?"
"How long is a period?" I asked Charlie.
"Like ... a woman's?" he asked.
"No!" I cried. "In hockey!"
"Oh, I don't know," he said. "Probably shorter than a woman's, though."
"Well, no shit, Charlie," I said.
A burly man came up to us as we neared the pillar. The signing went from 2-4, and it was about 3:40.
"FOLKS!" he cried. "At this time there are NO PICTURES!! JUST AUTOGRAPHS!"
My heart sank in my chest. I had begun to think this trip had all been a bust. What if I had had cash on me to begin with? What if I hadn't forgotten my debit card? What if Charlie had come back from lunch with his professor friend earlier? Would we just get her autograph, smile, and walk away?
Matt Hardy was up first. He can still get it, girls. King Kong Bundy didn't say anything but smiled. Then. Oh crap. Here we go. Terri Runnels.
"Hi, Terri," I said in lightning fast fashion and handed her the card. "I made this for you." I totally lied! Charlie made it!
"Open it," I cried. "It plays your theme music!"
She was elated. "Oh my god," she cried. "Oh, just get one picture."
WE TOOK THREE BECAUSE CHARLIE IS MUCH MORE CONFRONTATIONAL THAN I AM AND ON THIS OCCASION IT WAS FOR GOOD. THE GUY YELLED AT US THE ENTIRE TIME.
Amidst the yelling, Kevin Nash graciously signed an 8 x 10 for my mother (who loves him!), and Charlie and I hi-fived like Terri and Jacqueline of Pretty Mean Sisters.
Then we were finally ready for the hockey game! Charlie was too much on a high from the Terri moment to focus, but I wanted to relish the moment. I decided that I LOVE HOCKEY. I think I was spoiled because the game itself was really good and went into overtime. But I also loved the aggression of it. 85% of my love for hockey was heterosexual, but there was a 15% equivalent of me hoping that at one point the dudes would take their masks off and start kissing.
Nevertheless, my newfound passion of hockey only led to positive things, BECAUSE THE ADMIRALS WON IN OVERTIME!!!
They actually won 6-5, but that's the picture that came up. Okay, then.
Charlie and I prepared for a quiet night in, watching the Grammys. My favorite performance was Rihanna w/Jay-Z and Paul McCartney. I loved Sam Smith's speech about thanking the man who broke his heart. It was just like when I wrote a show in the Fringe Festival only not at all. Also, I have realized my celebrity doppelgänger is Beck and I am not sure how I feel about that.
We invited Sean out for Round Two, but he decided to stay in (a decision for which I couldn't entirely blame him). As the Grammys came to a close, Charlie's phone went off from a Florida area code.
"Who is ... oh, crap," he said. "I think it's Terri!"
"Answer it!!" I cried.
Charlie did his best impression of a teenage girl who is finally getting asked out by the star quarterback for spring formal.
"Hello?" he asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking.
"Hi, can I ask who I'm speaking with?" the demure voice on the other end said.
"This is Charlie," he said.
"Oh, good," the woman said. "This is Terri. I just wanted to call and let you guys know that I fell in love with you two from the minute I saw you, and that card was so creative and warmed my heart. I just got back from dinner with Kevin Nash."
We invited her out to the gay bar but she said she was too tired. Maybe next time.
Oh, but this was the best part.
"If you guys ever need anything, let me know," said Terri Runnels. She, who kicked Marc Mero in the nuts and formed the first ever female stable in the World Wrestling Federation. She, who was sprayed by a milk truck by Kurt Angle. She, who had The Fabulous Moolah in her corner at WrestleMania 2000. She, who in the very building we had met her, was tarred and feathered by Stacy Keibler after a lingerie pillow fight and legitimately almost died because one of the feathers got stuck in her throat from the syrup. Okay, they're not all glamorous.
I decided to let Charlie keep her number under lock and key. I don't need to be texting Terri Runnels at 2 in the morning next time I'm sad about a dude. But I love him, Terri, I will write. Even if he comes and goes like inclement weather. You need to find a man who will be like Florida, she will write. Always warm and comfortable ;)
A boy can dream.
Oh, also, this:
***
I was so saddened to find out that we had lost Linda Reed to esophageal cancer. I have worked at the Mall of America for six and a half years, and Linda, who was a cashier at Holiday on the first floor, was always a highlight of my day, especially on those in which I was sleep-deprived or hung over or crabby or broken-hearted or all of the above. She genuinely *loved* that job and the people she interacted with every day, and there was not a mall employee who wasn't affected by her genuine joy for her customers and occupation. They had this posted on the counter for about a week. I was most moved by the discovery that she had a family. I had no reason to think she *didn't* have one, but to all of us she was Linda. I had no idea she was a "wife of", a " mother of", a "sister to", or that her father was a reverend. I will think of her every day.
January was a crazy month, children! A month of good-byes, hellos, public promiscuity, complicated feelings, and new friendships. I am even using an Oxford comma and I usually don't enjoy them. It was that eventful.
***
Our friend Chris, who had a code name on here once but I forget what it was, moved to West Hollywood after leaving his local corporate gig. A festive going-away party was held in Golden Valley. I felt blessed to be around so many people I enjoy, and not just because they had free booze, pizza, and a 24-pack of 5-hour energy drinks. It's like they knew I was coming! I arrived with Joey and Jared. We played flip cup and I was a diva and played with vodka. Among the other guests was Victor, whose boyfriend's sister is marrying my uncle in June (small world!), and Steve. Steve is 21 and flirts with me but he flirts with everybody and I never know how to feel about it. I've decided to stop thinking about it and letting it be.
My good friend Peter visited from Washington D.C. for a week! He treated me to Masu Sushi on my lunch break. We were going to go Dutch but Wells Fargo withdrew money for a loan payment that I thought my mom was making on my behalf and I literally had no dollars to my name. Peter covered the lunch but I felt terrible and ashamed and embarrassed. He is 22! And in college! And works three jobs! Peter always inspires me because he has hustle like no other. I am beginning to wonder if part of the reason I am such a financial/emotional mess is because hustle might be innate. I am a three-time college dropout. I haven't been to the gym since October or an open mike since December. If I ever achieve hustle, it will be because I watched a lot of Oprah on YouTube or got really desperate. I was not born with hustle.
Meanwhile, at The Saloon (of course!), I was at T.J.'s bar pretending that he isn't moving to Taiwan. Perhaps when he does it will finally end the chapter of my bar star career. That is why I cried so much when he told me he was leaving. I couldn't stay Peter Pan forever, and not just because I am getting bald and poochy (fuck you, aging!).
I was talking with Joey and Jared when a tall man built like a former linebacker came up to us. "Uh, sorry," he said. "Are you Jakey Emmert?"
"Who's asking?" I inquired, because I don't know if someone is friends with the broski or if they're friends with Celebrity and want to beat me up.
"Uh ... we're friends on Facebook," he said sheepishly. "I just moved to Minneapolis. I love your blog."
His name was Jonathan. Jared rolled his eyes so hard they almost fell out of his head. I, of course, loved it! Hashtag fauxmas. We had a lovely conversation about his days in North Dakota but then he had to leave because one of his friends was super wasted and it was time for damage control. Been there.
"We don't even have the same taste in men," Jonathan lamented. "But then when he gets drunk he always decides to go forever who I like."
"What does he like? Broskis?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said. "And I like ..."
"Twinks?" I said with evident disdain because I am an insecure bitch.
He corraled his friends and the drunk one apologized for being drunk but I told him he was fine. I've had to deal with Jared passing out in public, for God's sake.
"I gotta go," Jonathan said. "But .... fuck it."
Then he grabbed me and we made out in front of everyone. Danny saw it from his bar (which is behind the kitchen, behind TJ's bar, and there's a window, if that makes any sense to those not familiar with the Saloon layout).
Then a dude who I hear likes the boys young -- like let's get the Feds involved young (allegedly!) -- made out with me, too! I felt flattered and skeevy because I always think I look super old.
"All I can say is Auntie Debby!" Jared wrote on Facebook. Auntie Debby is my alias when I get too drunk. She is recently divorced, hates her job, and has the false confidence and sexual prowess of a much younger and prettier woman.
"Stop making out with everyone!" Danny wrote on my Facebook.
We moseyed over to Danny's bar. I should now point out that it was a full moon this evening, and it was in Cancer.
"How many people are you going to kiss tonight?" Danny asked.
"I might as well make out with a third person and score the hat trick," I said. At this very moment, Steve walked by. I looked at him with lust and he looked at me like I had known he had an upcoming day off and asked if he could help me move into a new apartment that day.
"Ugh," he said. "Fine."
Then I made out with Steve. Surprisingly, I did not get strep or mono from any of this.
My favorite people are the ones that you can't make up. I don't just think that way about my fake boyfriends. Maybe it's the wannabe journalist in me.
Speaking of being a wannabe journalist, I still haven't heard from St. Thomas yet! I was doing an open mike at The Chatterbox (hosted by the lovely and talented Rana May) and I ended up driving down Cretin Avenue toward St. Thomas. Even though I was right by Paul Ryan's house, I wasn't even thinking about him! I mean, kind of. But as "All I Want for Christmas is You" was blaring, I realized that all I wanted was to be a Tommy!
They e-mailed me and said they needed my transcript from MCTC. Then they e-mailed me and said that my MCTC transcript said that I went to Kingsborough Community College (which is in Brooklyn -- maybe CUNY Brooklyn would have deferred me there had I stayed as I technically flunked my second semester?) and that I had 12 credits from a non-U.S. school. That sounds lovely and interesting, but it wasn't my life.
At that point I was going to give up, but people accurately on Facebook told me that I had come too far to just quit. So on Christmas Eve Eve, I went into the offices of MCTC, immediately had PTSD, received my accurate transcript, and dropped it off at St. Thomas. I would return to that neighborhood again that evening, but we'll get there later.
Because first I have to tell you about the time Joey and I hung out with a porn star!
It was soooo weird. We were at The Saloon and this attractive boy told us he was having an after-party. He was very good-looking in a dirty way. Tall, kinda scruffy, piercing blue eyes, lanky but toned body. Since I never go to the club until midnight and I always take a 5-hour energy shot like a moron, I was all for an after-party. Joey paid for the Lyft and we took it to the wrong side of town at first.
I forget if we knew then he did porn or if it wasn't until we got to his house. And I shouldn't be throwing around the phrase "porn star" because I think if you even do one porno, you're certified as a "star". I don't know. All I can say is we got to his house at 3:30 A.M. and holy crap, am I in the wrong business. He had beautiful artwork done for him by a fan in Japan. We discussed how much he paid for rent here as opposed to his life in New York. "I used to live in New York," I had said about eight times. I fantasized about a different life, in which I had a good body and a healthy appetite for sex. I was even realistic in this fantasy because I am 28 and now I'm too old for twink porn and could only maintain my career if I gained 50 pounds of muscle, stopped shaving my body hair and became an otter muscle top, and that is not going to happen anytime soon.
Anygay, there were two other dudes there that were older than us, and Joey went upstairs to watch American Horror Story with them. Here I was, standing in front of a kitchen island, with this beautiful strange man who can't stop making "meow" sounds.
"I like cosplay," he said. "My favorite is Gambit."
"Gambit is Cajun," I said. "Can you do a Cajun accent?"
"No," he said. "But I can show you my costume." Then he changed into his Gambit outfit and slightly lifted up his shirt and oh, boyyyyyyyyyyy.
Somehow we got on the topic of height because I am good at flirting. "I'm not that tall," he said. "I'm 6'2'."
"That's tall," I said. (Height is a fascinating topic to me, really. Joey is 6'2" and often laments that there's not enough tall men at the clubs, and this is Minneapolis. Men were always my height or shorter in NYC). "I'm only 5'7'."
"Really?" Porn Dude smiled. "No you're not. You're way taller."
Then he walked around the island.
"Oh," he said, almost disappointed. "I thought you were sitting down."
"Maybe I want to sit somewhere else," I said as I ripped his Gambit outfit off. Then he picked me up by the armpits, sat me down on the kitchen island and banged me senselessly and the men upstairs in the loft watching American Horror Story had a raucous three-way above us.
OK, that last part didn't really happen. I just thought the story should have had sex in it at some point.
The five of us ended up going to the Nicollet Diner as opposed to the Uptown Diner, a fact I enjoyed because that meant Joey and I could walk home. I played Mariah Carey on the jukebox and the waiter rolled his eyes. I already have a rep there. They have TouchTones! I can even play "One More Try"! As I sat across from the meowing porn star, I realized ...
Holy crap. I've met him before!!!
He has no idea who I am, but I put the memories together and no longer felt insecure about myself. Behold, this episode from December 2012:
Victor had two ridiculously attractive boys with him, one of whom had a T-shirt on advertising a porn site. I didn’t speak to him at LUSH, but he was in our eyesight at The Eagle, where I overpaid the jukebox to play “We Belong Together”.
“We were friends on Facebook,” Liam was telling the porn star.
“You deleted me,” Porn Guy insisted.
“What? I wouldn’t do that,” Liam balked. “Oh, this is Jakey. He thinks you’re really hot.”
“Wait, what?!” I balked, and then I got lost in his lapis eyes. “I don’t -- I mean, I’m not, like ---Hi, how are you? I’m just -- Mariah.”
“Are you, like, really shy around guys or something?” Porn Guy asked. Then I imagined he was really good at kissing.
Those were the days! He showed up on my Facebook 'People You May Know' the next day. I added him back and he added me back three weeks later, but only because he got spammed and his profile was trying to get me to buy Ray-Bans. Such is life. On we go.
I have no idea if I get in, if I will go, or what I will think of myself if I get in or if I do not get in.
Work is ... promising. Like, I might even be perceived as an adult there. I just had my six-year anniversary. Now, if only I could get my ass out of bed and on time. You'd think I would have this down by 28.
***
It was the day before Labor Day when Paul Ryan asked if I wanted to go to his house and cavort with his frat bro friends. While that sounded lovely, I already decided I was going to head to The Slutoon (shocking!). Jared decided he wasn't going out, and Joey reluctantly agreed to ride in the Uber with me provided he got shotgun, and we would Uber to pick up Paul Ryan -- who lives near the University of St. Thomas -- and then head to The Saloon.
Um, y'know how Uber has "peak rates"? I have never paid more than $10 for an Uber, although I have admittedly only taken it as far as Northeast Minneapolis from Loring Park. Apparently, everyone and their dog wanted an Uber to celebrate Labor Day, because it would have cost $100 round trip to pick up Paul Ryan in one and have us be delivered to The Saloon. And let's not get started on the ridiculousness of the fact that I would be paying for the Uber despite the fact that Paul Ryan had just told me how much he made last month and it is more than I make in a year. Stay in school, kids.
Since I hadn't started drinking yet, I decided I would pick up Paul Ryan myself and then the three of us would walk to The Saloon together.
"I can't believe you're doing this," Joey kept saying as I was getting dressed.
"I know," I said. "But think of it as me being Mommy and I am trying to find a good stepdad for you."
It was raining, and I was already wet when I walked up Lasalle Avenue in my usual parking spot (right next to an always-empty commercial parking lot -- so Mona, my tina Toyota Yaris, usually scoots in. I used to park across from there but I got a $35 parking ticket once). I put music on and ventured to St. Paul, where I am sure I made a fool of myself trying to park and nearly causing a three-vehicle crash (seriously, there were at least three different frat boys standing in their yards amidst the commotion).
I walked into Paul's house and lamented that I didn't have an umbrella. "I have one," he said.
"Good," I said. "Now put on your pants. We are leaving."
"Jakey," he grinned. "Don't you want a cocktail first?"
"No," I said. "I am driving. And I'm all wet. Do you have a hoodie I can steal?" I used to do this when I went to Kevin's house all the time. Kleptomania is part of my charm.
"You can have my Cambridge one," Paul Ryan offered.
"Oh, that looks too expensive," I said. Even Kleptomaniacs have morals. "I'll just take this one." I chose a waterproof blue reversible Billabong zip-up hoodie. Paul Ryan chose a Polo button-up, shorts, and Boss suede shoes.
"Suede?" I asked. "It's raining."
"They're already ruined anyway," he laughed. "I don't care. Why aren't you parked in front of the house?"
"Because I got disoriented and I can't parallel park to save my life," I said. "Now walk fast."
"We're walking by my car," Paul Ryan shared. "I have a Toyota Escalade."
"I have a Toyota Yaris," I said. "Her name is Mona."
"Aww," he said. "We both have Toyotas. We have so much in common, Jakey."
Interestingly enough, a Toyota Yaris is compact and frisky while a Toyota Escalade is large and ostentatious. Sometimes, we are what we drive.
We entered the car, and Paul Ryan, as the tallest person to ever ride shotgun with me, looked absolutely cramped.
"I'm sorry," I said. "It's not really a tall-person car."
"You drive like a white person," Paul Ryan said.
"I still haven't finished my college application," I said.
"Finish it, bro," he said. "That place needs people like you. Everyone there is so ... sheltered. You would have a unique perspective."
We drove up to Lasalle Avenue and my spot was taken! Curses! To Clifton it was.
"Paul, I am very bad at parking," I explained. "You have to do what Jared does and look back and tell me if I have room."
"Remember when I fucked you?" he asked.
"Paul!" I cried as I almost hit a construction cone. "Now is not the time."
"Jakey," he laughed. "Your leg is brushing up against mine. You're getting me hard right now."
"Paul Ryan!" I cried as Mona brushed up against the curb. "Focus!"
"I was pretty intoxicated when we had sex," he said.
"Yes, well," I said as I felt my face get hot. "You clearly knew what you were doing."
"Really?" Paul Ryan asked. "Cool." Boys are soooooooo stupid.
We got out of the car and stood across of a house for sale. "Why would you want a house downtown?" he asked. "Especially Minneapolis. I would never want to live here."
"I want that house," I said.
"Of course it's a Corbett Realty property," Paul scoffed.
"I would like a house for my thirtieth birthday," I said as we walked arm-in-arm, prom-style.
"Really? Not like a trip or something?""
"I just think it would be nice to have a house," I said. "That isn't my parents'."
We arrived back at my apartment and pre-gamed. Paul Ryan was incredulous that Jared was not going and cajoled him to join us. By cajole, I mean he told Jared he would pay for his cover, and Jared got dressed in 45 seconds. Paul Ryan passed the time by trying to show me and Joey his nudie pics, but I would have none of it.
On the walk there, Paul Ryan and I shared an umbrella. I always fake date boys who are rather masculine. This makes me feel guilty for a variety of reasons. As a result, every now and then I have an intense need to demonstrate that I can be "the boy" when needed. Therefore, I insisted on holding the umbrella. However, this did not really work because Paul Ryan is seven or eight inches taller than me.
"Jakey," he scoffed. "I'm getting wet."
"Then you hold the umbrella," I said. "God damn."
We arrived and Paul Ryan took back his offer on paying Jared's cover. Jared started walking home in the rain. I got him to come back.
"I want to go shake my thing," Paul Ryan said. He and Jared did so while I mingled and gossiped. Paul went home with a twink and Joey was outraged the next morning.
"What an asshole!" Joey cried. "I can't believe he would do that."
"I wasn't even mad about it," I said.
"Why not?!" Joey cried.
"Because we never made plans for after," I said. "And I have his hoodie."
I still do, by the way. It is comfortable as all hell and I am not giving it back.
***
I went to the State Fair! I would post pictures but I have temporarily de-activated my Facebook. I will explain this later.
It was lovely to spend time with my extended family, even though the bus ride was horrendous. The driver begged me to wait for the next bus, but I said "I'm little" and stood between a group of mean seventh-graders. I hung on for dear life.
***
I had the opportunity to meet Detox at The Saloon a few Thursdays ago. I further recapped it here. She didn't get on stage until 11:40 (doors opened at 10) ,but she was beyond gracious and genuine during her Meet and Greet, and I felt The Saloon had things organized much better than when DWV appeared last April. I gushed about how when she performed with Battle of the Seasons at the Varsity Theater in December, she was the only queen who gave a genuine, heartfelt speech about being there for the fans. I knew at least two people who went to her after party, so she is a friend in my head. Special thank you to Liam for taking the picture of us, because I am an excellent photojournalist and therefore my phone was dead by the time I got to go up in the line.
Also, Christ, I am getting old and fat.
And when I am older and fatter, I will look at that picture and think of myself as gorgeous, because life is like that.
***
I had the most "Jakey"-ish night on a Thursday, when I did stand-up comedy at Nye's Polonaise Lounge! It is a great room that they run on Thursdays, where you are in the basement and it feels like an old-timey club. A really cute boy that I used to work with was there. I went up first, which is always difficult, and the way the light is run there, you can't see for shit when you're onstage, an aspect I have yet to get used to. This was the day after the news of Adrian Peterson allegedly beating his 2-year-old was released.
"I'm going first and there's, like, 17 of us tonight," I told the audience. "And we're all gonna want to be cutting-edge and ahead of everything when it comes to current events. So, I thought of a game. Just drink every time someone makes an Adrian Peterson joke. And hopefully you have a sober cab, because you are going to be flat on your ass. Much like you would be if you were dating an NFL player. That counts. Drink!" I had fun.
I stayed until the show ended, as is the polite thing to do (and it's not like I was in a hurry! Afterward I was going to Honey, which was just across the street). As I mingled, a comedian who I had never seen before came up to me.
"You're awesome," she said.
"I did okay," I said. I need to read Lean In.
"No, I'm serious," she said. "If you work hard, you're going to be a star. Even your voice is funny. And your material is smart."
Well, shmuck.
But isn't that a novel concept? That you will be a success ... if you work hard. I lost that somewhere. I dropped out of school at 21, was still furious with my mother for ruining my life and was still furious with myself for thinking she had ruined it, and I just kinda gave up, but I also thought that I would somehow still become rich and famous.
Huh.
The evening was marred because Joey and Jared were feuding, but I fixed it when we got home. Joey saves his emotions for when he can no longer accept them, and Jared is constantly on a stealth audition for The Bad Girls Club. I suppose this is the best dramatic re-enactment of it all:
The three of us, along with my best friend Erin McCloskey and my reading-to-filth mother, will be going to Miami together at the end of the month. Thoughts and prayers are appreciated.
***
There is a new boy in our group named Steve who just turned 21 and is smooth-skinned and babyfaced and therefore everyone is in love with him. I haven't decided yet, so I just hug him more than is appropriate. I don't think he has it figured out.
We like Owen, too. He works at The Saloon and is kind of a dork trapped in a hot model's body. Some people are just cursed that way.
Cordero brought me too many drinks at The 19 but then Dollface showed up so I spent all night flirting with him like an asshole. And then I didn't even go home with him! I don't know what I am doing.
I did get a parking spot now, so there's that. I pay $75 to a former Marine named Lowell who is approximately 100 years old and as many pounds. He has a tiny flip phone. I love him.
***
Speaking of not knowing what I'm doing, I went from being an MTV alcoholic to an A&E alcoholic. It was time to dial it back, as the kids say.
The kids don't really say that, Jakey.
Shut up! I am hip!
On a Friday, I was supposed to meet everyone at LUSH, but Jared left without me, so I pouted at The 19, and then I took an Uber to Sean's, and I pre-gamed at his place and then met the kids at The Saloon. Paul Ryan was there and could barely stand up. He travels with an entourage, so they walked him out in one piece.
Then Kevin was there.
"Jakey, we need to go home," said Jared. "We work early."
"Go away!" I cried. "It's Kevin!"
In my head I was all
But instead I was probably all
I had not seen him in four months and did not know what I was expecting.
"You should go home," he told me.
"My family doesn't ask about you anymore," he added. "And I lost weight, which I know you cared so much about."
He did look very much like the 'old Kevin' (well, young Kevin, if you know what I mean). I wasn't going to go home with him anyway, but it would have been nice to be asked. And I get why he said what he did, because it is human nature to want to win. I've done the same thing with other people.
But why was he so standoffish with me? I wasn't that drunk and sloppy.
My Facebook at 3:30 AM said I AM SO SAD.
Okay. Maybe I was.
Sunday was an even bigger shitshow!
I met up with Jared and Joey at The Eagle and we received applause by re-enacting the lift during "(I Have Had) The Time Of My Life". My Uber driver was new to the job and did not listen to directions. When I got there, Joey and Jared were talking to Ricky! The nerve! I acted like a wife who had walked into her husband banging the secretary on the desk.
"It wasn't like that," they promised. "He just came up to us."
"Whatever!" I cried. "This is a betrayal!"
I went to order my drink and was even more horrified when the bartender called me Ricky!
"Um, what?" I asked.
"Do you know Ricky?" the bartender said.
"Yes, but I'm not him," I said.
"He spilled his drink," the bartender said.
I get that The Eagle staff is not fond of the twinks and the twink-adjacent, and I was an odd mix of offended and flattered. Ricky and I are both blond, but he is tan and buff and can have his shirt off in public without people averting their eyes. I wasn't sure what to think.
We tried running to The Saloon but we got there at 9:59 and the bouncers claimed it was ten and made us pay cover. The nerve!
Oh, it went from bad to worse, children. Because Sunday is 2-4-1's night. And Sunday is football day. And boys were wearing Vikings jerseys. And one boy was wearing an Adrian Peterson jersey.
I immediately went to Facebook and typed that there was a hot guy in an AP jersey and I wasn't sure how I felt about it. Then I drank some more. Then I went on the patio and told everyone.
"Oh my god!" cried my friend Doug. My friend Doug is, like a biochemist or something that requires 130% of your brain power, so when he parties, he parties hard. "You should spank him!" he cried.
"THAT SOUNDS HILARIOUS!" I cried. In my vodka-soaked stupor, this would be my finest hour. I'd spank him on the ass, he'd be all "What was that for?', I'd be like "You're wearing an AP jersey!" and we would all laugh and be merry.
Short-term effects of alcohol include the risk of injuries, violence and fetal damage.[11] Alcohol has also been linked with lowered inhibitions, though it is unclear to what degree this is chemical versus psychological as studies with placebos can often duplicate the social effects of alcohol at low to moderate doses. Some studies have suggested that intoxicated people have much greater control over their behavior than is generally recognized, though they have a reduced ability to evaluate the consequences of their behavior.
Now imagine you are a young and attractive gay man -- for some of you this may be a stretch -- and you are at The Saloon with a group of your peers. You are there to have a good time. You are not there to get spanked on the ass by an old, intoxicated skinny dude who thinks his assaulting you is hilarious.
Of course, one understands this the next day. When they're sober.
So I spanked the kid. And he did the best and worst thing he could have done, which was not respond to it at all. I walked back to the patio with my proverbial tail between my legs. My joke completely bombed.
A boy who looked like he could be on Teen Wolf came up to me moments later. "Hey," he said calmly. "I just want you to know, next time you feel like spanking my boyfriend again, you're gonna have to go through me first. Fuck off."
It was really the perfect thing a boyfriend could have done. He wasn't all machismo about it -- he never raised his voice or his hand -- but he let the point be clear. Even though I told Facebook that I spanked the kid and he was trying to get me out (and it had 13 likes! In one hour!), I deleted the whole thing when I got home. By protesting what I thought was a perceived acceptance of violence with violence, I had solved nothing, I had likely ruined someone's night, and I had made a complete ass of myself in the process.
The next day I realized that I still had not finished my college application, I still had not launched JakeyEmmert.com despite going to a former high school classmate's house for a gracious offering of Weebly 101, and in general, I was just becoming super obnoxious.
I de-activated my Facebook.
Which is super stupid to do for my "comedy" "career", but that's going about as well as spanking strangers at the bar.
It will be back up when the website is up.
It's strangely freeing not being on Facebook. Now every time my phone dings, I think it's something important. Then I find out that it's spam from Twitter or my friend Chuck telling me he has gas, but still! It's better than compulsively checking Facebook, right? I would post, like, eight things a day. And then You-Know-Who would be "online", with a green dot next to his name, and I would just sit and stare at it but never think of talking to him because I had nothing to say, and then the green dot would disappear, and I would just get sad about the whole thing. STILL.
I should apologize to the dude I hit, but I don't know his name. Maybe it's best to let sleeping dogs lie. Maybe he's not really that mad about it. Maybe he'll throw a drink on me the next time I go to The Saloon. Maybe his boyfriend will bash my skull in. Maybe I'll send them both matching Bridgewater jerseys.
Next week: Will Jakey really get his website done? Will he really stay in during all of October because he wants to look like a human when he goes to Miami?
The day before I officially became a 28-year-old lady, I had a meet-up with some fellow writers of L'Etoile Magazine/LOLOMGBlog.com at Club Jager. I sat by a boy who looked just like Cordero, only if Cordero was heterosexual and sober. It was jarring.
The meet-up itself was enjoyable. People discussed fashion and Broadway and the closing of Cause and the Fringe Festival. Jahna, the L'Etoile editor is 31. Maggie, the LOLOMG editor is 25. Straight Cordero is 21. The girl next to me was 21. She went outside for a little bit because she was going through serious things.
"Wait, how old are you?" someone asked me.
"I'm gonna be 28 tomorrow," I said.
"You don't look it," Maggie said. "I thought you were younger than me."
"No, I'm just really immature," I said.
I don't really feel that old, though. I'm not embarrassed that my age will make me unpopular; I am embarrassed that my age points out how unaccomplished I am. I am seriously debating going back to school, because I don't want to be 30 and working retail. I want to be 30, working retail, and paying back expensive student loans (as was discussed at the meet-up). It's the American dream, isn't it?
***
He called me two days after my birthday only to ask if I was going out (I was closing).
"I'm working nine days in a row because I asked for my birthday weekend off," I said. "Thank you for wishing me happy birthday, though. That was really sweet of you. Oh, wait. You didn't."
He sounded exasperated and I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. "I was going to," he said. "And then I got distracted and ---"
"It's fine," I lied.
"So, how old are you, now? 34? 35?"
"Fuckkk youuuu," I said.
He laughed at his own joke and even though no one could see me, I tried to fight smiling. I always loved his laugh the most. My favorite laugh in the world is Jared's, but his is probably second. It is scratchy and full of gravel and suggests he has been smoking for more years than he has been alive.
"I'm 28."
"28 isn't that old. I'm 26."
"But all my friends are younger than me! Erin is my age and she's married, but I hang out with Joey and Jared the most, and they're 23. Everyone I know that's from high school and Stout is married or engaged and has fancy grown-up jobs."
"That's a good point. I'll bet if you hung out with people older than you, you'd feel like the young one of the group."
"True. But I'm not. I'm the old lady. But hell froze over last week and I actually had sex. At least I'm not going to be the 40-year-old virgin." I had absolutely no reason to tell him that.
He said he would be downtown that weekend. I texted him that Saturday. When he didn't respond, I was only surprised that I was surprised.
On we go.
***
Another day, another MUSCLE GAY POOL PARTY!! The man on the left is Chad Bushman. He was in my Fringe Festival play last year. (I am so nostalgic about the Fringe Festival! I wrote about it for LOLOMGBlog.com. Go look at it) When he read for the part, I immediately thought he was too attractive to do it because I had envisioned his character as more of a frumpy loser. However, he nailed it, and I realized that the fact he was so good-looking would make it even sadder that his character had completely given up on love and going to the bar.
The only other person I knew at the party was Tan Man (minus a brief and random cameo from my friend Jenny!). I mingled with him and his friends, who are all professional dancers. One was gay and one was straight and the gay one introduced his friend as "my straight boyfriend". It is a phrase I have heard a lot this summer, and I find it fascinating. I suppose the closest thing I have to a straight boy-friend is my bro-ish co-worker. To have a straight boyfriend, I think there can be absolutely no sexual tension at all, and he has to be full-on, 100% straight, not 'flirty when I drink a little' straight. I have tried straight-adjacent boyfriends that made me really sad, but that is sooooooo Season 2.
Chad's party was really fun. It was a mix of "circuit gays" and a sense of suburban normalcy. They live in Lakeville, so neighbors with kids were there (Chad and his husband have three teenagers). The moms of the group thought that the straight boyfriend looked like Maxs from Dancing with the Stars. I sat in the hot tub with the impossibly chiseled dancers because I was strangely feeling good about myself. Tan Man and I went to the bathroom together because we are girls, and he spanked me while I was peeing and I got it all over Chad's bathroom. Chad has his own cleaning business, and his home is immaculate. I felt shame, the kind you have when you're walking your dog and she decides to take a crap right in front of the church you attend.
Chad and his husband hired a bartender who had a 12-pack. I enjoyed telling everyone he was my ex-boyfriend.
That night, I came home and Jared's mom stayed with us! We went out to the bar but I got there super late because my stomach was mad at me. Jared got sick at the bar and wouldn't leave the club! It was a stressful disaster. The next day, he was miraculously on time for work while I was an hour late because I was having stress-induced diarrhea.
There was a lot of unnecessary bodily fluid in that story.
Kevin called me that day. We were going to have lunch. He said he would call me on Wednesday to confirm and then he never did. And maybe it's okay. You have to set your own boundaries. He is fixing himself and his life piece by piece, and I tend to cause disorganization.
***
I was excited for the following week because my friend Peter was visiting from Washington, D.C.! We went to Flip Phone, where the theme was appropriately "Thank You For Being a Friend."
There was a shot there called "Blanche's Dream" that was a nightmare. Ugh! I love Flip Phone and I love Honey, but I cannot recommend their specialty shots anymore. Maybe the whole thing was a prank by Sophia.
Also, I have no idea where the shoes I am wearing in that picture are, and that makes me sad.
Later, at The Saloon (this show's version of "Meanwhile, across town..."), one of the cigarettes people asked Peter for a survey and he was livid. They come up to us all the time. Markie asks for our ID's and wins prizes. It's a win-win, especially for Markie, because he won a free trip to Montana courtesy of Marlboro. I wasn't even jealous, because I watched all three episodes of The Real Housewives of New York City when they went to Montana, and you could tell those ladies were all bored.
"This shit just doesn't happen in D.C.," Peter said. "But everything is three times more expensive." He was not feeling The Saloon. He asked the bartender about his Scorpio tattoo and the bartender seemed like he didn't even know what Scorpio meant. Meanwhile, we talked to a cute "straight" guy who was in the Army.
If that wasn't enough, Paul Ryan was there with his boyfriend of the week, who was hot and British. He once told me I was #7 on his sex buddies list, and the British dude must have been #2 or #3. Instead of feeling pouty and insecure, I instead decided I would attempt busting his balls all night. However, Paul Ryan is cavalier and always several steps ahead.
"Jakey," he bellowed. "I got bored today and bought something." Before I could react, he produced a key to a Lexus.
"Kiss me," I demanded. He always texts me on nights I'm closing.
Peter and I went out a few more times during his week in Minneapolis. On the last night, we met a Marine with dimples who laughed at my jokes. I never saw him again and he wouldn't get Peter's information because he had no interest in long-distance romance. It may have all been a dream. I was happy Peter visited. I know how hard it is to not only transfer schools, but to do it cross-country. His hard work and pragmatism inspire me.
I keep running into this boy. By "keep running into" I mean I have met him twice. He is 19 and he is kind of bromo-ish with a slight yet sturdy build and wears a snapback. He told me he was from Kansas and that it's very anti-gay and he seemed very sad about it.
"But I'm from Wichita," he said. "Which is the best city in Kansas."
"It's no Lenexa," I said.
"Jakey, aren't you jealous that I'm so young?" he smiled as he touched his rubber face. "I have so much collagen."
"You're out past curfew," I said. I did not want to make out with him at all.
I felt a strange impulse to photograph these two before we went out one evening. I talk so much game about flirting and drinking and clubbing, but I think I'm really happiest when it's just the three of us chilling out. Maybe that comes with getting older.
It is not always rainbows and butterflies. Some struggles are long over. Some are just beginning. Through it all, we have each other and our laughter.
***
The funny and talented Isaac Witty put together "The 2nd Annual Be Annoying on Facebook Awareness Day". It was on a Monday night and I worked 9-6, so I headed to The Corner Bar right after work. People who knew how to do screencaps had actual examples of what they found annoying, but I am so computer-illiterate that I didn't even do that. I just stood in front of my douche shirtless selfie and talked about the time my dick pic went viral. My friend Kate is on the right and she missed my set but she enjoyed the rest of the show. We drank at the 19 afterward. My bartender TJ was there with a lady friend and looked good. He invited me to Chino Latino but I didn't feel very great. It was a Monday, after all.
Kate, however, was flabbergasted that I declined the invitation. "Boys with glasses are monsters in bed," she informed me. Sean later joined us, we played trivia, and then Sean and Kate went gallivanting while I went home. Kate lost her passport at the 19 (but retrieved it), and I got another freaking parking ticket. Before they left, we met the SEXIEST MAN EVER. Oh my god. He had shoulder length hair which isn't really my thing, but he had big muscles and made eye contact when he talked to you.
"I'm straight," he told me on the patio. "I mean, I've fucked dudes before, but whatever." I never saw him again.
My luck with comedy continued. Daryl Horner (who has been on a bit of a social media hiatus lately) graciously offered me a hosting gig at The Palace and an opening spot for him at The Pourhouse that following Friday for his DVD taping. I LOVE THE POURHOUSE.
I re-arranged my work schedule for the Palace gig and then it got cancelled. However, one of my high school friends was in town, so I was happy having the time off and was excited to hang out with her, even if it meant sacrificing the miracle that was parallel parking right in front of my building. It never happens.
She cancelled our plans while I was in her driveway.
This is why I hang out with gay men in their early twenties all the time. They don't do that shit.
The Pourhouse night was amazing. I bought a new suit from the kids' department at Nordstrom. C2 by Calibrate is my favorite!
It was that rare night when I felt like a "real" comedian, y'know? I mean, even though I was just the host (ess), I had never been to a venue where I was treated so well (part of this, I'm sure, was a testament to Daryl). I got five comped drink tickets and they let me order top-shelf with them. One of my co-workers and her husband came, as well as Sean and Jared, the latter of which I was thrilled about because his laugh is identifiable and infectious.
Needless to say, when Daryl's raucous hour was over, I was plowed. It's a miracle I was able to close the show without slurring or tripping.
We then went back to Sean's majestic apartment, where I drank even more. Sean is like The Pourhouse in that he also treats me like royalty when I visit. We stood on his balcony and listened to Mariah Carey and talked to his neighbors. Then he put on the Dolly Parton version of "I Will Always Love You."
While I was laughing and smiling, I was also crying. Maybe it's because I was mixing 5-hour energy drinks with copious amounts of alcohol.
"I loved him so much," I told Sean as he embraced me.
"I know," said Sean, even though I'm not even sure if he knew who I was talking about.
It was truly one of the best nights of my life, so it's only fitting that the following week proved amazingly difficult.
Anyone who has met me for more than ten seconds will not be surprised to know that I have issues with anxiety.
It's a double-edged sword. On one hand, it's what makes me Jakey, y'know? Especially in comedy. I am described as "high-energy." One of the comedians from the Facebook show even shared this on his own Facebook (which was super nice):
Was asked "is that just a bit or is he always like that" by a guy pointing at Jakey Emmert. I said "bit? No...not a bit. Do what so many boys before you have done...just hang on and enjoy the ride".
But I could be calmer. At work and in stand-up, I get told I talk too fast. My manager has suggested using my high energy for the better, and I found that to be constructive. I am used to being hyper and always being on Level Nine when the rest of the world is at Level Five.
But that Saturday was a different kind of anxiety. It was waking up with my heart rapidly beating on very little sleep. They closed the freeway. Jared and I were super late for work. I was such a nervous wreck that I made Jared drive. Maybe it was because Friday was such a great night that any day after that would seem like a letdown. I was drinking too much and having too much caffeine and not sleeping enough and I just needed to calm down. Tomorrow would be a new day.
The next day I felt the exact same way.
Monday came around and I just -- I could not. I woke up at 8 and work was at noon and I was going to jump out of my own skin and my mind was going a thousand miles a minute and I hated Jared and I hated everyone who was texting me and I hated myself and I hated everyone at the Mall of America and I JUST COULD NOT DO IT.
I called work and was my usual frantic self. "I'm sick!!" I cried. "I mean, I am, but I'm not!! I'm not peeing or puking but I just -- I can't!! I don't need the whole day off!! I just ... AAAGGGHHHH!"
"We'll be fine," my very calm co-worker told me. "We'll plan on seeing you at four."
Chuck took me to Dairy Queen. He is a nurse so we discussed anxiety. I went to work at five like a dedicated employee, and then Jared, my mom and I went to see a production in the Fringe Festival that my friend Robin was in. And things got a little better. I am trying to have less caffeine and I am trying to exercise more and be more aware of my emotions and control over them.
I made a CD mix with the Rainbow Interlude at the end. I listened to it over and over.
"Petals" is such a sad song. God damn. I didn't realize that she often performed the "Interlude" right after. Rainbow is a very good album from beginning-to-end. People don't really make albums with that in mind anymore. It initially wasn't my favorite, but it's grown on me.
I know there is a rainbow For me to follow To get beyond my sorrow Thunder precedes the sunlight So I'll be all right If I can find that Rainbow's end
I will be all right If I can find that Rainbow's end
Am I really going back to school? What if I don't get in? What if it's too hard? What if they make me take a math class? What if the 18-year-old boys are mean to me and think I'm creepy? What am I even doing? Should I just try to write a book? But what kind of book would it be? What if I lose my job? What if I stay at my job forever while my friends all get promoted and move to California? What if I lose all my hair? Will I be in debt my entire life? What is going to happen when my parents get old? Like, old old? Where will I be when I'm 30? How did my life become like this? Why did I live on the computer from ages 21 to 25 when I should have been out there living? Why can't I ever be on time for anything?
I will be all right If I can find that Rainbow's end
There are bugs in my room.
Next week: We say good-bye to summer! What will fall bring?
