Loring Park Episode #42: But The One Thing I Have Is My Pride

I survived Pride Weekend and it is a goddamned miracle.

bricesander.tumblr.com
 

I am a JOURNALIST now! I ventured to The Eagle on the Friday the week before Pride Weekend where Log Jamz was presenting the Forest Disco. While I was able to preview it for the "What's What" section of L'Etoile Magazine, I was hoping to write a substantial article about it for LOLOMG.Blog's "LOL/OMG On the Town!" feature. Unfortunately, journalism is all about being on time and they want things to be written 24-48 hours after an event has happened, not, like, three weeks later. This is probably what they teach you in journalism school.

So, I'll just write about it here instead.

 

I am never quite sure of myself when I go to The Eagle, but I've become kind of tight with DJ Fancy Restaurant in a social way (I even got on the list once!), and I was going with my best friend Erin. There were $4 specialty drinks if you wearing flannel or no shirt at all, but they were all rum-based. I was briefly worried that Erin would take her shirt off for the sake off feminism, but she was driving. She also pulled a Jakey Emmert and left her debit card at the restaurant she was at previously, and this was after we drove around downtown Minneapolis forever to find the drive-up Wells Fargo ATM because she didn't want to get out of the car.

It's probably why we're best friends.

Anyway, the event wasn't very crowded, probably because a lot of people hibernate before Pride, and I couldn't find anyone to interview! Celebrity was there and sat directly across from us, so of course I diverted eye contact like we were in eighth grade.

 

What would I say, anyway? "Your Twitter was soooo interesting today!" The moment has to be organic. And it has not been organic when I have stood next to him at the bar, or when he has stood behind me or next to me on the dance floor, or when he liked my comment on Facebook under his personal account, or that time we were stuck in an elevator together at the Hyatt. That last one never happened, but it is definitely in the realm of possibility. Also, my goal is not to bang him because if this is She's The Man, he is Channing Tatum and I am Eunice. I just want to get my picture with him and borrow one of his hoodies and never give it back.

I was getting nervous! What if I had no story? Here are my notes from that evening:

Plaid Shirt
Lumberjacks
11:10
Separate space
Videos
Girl from Mariah event
Lumberjack shaving with an axe
"Stepbrothers"
Picked up at 1130
Few people not wanting to pay
"Flawless" by Beyoncé
Either "Dark Lady" or "Gypsy" by Cher
Shirtless muscle dude
Shirtless chubby dude with bowtie
Cliquey but not so much
Rugby players are dancing in shifts
"PROBLEM"
Big butt song
Empowering gay men to do what they couldn't or felt
Accepting
Girl team is Valkyries in Chicago

Oh! The one valid thing about this whole story is that I spoke with Joe Thorson, who is the captain of the Minneapolis Mayhem Rugby team. I was trying to bust his balls about how I wasn't being recruited for rugby. In my mind, I was being hilarious, because I have the same height and weight as I did in ninth grade. Joe rightfully took me to school.

"We're not about recruiting people," Joe told me. "We are about empowering gay men -- or all men, really -- to do things that they felt they could never do." He educated me on why so many athletes are closeted, and conversely, why openly gay men feel sports was something they could never do. An acquaintance of mine told me that the rugby team was the first time he had ever felt accepted in his life, and I believed him. We also met a very nice heterosexual ... half-back? Half-kicker. Sidekicker. God dammit. I am a horrible fake journalist.

Erin had to turn in early, so I texted my friend Sean, since we usually go to Jetset together and Jetset is closer to The Eagle than The Saloon. Erin dropped me off at his apartment and we ventured to Jetset.

Several people from my high school got married that weekend -- including one of my dearest friends from that time who I haven't seen or spoken to in years. I'm sad about it, but not in an angry way. . The last time we hung out -- six years ago -- I had just moved back home after completely fucking up my New York college experiment, and I was bitching about how when I was in high school, my mom would hide the PlayStation controllers without telling us why, and I could literally hear her mentally check out at that point. And why wouldn't she? She was a college senior with her shit together and a bright future, and I was a Peter Pan manchild who had squandered my ticket to success and freedom. I am five years older than my closest gay friends, and I don't find that to be coincidental. People grow up at different times. Every now and then she'll heart one of my pictures on Instagram, and even that's more than I have a right to ask for.

I bring this random nostalgia up because one of the other St. Anthony weddings was there, and it was a random high school reunion! At Jetset! Who knew? I ran into Under Armour, who is good with names. Sean bought me a few drinks. It is an unspoken social contract we have. He is a bit older than me and has a job that reflects that. I am a social butterfly and my disposition reflects that. Therefore, he buys the drinks, and I help him mingle. It's not like I'm hot shit or an expert at sex or dating (I still have cobwebs back there if we're talking about that). I'm just helpful with being outgoing. Sean was in a long-term relationship for, like, eternity. It didn't work out. When that happens, you have to reset everything. You have to learn how to flirt and date all over again, and the older you get, the more difficult it is. For example, tonight's lesson happened when Sean was trying to put an after-bar together ("after-bar" is when you have a nightcap in someone's apartment).

"Do you want to come over after?" implies sex, so I was trying to get him to say, "I'm having an a-bar/after-bar if you're interested", which implies things are platonic and in a group setting. I also cringed when he told his neighbor that he recognized him from Grindr. Yes, Sean lives in a building that is practically entirely populated by young gay professionals, but you can't just say that. "I know you from Grindr" is the new "Karen, you can't just ask people why they're white."

Anyway, I had about three drinks at The Eagle, and then two at Jetset, and Miles was there and I was trying to resemble a grown-up and talk to him about his new business venture because this was Jetset, and then Celebrity was there but I'm pretty sure he changed clothes in between, and I was on my fourth drink when I made it back to the patio to talk to a kid from high school who has recently come out. And good for him! We discussed the clubs. And otters. And how he never came out because he played football, which reminded me of the conversation I had with the rugby team captain, in earlier moments of sobriety. And how the groom's mom saved my cell phone after the high school graduation party and I wrote her a card in gratitude. And how I had one hook-up in high school and people still talk about it, because this is fucking St. Anthony.

"You never hooked up with anybody else?" he asked.
"No," I said. "I liked a lot of people."
He said a name that I forget. He said a second name. Then I slapped him, because feelings are dumb.

We're going to talk about The Real Housewives of New York City for a little bit, and I promise this will all make sense.

First of all, I am the only one watching this season and that makes me sad, because Carole Radziwill is my life. She is everything that I would want to be if I was on a reality show: Self-aware, open, understanding of the genre that she is in, and blogging the hell out of it the day after it airs. But I cannot be Carole. Because, since I am delusional, financially destitute, and lacking a strong moral compass, I am Sonja Morgan.

Let me explain.

 

In this episode, Kristen goes to Sonja's dilapidated townhouse to get a facial on the balcony (is there anything more lovely than a facial on a balcony? I love summer). Sonja wasn't even there because she was at a dude's house the night before, so Kristen starts without her. The facialist says a bunch of gossip about people that may or may not be true. Sonja gets there, and the facialist says that she heard that someone ran into Sonja in Los Angeles and she was at a bar flirting with Carole's ex (but then-current) boyfriend, Russ.

Kristen is all "OMG! He slept with you?!" and Sonja is coy. She smiles. She doesn't say yes, but she doesn't say no. She likes the attention. It makes her feel desired. It makes her feel it helps her socially. She has no regard for the feelings of Carole or Russ. A rumor is a rumor. People talk. Whatever.

We will get back to this when I go over the recovery party at Lawrence's, but it applies here, too, and yes, I am being obtuse and cryptic on purpose.

When you don't squash a rumor -- or even an assumption -- down on purpose, because you are enjoying the high that it gives you, without regard to the other people who are being talked about, you are being the Sonja Morgan. You are not being the Carole Radziwill (who has a Peabody, and an Emmy, and has been on Oprah). You might not think this will matter, because surely it won't get back to the person being talked about, and definitely not back to you.

But it will. Because you can take the boy out of St. Anthony, but not the St. Anthony out of the boy. Or something like that.

And that person whose feelings you put aside for your own five seconds of an ego boost will call you every name in the book. That person will call you out on the fact that you, with the low self-esteem and insecurity complex, you got a high and a power trip off of a fire that came from a match that you didn't necessarily light yourself, but when the flames got high you sure as hell fanned them instead of pouring water on them. That person might even say you're a psycho and a sociopath, and your feelings are hurt not because that's a mean thing to say but because Holy shit, that's not exactly wrong.

 Live life like you're on a reality show. Don't let them give you a bad edit.

On we go.

Oh, I could talk about the fact that Sean and I ended up bringing a boy and a girl home and the girl passed out on the kitchen floor while me and the dude made out on the couch and his tongue was pierced, but to say that after I was just proselytizing and trying to redeem myself for bad behavior would feel dirty, and not in the fun way. So let's not.

I will say that Sean randomly gave me five of his size medium Abercrombie & Fitch shirts, tea tree oil, and cab money. Going to Sean's apartment is like Christmas.

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.

　

Loring Park Episode #17: Go Long

Previously on Loring Park:

Jared and Jakey encountered a frightening bar patron. Joey returned to Minneapolis. Jakey has a crush on everyone.

Halloween was looming! The week before, Chuck and I ran errands so that I could buy my costume and feel like a grown-up. I had left my car at LUSH the night before, and we had to reflect on the previous night because I am in ninth grade.

“The twinky bartender is so nice,” I declared. “Usually I’m threatened when they’re smaller and prettier than me, but he’s genuine and not bitchy. He even said he hoped I would come sing karaoke!”

“I hugged Star Quarterback,” Chuck boasted. “I wished you would have seen it.”

“I don’t know if I like him anymore,” I said.

“What?!” Chuck asked, and his face fell. “That’s the only reason why I did it.”

“It’s so stupid,” I whined. “It’s not even him! It turned into this whole manifestation of my insecurities, and now he’s this entity that goes beyond him as a person.” It should be noted that we were shopping for my Halloween costume, and I was ironically going to be a star quarterback. I had the jersey custom made.

　

Yes, I know that the quarterback doesn’t wear #69, but I was going to gay bars and therefore I did not think that anybody would be calling me out on my lack of football knowledge. Plus, back when I did a radio show, I totally talked to Chris Kluwe for five seconds, and that was before he became a heterosexual gay icon.

Loring Park Episode #3: Proverbial Fat Friend

The nights on "Gays of our Lives" went by so fast when Joey was here. There was one night when he desperately wanted to talk to Star Quarterback when I pointed him out. "Come on!!!" he cried. "It'll be fun!!" But I staidly refused. Like Jim Wilson, my conversation with Star Quarterback, should it ever happen, should be organic.

I enjoyed going out with Joey, being his wingman or gay mother of sorts. Don't get me wrong, I love going out with Jared (and occasionally his gal pal Rachel), and I still wistfully remember nights at the Gay '90s with Sina, when we were new to this whole thing and dreamt of one day being recognized (well, actually, I just dreamt it. She actually has it happen to her).

In some ways, hanging out with Joey was like being the Fat Friend, a term I use proverbially at 116 pounds (although I did just eat one and a half Lean Pockets, EZ-Cheese on generic Wheat Thins because I thought I was buying generic Triscuits, and I had chicken drummies at bingo). Our friendship was strictly platonic, and so while we would hold hands in order to keep track of each other, I was fine to let him fly into the world of The Saloon. He was soon to move to Green Bay, and while he hopes to move back by summer and I believe in my heart he will, I also remember that my "living at home for a year and then I'll move out to Los Angeles and see the world!!" plan didn't really take off. As long as he wasn't being creeped on by a skeevy older dude, I was fine to watch him dance with others while I schmoozed with bartenders and acquaintances.

At the end of one of those nights, he was dancing with a cute Hollister shirt and baseball cap. It wasn't until we were leaving that I had realized he'd been dancing with KEVIN, the total fratty-douchey perfect type that I thought was a hologram from the week prior! We then had a very middle school girl conversation on the way home.

"I'm so sorry!" he cried. "I didn't know it was him!"

"No, it's okay," I pouted. "You're cuter than me. You're young and skinny. I get it."

"Oh my god, I'm not even into guys like that," Joey pleaded. "He wasn't even dancing with me that much. He kept obsessing with his hair."

I swooned. "How old is he?" I asked.

"I don't know," Joey said. "I think he's 20, because he pointed to his hand." On Sundays and Thursdays, The Saloon is 18+ but puts a big red X on your hand to let bartenders know you are not available for business and to let ocelots know that you are also not available for business, but please?

I can't remember which night this was. As I said, they blur together, even when I look at the calendar. The Sunday before Memorial Day, we went to the '90s with Sina first and then went to The Saloon. Joey wore one of my T-shirts and I flashbacked to when I was 14, living in Alexandria, and I let my friend for that summer borrow my Quiksilver tee, and he filled it out so well with his muscles that I never dared to wear it again. Sina put a picture of us on Instagram, someone joked that Joey was Vanilla Ice, and Sina, who was raised in Cambodia, asked "what's vanilla ice?" and I made fun of her for a whole week because I thought it was adorable that she probably thought vanilla ice was a beverage or specialty food item and not the first man to have a #1 rap hit in the United States (yeah, think about that fact, America).

                                                 I look 87 in this picture.


His last night in town was the 3rd, so this must have been that last Thursday. I didn't work until late on Friday, so Jared, Joey and I all planned to hit up The Saloon for College Night (there is a story in between here that I will share for a different episode). If you get there before midnight, you get a free drink provided you check in on Facebook (which I can do that, now, because I finally joined this century and got a Smartphone -- that is for a different episode as well). Oh! Speaking of the Smartphone, part of the reason that it took so long for us to leave the apartment was that, as a gay man with a Smartphone, I had to start a Grindr account and then find an appropriate picture (and the whole thing is a joke, really, and I only go on it as an anthropological study). Also, I really hate my Grindr picture and need to just find a cute one from five years ago to use.

Joey was still contrite about his friend that had puked so close to us on our previous episode. "It's okay," I said. "Some people just don't know how to drink. But I don't puke." Then I knocked on the wall. Guess what else you can do when you join this century with a Smartphone? You can obnoxiously "check in" at places! If you do this at The Saloon on Thursdays before midnight, you get a free drink. Unfortunately, we kept gabbing and dancing and taking Grindr pics, and before we knew it, it was 11:40! The Saloon is exactly one mile from my apartment.

We sprinted the best we could, even Joey, who was a cross-country star in high school, but we were too late and strolled in at The Saloon at 12:02. I didn't even want a stupid free drink, but we did scare the hell out of a poor man walking outside of the CVS on Hennepin Avenue. Sprinting gays are the new bath-salt zombies.

Jared and I bee-lined to his favorite bartender so we could get non-free drinks quickly, and Joey went to go dance. Jared is not even a year older than Joey but I am 27 years older than Joey, and therefore we feel that he is our gay child. "We must let him fly," I remember saying, but then Jared went to go smoke so I decided to chaperone on the dance floor. The dance floor was scattered with well-dressed twentysomethings wearing VOTE NO stickers, and I assumed they must have arrived from a fundraiser. I also assumed them to be heterosexual, and so when a very good-looking dude in his late twenties came up to me, making conversation with a smile, I didn't feel like I was flirting.

"No one's dancing!" he yelled.

"Proper whorebox etiquette is to wait until you're invited," I explained. "But right now no one's on there, so we're good!"

We helped each other up to the whorebox, and Joey was behind us. He introduced himself as Scott, and then I realized under the strobe lights that he really was dreamy, built like he probably played football but never pursued it all through high school, and he had dimples you could put grocery bags in. I introduced myself to his friend as to not be rude, but his friend avoided eye contact and was rather distant. Still, how great was it that straight guys were dancing on the whorebox? I thought to myself as I danced in circles how wonderful it was, and how maybe Minnesota really can be the anti-homophobia state this fall, and then I worried if my Twitter was getting too political lately because I do have Republican friends that I respect and I never want to come off as preachy, and oh look, Scott and Joey are making out, wait, what?

I felt weird about it, but I had no idea why I felt weird. Remember sixth grade science when the first chapter is all about the scientific method, and Step 1 is Identify the Problem? I had to Identify the Emotion. I wasn't jealous of Scott; Joey and I are not romantically inclined, although we have admitted that the other is good-looking. I wasn't jealous of Joey because I knew he was moving away soon and I wanted him to live it up the best he could; I instead realized that I felt like the Proverbial Fat Friend. You see them hanging out with girls much prettier than they are, and they usually end up holding all of the purses. It is wrong and unfair and I am not saying it is right, but it is the best (albeit horrifically un-PC) way to describe how I felt.

Jared was still smoking and hob-knobbing, so I went to Danny's bar in the back of The Saloon. While Danny is the Iron Chef of bartenders and I knew he could have whipped up anything he could, I decided on Absolut Mandarin on the rocks. Jared and Joey both came up to me at around the same time. Joey explained that Scott gave him a fake phone number and if he would see him again, he would kick his ass.

"Young man!" I cried. "We will not have you fighting."

"I don't have enough money to bail you out," Jared said. "Starships" by Nicki Minaj blared, and Jared dragged me to the dance floor. "It's our morning song!" Whenever Jared sleeps over and we have to drive to work, "Starships" is what makes us feel awake and ready to take on the day. I think it's because it reminds us that just hours ago we were at the club, and that no matter how stressful the day will be, we can be soothingly reminded that in mere hours or days, we will be back at the club.

After our song, Jared and I went in for refills while Joey sat next to us. Still feeling confused about the Scott thing, I decided to lay my cards out on the table.

"Is it awkward if we make out?" I asked Joey, in a flat tone of voice that suggested I was asking if he preferred to have dinner at the Olive Garden or Applebee's.

"No," he answered, in a completely normal way, like if I were a waiter asking if he wanted his ranch on the side or not. I think I used that analogy because I am starving. We never did make out and we're both fine with that, yet it was a moment that made me realize how gay guys really do get to have the best friendships in the world.

It was time to dance again, and I started feeling like maybe I should not have ordered a goose lemonade without eating anything all day except for a Claritin-D. All I know is that my vision was blurry when Joey was dancing with a boy in a Hollister t-shirt, and it wasn't until I finished downing my Goose lemonade that things cleared up. "Jared," I gritted as I violently grabbed his shirt. "He's dancing with Kevin."

"Well, go say hi!" Jared encouraged.

"No, I'm not gonna C-block our son," I pouted.

"Ugh, I'll go over there and say hello for you," he said.

The next thing I knew, it was closing time and the four of us were standing outside of The Saloon, Kevin staring at all of us intensely and me trying to be outgoing without seeming desperate. After all, he was Joey's, right? I was the Fat Friend who was in charge of breakfast the next day.

We walked the mile to my apartment. I forget if we were in a group or paired off. I want to say we paired off. I think I was nervous. It was KEVIN. My #1 crush, probably more now than Star Quarterback, and he was going to BE IN MY APARTMENT. I didn't have any board games. Was it clean? I knew I made Joey put the sheets on because I have the fine motor skills of an infant. But I don't have a couch! Only two of us could have the bed and two could sleep on the floor. Was Kevin into drugs? Was he expecting an orgy? I mean, I really didn't know anything about him because I'm too scared to talk to him.

These were the thoughts going through my head as I passed out in my walk-in closet, which reeks of cat pee from the previous owner.

"Jakeygggghhhh," Jared spoke from the pillow he was passed out in. "Are you okayggghhh?"

"Yes," I said, and then the ceiling was shaking. Was I expecting Joey or Kevin to come save me? They didn't, but it was for the best, as I, the one who NEVER pukes, was soon worshipping the porcelain god. I took a shower, and when I got out, Kevin and Joey were gone. It was fine. I was too tired and stressed out to care.

STARSHIPS WERE MEANT TO FLY

HANDS UP AND TOUCH THE SKY

The next morning, Jared and I awoke for our usual excursion back to the mall. I called Joey and left a message, but he didn't pick up. On my lunch break, I texted him again. In my head, he had played board games with Kevin and felt bad about it because he knew I liked Kevin and didn't want me to disapprove, but I'm not in eighth grade! I am so down with it! But now it was 4:30 in the afternoon and I was becoming increasingly worried. What time was it when they left the apartment? Did Kevin try to mug him or rape him? Did someone try to mug and rape the both of them?

"How soon is it to file a missing person's report?" I asked a co-worker.

"24 hours," she explained.

I started feeling queasy, queasier than the night prior when I actually threw up. I could have given two shits about if he had done anything physical with Kevin at this point. My child was missing! He had moved out of his Minneapolis apartment and was couch-hopping until Sunday, and he had no next of kin in town to verify if a body got found. What would I tell the police? In that moment, I understood my mother, and the crippling fear that dictated her parenting style to the point that I had little to no independence or survival skills as a teenager.

Joey finally texted back at 5:15 PM. 'Omg im fine sorry haha'. Oh, that child of mine. I wanted to ask a million questions about Kevin, but I decided they could wait until Sunday. It was more important that I knew Joey was alive and well, not if Kevin is a good kisser or not.

Next time: We meet Gay Oprah!