Previously on Loring Park: Jakey told Wesley he liked him, and then his colon exploded. This episode is sponsored by Colace.
Everything has blurred together in this recent chapter of my life. I talk to my mom a lot about it lately. We didn't get along well when I was a teenager, but now that I am a 26-year-old man with the brain, mind and body of a 16-year-old girl, we have a solid mother/daughter relationship.
"You just need to establish healthy boundaries," she told me. In an episode about healthy boundaries, I am going to begin by publicly sharing on the Internet that I broke my butt.
It did not happen from sex. I have the sex life of a nun. Nevertheless, I went to my general practitioner. Fortunately -- or unfortunately, depending on your take on it -- my general practitioner is a dreamboat and looks like he could be a token husband on Army Wives. He is of the belief that my angry asshole is a combination of my IBS and anxiety, the latter of which is woefully not being treated.
After everything was, erm, examined, I sat down and he looked at me with his soft, cobalt eyes. "Has anything else been going on?" he asked.
"My job has been stressful," I said.
"Okay," he said softly. "Anything else?"
I would have elaborated, but I decided to stay silent. The man had already had to examine my booty. To tell him my novel of emotional affairs and juvenile feelings would have just been cruel.
"Do you have any questions?" he calmly asked, and I felt like a pre-teen getting a "grown-up" talk from my father or surrogate parental figure.
"Can I have sex?" I asked him. He knew what kind of sex I was talking about.
"No," he said. "If I have a broken arm, I'm not going to give you a hi-five." He laughed sheepishly. Then I wanted to ask if he wanted to practice kissing.
He gave me referrals to a psychiatrist and a gastroenterologist, and four days later I went to see a G.I. specialist, who recommended I get a colonoscopy. I have never had sex with the same person more than once, but I will have had two colonoscopies at the age of 26. Maybe colonoscopies and I should go steady.
Later, at my mom's house, we watched about four hours of Judge Judy. My mom DVR's it and then waits for the library to be full, and then she sits and has a Judge Judy marathon with her cats. The woman is living the dream! If you've seen one episode of Judge Judy, you have seen them all. There is always a young woman who is ostensibly intelligent and has her shit together, but she meets a man and then her mind turns into Play-doh. She either co-signs a lease, or a vehicle, or sells a vehicle, or lets a man drive her car without a title, or lets a man move in without paying rent and then he damages things so she has to forfeit her security deposit, et cetera. She never sues him until they break up and she realizes that she was blindly in love and needs the money. There was even a lady from Duluth who gave her boyfriend four thousand dollars to buy a race car, and then he did one race and decided it was not going to be his passion. Judge Judy rarely rules in favor of these women, save for the one who legitimately sold a $6,000 car to this scrub in expectation of being paid with his tax refund, and Judge Judy refused to buy his claim that she was giving him a deal on the car and only expected a grand for it.
"These women!" I cried to my mother. "They meet these men and they lose their brain cells!"
"Hmm," my mother said. "That sounds like someone else I know."
"That's different," I pouted.
"Really?" my mother asked. "How is that?"
"You haven't seen Wesley in a T-shirt," I pouted.
"Well!" my mother cried. "That must explain everything."
Observations on pop culture, gays of our lives, and just trying to make it ...
Showing posts with label Star Quarterback. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Star Quarterback. Show all posts
Friday, May 3, 2013
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Loring Park Episode #27: Tears of a Class Clown
Previously on Loring Park: Jakey cried at The Saloon, and was revisited by a blast from the past.
I cry a lot in this episode. But it was never in front of everyone. I am maturing that way.
I did not cry on that first Saturday. My night began by telling jokes at Johnny Tequila's Drinking Taco. It was the night before Easter, so the crowd was sparse, and I was exhausted having worked a 50-hour week (which I realize that some people do all year around). Mommy was tired, y'all. After only one vodka tonic, my brain cells were shot, and my routine did not go very well. I told all four audience members that I was Bette Midler in The Rose, and nobody knew what I was talking about.
Wesley was adamant about going to LUSH, so he agreed to pick me up downtown. I usually chastise him for wearing the same stupid hoodie, but tonight he cleaned up good and wore a white Banana Republic button-down. I was proud, and somewhere a gay angel got his wings. Earlier that night, Liam texted me asking if he could sleep over, and while I wasn't thrilled about it, I was happy that he was texting at 7:30 P.M. and not at 1:30 A.M. I said it was probable, but that I wasn't sure if we would even be at The Saloon or not.
When we got to LUSH, I panicked and realized I had lost my Listerine strips! I even speculated bringing a back-up pack in case this would happen! "Oh, no!" I cried. I have OCD about Listerine strips. My greatest fears are tarantulas and halitosis. "If I give you $10, can we go to the gas station to get Listerine strips?"
"What?!" Wesley asked. "Now? We just got here."
"I can't have bad breath!" I cried.
"Oh my god," Wesley cried. "You are worse than a chick."
He unlocked the car, and my Listerine strips were on the passenger seat! Hooray! Crisis averted!
"Do you have everything else?" he asked. "You probably need your ID. You look 12."
LUSH wasn't very crowded. We didn't know anybody there except Jason Matheson from FM 107, and by "know" I don't mean in a personal way. I texted my mother of his presence, and she begged me to say something (I still think my mom wakes up and hopes for a few seconds that I grew up to be Jason Matheson before the ugliness of reality sets in), but he was off the clock and I felt it would be rude. Wesley told me of his recent trip to California, but other than that, we sat in mutual boredom. He asked the staff why the place was so dead, and he explained that everyone was at the Eagle. I texted Joey and Jared, and they were there, too! Was The Eagle having a big event that night? Wesley and I wanted to go to The Saloon, but we agreed that we could stop at The Eagle to see what all the fuss was about.
Here's a primer about The Eagle for those of you not familiar with the Minneapolis gay club scene: There is something for everyone, truly. The Saloon, typically, is a younger, trendier, sexy crowd. Jetset is a trendy, sexy, older and more professional crowd (any time I introduce myself to anyone there, I get my own name corrected. "Jake," the Jetsetters say, with firm handshakes). The Gay '90s is hardly considered a gay club anymore. LUSH, the winner of Best Gay Bar in the City Pages last year, is a crapshoot, but on Wednesdays it attracts the same crowd that The Saloon does.
The Eagle, on the other hand, is for those who would not necessarily feel comfortable at The Saloon. The Eagle has bear nights and leather nights. The event we were attending, complete with $7 cover, was called "Bear-a-cudda." I paid the cover since I could already tell that this wasn't a great idea.
We were on our way in when I realized my phone was in the car, but we couldn't find it. "Call my phone," I demanded of Wesley. He did so, but it was stuck under the back seat.
"I'll get it," he declared, and I stood with the back passenger door open while he crouched below the passenger seat. Not only did this look lewd from a certain angle, but I also blushed when I realized I was totally checking out his butt. "I have a hockey booty," a forlorn customer struggling to buy a suit told me a few months ago. I get it now.
Wesley and I walked in, and Joey and Jared were right by the exit. I hugged them and introduced them to Wesley, and soon ran into my fellow comedian friend (and cub!), Matt Iverson! I didn't even notice the hairy, overweight men walking around in their underwear. It's The Eagle. You go there and you expect that. It's part of the scenery, just as The Saloon has the go-go boys and The Gay '90s has drunk 18-year-old girls who are still in love with their hopelessly gay twink pals.
Wesley was not one to hear of my explanation that the gay subculture offers something for everyone, and the further we walked into the bar, the more, erm -- Eaglish -- it got. The men somehow got hairier, fatter, and more scantily clad.
"OH MY GOD," Wesley couldn't stop yelling. "This is not for me. We need to go." But I had paid $14! And it was too crowded for us to turn on our heels and leave. I was beginning to grow worried not just for Wesley's state of mind, but also for his physical safety. His volume was getting louder, and the last thing I wanted was for a muscle bear to pulverize him into the ground (Wesley has an athletic build, and don't think I haven't noticed it, but I didn't want to take any chances). However, the only thing that was about to be pulverized was my ego.
"IS THERE ANYONE ATTRACTIVE HERE?!" Wesley yelled a bit too loud.
"Wesley," I said. "I'm right here."
Then he busted out laughing, in a genuine, boisterous manner that was bigger than any reaction I had at Johnny Tequila's earlier. "That's the funniest thing you've said all night!!" he sputtered.
We went downstairs, where Wesley only grew more traumatized. I bid a quick and regretful good-bye to Joey and Jared, and we were on our way to The Saloon. I convinced Wesley to not start swearing until we got in the car, because I didn't want to get beat up.
"I'm sorry I brought you there!" I cried. He was in no mood to hear my speech about subcultures and how everyone should be celebrated. Liam was texting me and I told him I was en route to The Saloon. I could tell from his texts that he was already wasted. Oh, yay.
Wesley parked the car and I meant to take one Listerine strip, but the wind blew them up and I accidentally took all of them at once! I failed to avoid a Listerine Strip crisis!
"Wesley!" I whined. "Do you have any gum? Or mints?"
"No," he scoffed.
"Oh no! What am I gonna do?!" I was in panic attack mode.
We tried to look for Liam when we got to The Saloon, but I was also nervous because Football Guy was there! The 6'4" sex god whom I once told was a unicorn! "Wesley!" I cried. "One of my biggest crushes is here! I'm so nervous! I'll point him out when he walks by!" He did, and he was with two fifths of the Pretty Girl Mafia, but he was with two of the five that rarely and never talk to me, so my presence was not acknowledged. Also, I had awful breath! I ended up sipping Rumpelmintz like it was water. I finally saw a boy who gave me gum (his name is Tommy and I met him after the Kathy Griffin show in December), and I will never forget it.
"Well," Wesley said as Football Guy and his heaving pectoral muscles walked by. "I'm glad one of us thinks he's cute." Fascinating! Liam showed up and we discussed classical architecture. Meanwhile, Wesley was busy texting Quinn, who was out of town. While Liam was blathering in my ear, I saw a moment happen on Wesley's face. It was a genuinely affected smile, and a look that I had never seen him give me. I realized that I would be the boy that makes him laugh, but never the one that made him smile. It was a feeling that would recur over the week.
We were back at T.J.'s bar in attempts to mingle and Liam went to Froot Loop. Wesley was still texting Quinn and I acquainted myself with Cagefighter for a while. As I was finishing my drink, Liam came back and tried to look at Wesley's cell phone, which didn't go over well.
"You better try to keep him," Liam said. "A boy like that isn't gonna be single very long."
"Yes, I know," I said. Liam sauntered off and Wesley glared as he left.
"What were you guys talking about?" Wesley asked.
"Um .... Easter," I said.
Cagefighter was getting hit on by a group of Asian twinks, and then RYAN ROBERTSON showed up! Liam and I instantly turned into teenage girls.
"Hi, Ryan," we both sang.
"I feel like you are a pop singer and every time we see you, we turn into the Ryanettes," I complained. "Are you going to brunch tomorrow?"
"Nah," Ryan said in his Lochte-like cadence. "My mom texted me and asked if I would come for lunch."
"Well, that's nice!" I agreed. "Cagefighter! Are you going to brunch tomorrow?"
"Yeah, probably at noon," he said. Hooray! Despite my emotional turmoil, I could look forward to brunch.
Wesley left, and Liam and I paid $20 for a petty-cab (which is when a cute boy in a bicycle drives you to your apartment).
"So, Wesley likes Quinn," I yelled, because I was drunk and rancid. "And remember when Kevin liked Quinn, too? And I'm fine with that. Quinn is cute, and he's a nice person! I'm not gonna hate him just because my crushes always like him! But I will say that my fake TV show is no longer called Loring Park. It is called Everybody Loves Quinn. On CBS at 8 PM on Wednesdays."
I cry a lot in this episode. But it was never in front of everyone. I am maturing that way.
I did not cry on that first Saturday. My night began by telling jokes at Johnny Tequila's Drinking Taco. It was the night before Easter, so the crowd was sparse, and I was exhausted having worked a 50-hour week (which I realize that some people do all year around). Mommy was tired, y'all. After only one vodka tonic, my brain cells were shot, and my routine did not go very well. I told all four audience members that I was Bette Midler in The Rose, and nobody knew what I was talking about.
Wesley was adamant about going to LUSH, so he agreed to pick me up downtown. I usually chastise him for wearing the same stupid hoodie, but tonight he cleaned up good and wore a white Banana Republic button-down. I was proud, and somewhere a gay angel got his wings. Earlier that night, Liam texted me asking if he could sleep over, and while I wasn't thrilled about it, I was happy that he was texting at 7:30 P.M. and not at 1:30 A.M. I said it was probable, but that I wasn't sure if we would even be at The Saloon or not.
When we got to LUSH, I panicked and realized I had lost my Listerine strips! I even speculated bringing a back-up pack in case this would happen! "Oh, no!" I cried. I have OCD about Listerine strips. My greatest fears are tarantulas and halitosis. "If I give you $10, can we go to the gas station to get Listerine strips?"
"What?!" Wesley asked. "Now? We just got here."
"I can't have bad breath!" I cried.
"Oh my god," Wesley cried. "You are worse than a chick."
He unlocked the car, and my Listerine strips were on the passenger seat! Hooray! Crisis averted!
"Do you have everything else?" he asked. "You probably need your ID. You look 12."
 | |
| Not really, but it was a moment. |
LUSH wasn't very crowded. We didn't know anybody there except Jason Matheson from FM 107, and by "know" I don't mean in a personal way. I texted my mother of his presence, and she begged me to say something (I still think my mom wakes up and hopes for a few seconds that I grew up to be Jason Matheson before the ugliness of reality sets in), but he was off the clock and I felt it would be rude. Wesley told me of his recent trip to California, but other than that, we sat in mutual boredom. He asked the staff why the place was so dead, and he explained that everyone was at the Eagle. I texted Joey and Jared, and they were there, too! Was The Eagle having a big event that night? Wesley and I wanted to go to The Saloon, but we agreed that we could stop at The Eagle to see what all the fuss was about.
Here's a primer about The Eagle for those of you not familiar with the Minneapolis gay club scene: There is something for everyone, truly. The Saloon, typically, is a younger, trendier, sexy crowd. Jetset is a trendy, sexy, older and more professional crowd (any time I introduce myself to anyone there, I get my own name corrected. "Jake," the Jetsetters say, with firm handshakes). The Gay '90s is hardly considered a gay club anymore. LUSH, the winner of Best Gay Bar in the City Pages last year, is a crapshoot, but on Wednesdays it attracts the same crowd that The Saloon does.
The Eagle, on the other hand, is for those who would not necessarily feel comfortable at The Saloon. The Eagle has bear nights and leather nights. The event we were attending, complete with $7 cover, was called "Bear-a-cudda." I paid the cover since I could already tell that this wasn't a great idea.
We were on our way in when I realized my phone was in the car, but we couldn't find it. "Call my phone," I demanded of Wesley. He did so, but it was stuck under the back seat.
"I'll get it," he declared, and I stood with the back passenger door open while he crouched below the passenger seat. Not only did this look lewd from a certain angle, but I also blushed when I realized I was totally checking out his butt. "I have a hockey booty," a forlorn customer struggling to buy a suit told me a few months ago. I get it now.
Wesley and I walked in, and Joey and Jared were right by the exit. I hugged them and introduced them to Wesley, and soon ran into my fellow comedian friend (and cub!), Matt Iverson! I didn't even notice the hairy, overweight men walking around in their underwear. It's The Eagle. You go there and you expect that. It's part of the scenery, just as The Saloon has the go-go boys and The Gay '90s has drunk 18-year-old girls who are still in love with their hopelessly gay twink pals.
Wesley was not one to hear of my explanation that the gay subculture offers something for everyone, and the further we walked into the bar, the more, erm -- Eaglish -- it got. The men somehow got hairier, fatter, and more scantily clad.
"OH MY GOD," Wesley couldn't stop yelling. "This is not for me. We need to go." But I had paid $14! And it was too crowded for us to turn on our heels and leave. I was beginning to grow worried not just for Wesley's state of mind, but also for his physical safety. His volume was getting louder, and the last thing I wanted was for a muscle bear to pulverize him into the ground (Wesley has an athletic build, and don't think I haven't noticed it, but I didn't want to take any chances). However, the only thing that was about to be pulverized was my ego.
"IS THERE ANYONE ATTRACTIVE HERE?!" Wesley yelled a bit too loud.
"Wesley," I said. "I'm right here."
Then he busted out laughing, in a genuine, boisterous manner that was bigger than any reaction I had at Johnny Tequila's earlier. "That's the funniest thing you've said all night!!" he sputtered.
We went downstairs, where Wesley only grew more traumatized. I bid a quick and regretful good-bye to Joey and Jared, and we were on our way to The Saloon. I convinced Wesley to not start swearing until we got in the car, because I didn't want to get beat up.
"I'm sorry I brought you there!" I cried. He was in no mood to hear my speech about subcultures and how everyone should be celebrated. Liam was texting me and I told him I was en route to The Saloon. I could tell from his texts that he was already wasted. Oh, yay.
Wesley parked the car and I meant to take one Listerine strip, but the wind blew them up and I accidentally took all of them at once! I failed to avoid a Listerine Strip crisis!
"Wesley!" I whined. "Do you have any gum? Or mints?"
"No," he scoffed.
"Oh no! What am I gonna do?!" I was in panic attack mode.
We tried to look for Liam when we got to The Saloon, but I was also nervous because Football Guy was there! The 6'4" sex god whom I once told was a unicorn! "Wesley!" I cried. "One of my biggest crushes is here! I'm so nervous! I'll point him out when he walks by!" He did, and he was with two fifths of the Pretty Girl Mafia, but he was with two of the five that rarely and never talk to me, so my presence was not acknowledged. Also, I had awful breath! I ended up sipping Rumpelmintz like it was water. I finally saw a boy who gave me gum (his name is Tommy and I met him after the Kathy Griffin show in December), and I will never forget it.
"Well," Wesley said as Football Guy and his heaving pectoral muscles walked by. "I'm glad one of us thinks he's cute." Fascinating! Liam showed up and we discussed classical architecture. Meanwhile, Wesley was busy texting Quinn, who was out of town. While Liam was blathering in my ear, I saw a moment happen on Wesley's face. It was a genuinely affected smile, and a look that I had never seen him give me. I realized that I would be the boy that makes him laugh, but never the one that made him smile. It was a feeling that would recur over the week.
 | |
| I wasn't crying yet. |
We were back at T.J.'s bar in attempts to mingle and Liam went to Froot Loop. Wesley was still texting Quinn and I acquainted myself with Cagefighter for a while. As I was finishing my drink, Liam came back and tried to look at Wesley's cell phone, which didn't go over well.
"You better try to keep him," Liam said. "A boy like that isn't gonna be single very long."
"Yes, I know," I said. Liam sauntered off and Wesley glared as he left.
"What were you guys talking about?" Wesley asked.
"Um .... Easter," I said.
Cagefighter was getting hit on by a group of Asian twinks, and then RYAN ROBERTSON showed up! Liam and I instantly turned into teenage girls.
"Hi, Ryan," we both sang.
"I feel like you are a pop singer and every time we see you, we turn into the Ryanettes," I complained. "Are you going to brunch tomorrow?"
"Nah," Ryan said in his Lochte-like cadence. "My mom texted me and asked if I would come for lunch."
"Well, that's nice!" I agreed. "Cagefighter! Are you going to brunch tomorrow?"
"Yeah, probably at noon," he said. Hooray! Despite my emotional turmoil, I could look forward to brunch.
Wesley left, and Liam and I paid $20 for a petty-cab (which is when a cute boy in a bicycle drives you to your apartment).
"So, Wesley likes Quinn," I yelled, because I was drunk and rancid. "And remember when Kevin liked Quinn, too? And I'm fine with that. Quinn is cute, and he's a nice person! I'm not gonna hate him just because my crushes always like him! But I will say that my fake TV show is no longer called Loring Park. It is called Everybody Loves Quinn. On CBS at 8 PM on Wednesdays."
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Loring Park Episode #26: Luck of the (10%) Irish
Previously on Loring Park: Several blasts from the past converged, but none were more surprising than a decade-long what-if.
I am only 10% Irish. The only time I ever got called out for it was when I lived in Brooklyn and I helped a nice old lady with her cart of goods from Dollar Tree, and she said, "You're lucky! You have the mick in you!" Then, when I informed her that my apartment was in Flatbush instead of Midwood, she ranted about how she could not believe that I was living amongst "that rotten race". Then I started to regret helping her with her cart even though she was feeble and 80 pounds.
Still, I felt rather lucky about the events of St. Patrick's Day. Everything just seemed to align on the Saturday before the festivities.
First of all, it was a rare treat in that I had a Saturday off! The timing couldn't have been better, because my girls from college were having a pool party, as one of them lives in a fancy building with an indoor pool.
 | |
| This sums up my two years at UW-Stout in so many ways. |
I was beyond thrilled to go! I hadn't seen Amy, Kristen and Jess in years (Amy isn't in this picture -- Laura is on the left. She has a baby now. SO. WEIRD.), and while I kind of feel like Peter Pan, it also felt like we hadn't missed a beat. They all look great (they go to Sculpt Yoga every day) and are doing well in their professions. In St. Patrick's Day spirit, I decided to bring Three Olives Dude, which was the only green vodka I could find at the liquor store. I wore my green O'BAMA shirt, and then felt weird because I didn't want to get political on anyone, but nobody gave me grief for it. It was a magical afternoon! People had puppies! And green cupcakes! And I played PIG, the basketball game, in the pool with a broski who had pectoral muscles the size of my head. I was surprisingly adept at PIG. I think I am the same way with athletic endeavors in the way I am with Beyonce lyrics: I am only proficient when drunk. Because I am older now, I am no longer disappointed when I find out a hot guy is straight. Now I get to meet his hot wife. (She was very nice, by the way, and I promise I didn't think about them having sex)
I met Liam at the 19, and we got ready at my apartment to venture to The Saloon. I wanted to leave the bar early that night, as I had to work at 10:30 the next day! Oy vey! We arrived at around 10, and the place was packed. Who knew Minneapolis had such a high Irish population? Wesley and his friend Santana were there. Santana has often been with Wesley. He is quiet but not in a snobbish way -- they both seemed to be introverted, which was weird, because Wesley was not introverted when I knew him in high school, but people can change in ten years.
My mood elevated even more when Jared showed up! We giggled as Victor grinded against Wesley, who was clearly uncomfortable (I do not remember this and had to be told about it the next day). Then, I received another Emmy nomination when Kevin walked in with a man friend. He wasn't even wearing green!
I did not start crying this time. Nor did I have a panic attack. I think I was fine this time because a) I really think I've been burned enough times to be over him, b) I wasn't sloppy at this point, and c) I had Liam, Jared, and Wesley around, whereas last time I didn't know anybody else at the club, Perfect Football Guy Perfection notwithstanding.
"Hello, Kevin," I smiled. "Good to see you." We all went around and named names, and Kevin and his man friend went out to smoke (even though Kevin doesn't smoke!).
"Rhoda," I directed. "Go eavesdrop."
"Of course!" Jared cried, and he sprinted to the patio.
"JAKE!" Wesley yelled. "If I were gay in high school, would you have had sex with me?"
"Wesley, I am not answering such a question," I said with an eye roll. "First of all, don't you remember when we were in high school and you talked to me outside of the patio asking me if I wanted to fool around, and I said no and gave you my friend's address?"
"WHAT?!" he laughed. "That never happened. You are so full of shit, dude!"
"It did too!" I cried.
Jared came back shortly after. "Kevin is Penelope," he said, referring to Kristen Wiig's SNL character.
"What do you mean?!" I asked.
"He asked someone how long they knew you," he explained. "And then he was like, 'Oh, I've known Jakey for four years.'."
"Weird!" I cried. "Maybe he got me confused with Liam."
Jared shrugged, and we vamoosed back to the video bar. While I was very proud of myself for how I handled seeing Kevin, my confidence began to waver when the Pretty Girl Mafia walked in!
However, Tan Man was in the Pretty Girl Mafia this evening! He was my fake boyfriend at Valleyfair. I never know how to act when a boy with a six-pack is actually nice. It just seems to go against some kind of rule. He was his usually genial self, and we made amiable small talk. When I later saw him making out with the birthday boy, I wasn't even mad. I was like, "Go get it, Tan Man. You deserve it."
Jared and I looped back to T.J.'s bar, where Wesley was still talking with Santana. I started dancing with Running Back. I haven't told you guys about Running Back yet! I call him that because he is besties with Star Quarterback, so at first I had to hate him. However, he's actually really sweet and is my unofficial dance teacher -- meaning that I watch him and then totally mimic his moves. He's fine with that. He's extroverted and will always talk to you, and I appreciate that in a fellow bar star. Anygay, Running Back continued dancing, and THEN STAR QUARTERBACK WALKED IN. And not only did he walk in, BUT HE WAS DRESSED UP IN A SHIRT TIE AND SUSPENDERS.
He walked past me, but we made eye contact, and then I was just embarrassed.
"Hi, Star Quarterback," I said.
"Hey, Jakey," he smiled.
"Why are you all dressed up?" I asked.
"I was at Marquee," he smirked.
I went to hi-five him. But then halfway through the hi-five, I decided that was too intimate of a gesture, so I switched it to a fist bump, but he did not know that, and so then his open palm smacked against my fist, and then when I tried to switch back to a hi-five, he switched back to a fist bump, and it was like a pair of toddlers trying to master a game of Rock Paper Scissors.
"Whatever," Star Quarterback said. "I'll just hug you."
I need to defend this. I know I am immature. I know I am 26 going on 12. And I know that Star Quarterback has no romantic interest in me, and I know he is not someone you bring home to Loretta. I get all of that. But it is what I talked about last week: It is the moment. This is someone who I was scared of -- from April to Halloween -- all of because of my own insecurity and social anxiety. So when the boy who (by no fault of his own) is the cause of that stress later decides he is going to give me a hug, it is a big damn deal.
("What did he smell like?!" Chuck asked me when I told him about it later this week, as we have since reconciled our differences.
"Like cinnamon!" I cried. "And strawberries! And Sunday mornings!")
I headed back to Wesley, who was getting louder as he was on another beer.
"JAKE!" he yelled again. "Seriously! You're saying if I were gay, you wouldn't have sex with me?"
I slapped him across the face and continued mingling, and was happy to run into my friend Cagefighter. I met Cagefighter at Pride last year and he has tattoos and a ridiculously banging body. He is also a corrections officer, which is a porno in itself.
I ran into Jared again during my Froot Loop (a Froot Loop is when you circle The Saloon, and is often done in a group, but this was a solo loop). I just wanted to gossip about work and/or Kevin, but he had other ideas.
"Jakey, go back to your friend!" he cried. "You can't just slap people across the face."
"Oh, I didn't slap him that hard," I said.
"It was pretty bad," Jared said. "Just go talk to him."
With my figurative tail between my legs, I walked back to TJ's bar, where Wesley was brooding and angrily chugging his beer. Uh-oh.
"I'm sorry I slapped you," I muttered in a small voice.
"It's okay," he said. He looked around nervously before speaking again. "But, yeah, I did ask you about stuff when I was in high school. And I did go to your friend's house. He's the only guy I've ever been with."
"He said you had a hot hockey body," I said awkwardly. I can remember things like this, but not anything about the Revolutionary War.
"I did play hockey," he said defensively. "Would you have ever fucked your friend?"
"No!" I cried. "First of all, not every gay guy wants to have sex with each other. Second of all, I was on a shit ton of antidepressants l when I was in high school, so I had absolutely no sex drive. That's why I sent you to his house." And I regretted it every time I realized that I grew up to have the sex life of a nun. I didn't say that part.
"I'm sorry things happened in your life that made you have to take those," he said, and that is when I realized how blue his eyes are. Oh, crap.
"Shit happens," I finally whispered. "I'm gonna go Froot Loop."
"Froot Loop?" he asked with confusion, but I was already on my heel before I could answer him.
Back at the video bar, Kevin walked by with his friend, and he rubbed the back of my neck.
"Jakey," he said with a growl. "It's good to see you."
"You too!" I said, and I kept my smile on. Kevin is a Scorpio, and that means he is highly sexual (even though I only got halfway there). I think I am finally over him, but I admit that his touch still makes me feel strange feelings in strange places.
***
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Loring Park Episode #19: Be Thankful
This episode is going to be written in a choppy form, because I have things to do. Also, a lot has happened, and a lot hasn't happened, but it's all going to start with this:
It was the day of Liam's birthday party, and I was bringing groceries in the house, and I was only going to be inside for a few minutes, but a few minutes turned into two hours, and the moral of this story is that if you have a red Jack Spade wallet, do not leave it on your passenger seat, even if you live in an ostensibly safe neighborhood.
It put things in perspective, though. This happened a week before Thanksgiving, and I was surprised by how I really wasn't that upset about it. Discover air-mailed my credit card, my mother spotted me $20 to get food and paid for the window to be fixed (adding it to the thousands that I owe her, in the year 2013, when I allegedly become a grown-up), my friends were sympathetic and understanding. It made me realize what I should be thankful for.
FAMILY
I got a new bed last week because one of my friends peed in it. I am thankful for that friend because he makes me laugh and he paid for the Rug Doctor the next day. "This was meant to happen, Jakey," he said, "Because it'll get rid of the cat pee smell in your closet anyway." It was a rare Sunday that I had off in retail world, so naturally I took my mother and grandparents to LUSH for brunch.
We didn't really tell Grandpa that it was a gay bar, and I don't know if he got it because the football game was on (albeit next to a music video screen). My grandpa is not homophobic, but he is blue-collar and in his 70's, so I was a bit tepid at first, but my mother explained that as long as you feed him, he is content (and he fully joined the Clean Plate Club). We discussed a friend of mine whose father is a Pentecostal preacher and does not speak to him, and I shared that I was thankful that I got to have both family Thanksgiving and friends Thanksgiving, and it is a rarity for a gay person to have that blessing. Many of the Minneapolis gays go to brunch regularly, but I only get to go twice a year (the last time I was off on Sunday was for my birthday in July), which meant I was drinking like I was in Las Vegas. A gay complimented Grandma Shirley's new handbag that she bought from Lilian's in Blaine in support of Small Business Saturday, and was gracious when she accidentally bumped into him with it. "I'm sorry," she said. "My bag is too big." "Oh, darling," he said. "Nothing can ever be too big." Banter! I met Tall Boy's boyfriend and he couldn't look up from his phone to introduce himself, but not even that would bring me down! Sunday Funday!
My family departed, and I was hoping to eventually get a nap in at some point. It was not to be. Somehow we went to the Eagle, and it's all a blur from there, kids. I allegedly felt up Ryan Robertson, but only because Liam was controlling my hand, and I allegedly shared secrets, because when I drink I am like Elaine on "Seinfeld" (I am also an awful dancer and I violently push people). We went to Lush for a second time, which I do not remember, and then at The Saloon I remember doing self-esteem exercises with a really cute bro-ski type, and then Liam told him how old I was, and then I tackled Liam to the ground and made Jared count the pin.
Allegedly. I remember nothing.
FRIENDS
Oh, the friends I have! There are the usual suspects, to be sure, but I know such a great variety of people. Kara threw a Barbie themed birthday party and I wore my best pink Express shirt. Then I had an allergic reaction to Kinky, which totally bummed me out. Do I need to have Claritin before I drink now? I remember reading in Augusten Burroughs' "Dry" that he would take, like, eight Benadryls before a night of binge drinking. That sounds so awful to me. I would be in a coma. My sinuses would feel great, but I wouldn't be awake to notice it. I last went to Kara's for her Fourth of July shindig, and I love her parties. They are a mix of people who work retail, people who are writers, and usually both (Kara herself is an amazing writer -- and avid reader.She knew about Carole Radziwill before RHONY!). She is also friends with another comedian, in a delightful coincidence.
COMEDY
The hardest part about doing stand-up comedy is actually leaving your apartment to go do stand-up comedy, but I'm doing it more and more lately, because my goal for 2013 is to actually make money doing it (and also prove to myself that I wasn't supposed to be promoted and that I was meant to feel worthless and destitute in the latter half of 2012). Every month I meet more comedians who are so dedicated to what they do, and I just hope to absorb their drive and work ethic. I did a real show at the Comedy Corner this week called Punchline Punchout, a concept in which the comedians have to write five minutes of new matrial based on the topic they get that very morning. Mine was "fire", so I did jokes about Lindsay Lohan's vagina, scary gay stories to be told at gay campfire ("One time I went to The Saloon and I wore black shoes with brown socks!!!"), and the time I set my apartment on fire because I was having webcam sex with a stripper from Miami and I put a towel over a lamp to create better mood lighting. You see, when the stripper took off his shirt he looked like a stripper, and when I took mine off, I looked like an albino 12-year-old girl who is growing slight body hair as a result of her body eating itself due to anorexia.
WORK
I have a job in this economy. Gawker.com has been doing an incredible series about the plight of the unemployed, and it can really scare the crap out of you. HOW DARE I EVER COMPLAIN.
BOYS BOYS BOYS
I am just as boy-crazy as ever. Jared and Liam were over and I jokingly made a list of all my crushes, and I realized I have at least 20. Then, because I am a mature adult, I began to rank them based on how badly I want to play board games with them, and how likely my odds are of playing board games with them. I quit because it got too depressing. ("#3 is single now! But I am still white!"). And at the risk of being TMI, I am sexually bankrupt. I just like to flirt, people.
Joey, Liam, Markie and a gal pal graciously attended my Comedy Corner show, and after LUSH karaoke (with my parents! Who secretly love LUSH now. It's going to be one of those things where I show up on a crowded Wednesday and they will be sitting at the bar, shocked to see me. Like, "Oh, Jake! It's dollar drinks! Your father and I are going to have to get a cab home!"), we vamoosed to The Saloon!!
I had more to drink than I usually do, and because it was a full moon, all of my crushes were there. As I was yelling in the bathroom about how much Muscle Margaret is a snob (because he is!), Piano Man told me to stop yelling. He has been working out and his arms looked good. Even Jared commented on it. "Jakey, I usually never want to have sex with the same people you do, but CHILD BOO." The Pink Ladies were there, usually flawless. Peter showed up and told me everything he was wearing (it's our thing), and grinned even bigger than usual. "I have foreign exchange students with me," he beamed. You don't have to tell me twice! We sprinted to the dance floor and I met the blondest person I have ever met. "Where are you from?" I gushed. "Europe," he smiled, and I will consider it a truly multicultural experience.
Later in the night, I met up with my posse from earlier. As we stood in the center of the bar, Star Quarterback sauntered in. Were this even a month ago, I would have had my Pavlovian response of tensing up and running away, but now we're best friends and call each other every night and talk about life, love, and the pursuit of the American dream in a frightening economy.
Okay, that part isn't true, but he *did* say hello and hugged me.
I was so excited, but not everyone agreed that it was worthy of my emotion. "Oh, wow, really?" Joey scoffed. "You hugged a guy who's always hopped up on Adderall and doesn't do anything with his life. You and your A-list bullshit. Big fucking deal, Jakey."
I was angry for five whole minutes! But as I walked back to the bathroom, I realized two important points. First of all, Joey is a friend versus an acquaintance, and friends have the right to call you out on your bullshit and immature behavior. I am 12 years old about the preferred gender, and I understand that. Secondly, Joey and I have discussed the concept of the A-list before, and I learned over the summer that it's only "real" in the case of the clubs and the social echelons we create in the unique subculture that is the Hennepin Avenue bar scene, but it does not mean anything in terms of your success in life, of your career, or ultimately your happiness. Joey lives with Muscle Margaret, someone who had an establishment throw him a birthday party complete with a $5 cover charge, and, from the one very brief conversation I had with him, does not engage in pleasantries with people who aren't going to figuratively or literally sit on his dick. I understood where Joey's reaction was coming from. Yet I must defensively note that, as I said in the Halloween episode, the Star Quarterback thing eventually wasn't personally about him anymore. It was about social anxiety and self-affirmation and basing everything on wanting to be acknowledged by one person (hello, 12th grade, I remember you!), because if I was then I would feel like I belonged, and I finally got it and it's all I ever wanted from him, and it was a full-circle moment for me in this particular era of my life.
IDOLS
My best friend Erin and I are seeing Kathy Griffin tonight. Life could suck a lot worse.
It was the day of Liam's birthday party, and I was bringing groceries in the house, and I was only going to be inside for a few minutes, but a few minutes turned into two hours, and the moral of this story is that if you have a red Jack Spade wallet, do not leave it on your passenger seat, even if you live in an ostensibly safe neighborhood.
It put things in perspective, though. This happened a week before Thanksgiving, and I was surprised by how I really wasn't that upset about it. Discover air-mailed my credit card, my mother spotted me $20 to get food and paid for the window to be fixed (adding it to the thousands that I owe her, in the year 2013, when I allegedly become a grown-up), my friends were sympathetic and understanding. It made me realize what I should be thankful for.
FAMILY
I got a new bed last week because one of my friends peed in it. I am thankful for that friend because he makes me laugh and he paid for the Rug Doctor the next day. "This was meant to happen, Jakey," he said, "Because it'll get rid of the cat pee smell in your closet anyway." It was a rare Sunday that I had off in retail world, so naturally I took my mother and grandparents to LUSH for brunch.
We didn't really tell Grandpa that it was a gay bar, and I don't know if he got it because the football game was on (albeit next to a music video screen). My grandpa is not homophobic, but he is blue-collar and in his 70's, so I was a bit tepid at first, but my mother explained that as long as you feed him, he is content (and he fully joined the Clean Plate Club). We discussed a friend of mine whose father is a Pentecostal preacher and does not speak to him, and I shared that I was thankful that I got to have both family Thanksgiving and friends Thanksgiving, and it is a rarity for a gay person to have that blessing. Many of the Minneapolis gays go to brunch regularly, but I only get to go twice a year (the last time I was off on Sunday was for my birthday in July), which meant I was drinking like I was in Las Vegas. A gay complimented Grandma Shirley's new handbag that she bought from Lilian's in Blaine in support of Small Business Saturday, and was gracious when she accidentally bumped into him with it. "I'm sorry," she said. "My bag is too big." "Oh, darling," he said. "Nothing can ever be too big." Banter! I met Tall Boy's boyfriend and he couldn't look up from his phone to introduce himself, but not even that would bring me down! Sunday Funday!
My family departed, and I was hoping to eventually get a nap in at some point. It was not to be. Somehow we went to the Eagle, and it's all a blur from there, kids. I allegedly felt up Ryan Robertson, but only because Liam was controlling my hand, and I allegedly shared secrets, because when I drink I am like Elaine on "Seinfeld" (I am also an awful dancer and I violently push people). We went to Lush for a second time, which I do not remember, and then at The Saloon I remember doing self-esteem exercises with a really cute bro-ski type, and then Liam told him how old I was, and then I tackled Liam to the ground and made Jared count the pin.
Allegedly. I remember nothing.
FRIENDS
Oh, the friends I have! There are the usual suspects, to be sure, but I know such a great variety of people. Kara threw a Barbie themed birthday party and I wore my best pink Express shirt. Then I had an allergic reaction to Kinky, which totally bummed me out. Do I need to have Claritin before I drink now? I remember reading in Augusten Burroughs' "Dry" that he would take, like, eight Benadryls before a night of binge drinking. That sounds so awful to me. I would be in a coma. My sinuses would feel great, but I wouldn't be awake to notice it. I last went to Kara's for her Fourth of July shindig, and I love her parties. They are a mix of people who work retail, people who are writers, and usually both (Kara herself is an amazing writer -- and avid reader.She knew about Carole Radziwill before RHONY!). She is also friends with another comedian, in a delightful coincidence.
COMEDY
The hardest part about doing stand-up comedy is actually leaving your apartment to go do stand-up comedy, but I'm doing it more and more lately, because my goal for 2013 is to actually make money doing it (and also prove to myself that I wasn't supposed to be promoted and that I was meant to feel worthless and destitute in the latter half of 2012). Every month I meet more comedians who are so dedicated to what they do, and I just hope to absorb their drive and work ethic. I did a real show at the Comedy Corner this week called Punchline Punchout, a concept in which the comedians have to write five minutes of new matrial based on the topic they get that very morning. Mine was "fire", so I did jokes about Lindsay Lohan's vagina, scary gay stories to be told at gay campfire ("One time I went to The Saloon and I wore black shoes with brown socks!!!"), and the time I set my apartment on fire because I was having webcam sex with a stripper from Miami and I put a towel over a lamp to create better mood lighting. You see, when the stripper took off his shirt he looked like a stripper, and when I took mine off, I looked like an albino 12-year-old girl who is growing slight body hair as a result of her body eating itself due to anorexia.
WORK
I have a job in this economy. Gawker.com has been doing an incredible series about the plight of the unemployed, and it can really scare the crap out of you. HOW DARE I EVER COMPLAIN.
BOYS BOYS BOYS
I am just as boy-crazy as ever. Jared and Liam were over and I jokingly made a list of all my crushes, and I realized I have at least 20. Then, because I am a mature adult, I began to rank them based on how badly I want to play board games with them, and how likely my odds are of playing board games with them. I quit because it got too depressing. ("#3 is single now! But I am still white!"). And at the risk of being TMI, I am sexually bankrupt. I just like to flirt, people.
Joey, Liam, Markie and a gal pal graciously attended my Comedy Corner show, and after LUSH karaoke (with my parents! Who secretly love LUSH now. It's going to be one of those things where I show up on a crowded Wednesday and they will be sitting at the bar, shocked to see me. Like, "Oh, Jake! It's dollar drinks! Your father and I are going to have to get a cab home!"), we vamoosed to The Saloon!!
I had more to drink than I usually do, and because it was a full moon, all of my crushes were there. As I was yelling in the bathroom about how much Muscle Margaret is a snob (because he is!), Piano Man told me to stop yelling. He has been working out and his arms looked good. Even Jared commented on it. "Jakey, I usually never want to have sex with the same people you do, but CHILD BOO." The Pink Ladies were there, usually flawless. Peter showed up and told me everything he was wearing (it's our thing), and grinned even bigger than usual. "I have foreign exchange students with me," he beamed. You don't have to tell me twice! We sprinted to the dance floor and I met the blondest person I have ever met. "Where are you from?" I gushed. "Europe," he smiled, and I will consider it a truly multicultural experience.
Later in the night, I met up with my posse from earlier. As we stood in the center of the bar, Star Quarterback sauntered in. Were this even a month ago, I would have had my Pavlovian response of tensing up and running away, but now we're best friends and call each other every night and talk about life, love, and the pursuit of the American dream in a frightening economy.
Okay, that part isn't true, but he *did* say hello and hugged me.
I was so excited, but not everyone agreed that it was worthy of my emotion. "Oh, wow, really?" Joey scoffed. "You hugged a guy who's always hopped up on Adderall and doesn't do anything with his life. You and your A-list bullshit. Big fucking deal, Jakey."
I was angry for five whole minutes! But as I walked back to the bathroom, I realized two important points. First of all, Joey is a friend versus an acquaintance, and friends have the right to call you out on your bullshit and immature behavior. I am 12 years old about the preferred gender, and I understand that. Secondly, Joey and I have discussed the concept of the A-list before, and I learned over the summer that it's only "real" in the case of the clubs and the social echelons we create in the unique subculture that is the Hennepin Avenue bar scene, but it does not mean anything in terms of your success in life, of your career, or ultimately your happiness. Joey lives with Muscle Margaret, someone who had an establishment throw him a birthday party complete with a $5 cover charge, and, from the one very brief conversation I had with him, does not engage in pleasantries with people who aren't going to figuratively or literally sit on his dick. I understood where Joey's reaction was coming from. Yet I must defensively note that, as I said in the Halloween episode, the Star Quarterback thing eventually wasn't personally about him anymore. It was about social anxiety and self-affirmation and basing everything on wanting to be acknowledged by one person (hello, 12th grade, I remember you!), because if I was then I would feel like I belonged, and I finally got it and it's all I ever wanted from him, and it was a full-circle moment for me in this particular era of my life.
IDOLS
My best friend Erin and I are seeing Kathy Griffin tonight. Life could suck a lot worse.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Loring Park Episode #18: Bingo, Barack, and Boys
Previously on Loring Park: Jakey and Kevin went night swimming. Jakey has a crush on everyone.
***
I had not heard from Kevin since our night swimming in August, after which he had completed the grown-up life task of buying a house. Meanwhile, I am so broke and co-dependent that my mother set up an account for me at the local basement grocery store.
I did a show at the House of Comedy a few weeks ago, and was honored that so many of my friends showed up, as did my parents and brother. I worked 10-7 the following Saturday, so I mentioned a possible bingo excursion at Big Louie’s to my mother and my best friend Erin. We play bingo often on Wednesdays and Saturdays, and in my mind the invitation was casual and not definite. It’s bingo, not a birthday party.
That same week, Kevin randomly messaged me on Facebook asking if I wanted to hang out. Because I am twelve years old, I jumped at the chance. However, he has a grown-up schedule whereas I have a retail teenager schedule. Not sure what day would work, I decided to give him my entire itinerary, because I have game like that. We tentatively made plans for Saturday at 9. Perfect! I would finish my shift at 7, go home and get pretty, and then drive to his house in the suburbs. This would go off without a hitch!
“Are we still on for bingo on Saturday?” my mother asked on Thursday when I was at work.
“Wha--no,” I said. “I’m going to a boy’s house.”
“Oh, really?!” she scoffed. “You know, when I make plans with people, I keep them. I don’t just ditch them for some yay-hoo.” Yayhoo is a technical term.
Erin was no more sympathetic to my plight. “I would never ditch Robbie for you, and we’re getting married in less than a year!” she wrote in a text. “THAT IS WAY HARSH, TAI,” I wrote in all doocecaps. Still, I was in the midst of a moral dilemma. I did not realize our quasi-monthly bingo excursion was such an important social obligation, but my mother and best friend are the two most important women in my life. While I imagined this would be an argument that I would have a good thirty decades from now, I was in my mid-twenties and possibly having relationships ruined because of no-showing bingo. I was going to have to make an important decision.
***
I had not heard from Kevin since our night swimming in August, after which he had completed the grown-up life task of buying a house. Meanwhile, I am so broke and co-dependent that my mother set up an account for me at the local basement grocery store.
I did a show at the House of Comedy a few weeks ago, and was honored that so many of my friends showed up, as did my parents and brother. I worked 10-7 the following Saturday, so I mentioned a possible bingo excursion at Big Louie’s to my mother and my best friend Erin. We play bingo often on Wednesdays and Saturdays, and in my mind the invitation was casual and not definite. It’s bingo, not a birthday party.
That same week, Kevin randomly messaged me on Facebook asking if I wanted to hang out. Because I am twelve years old, I jumped at the chance. However, he has a grown-up schedule whereas I have a retail teenager schedule. Not sure what day would work, I decided to give him my entire itinerary, because I have game like that. We tentatively made plans for Saturday at 9. Perfect! I would finish my shift at 7, go home and get pretty, and then drive to his house in the suburbs. This would go off without a hitch!
“Are we still on for bingo on Saturday?” my mother asked on Thursday when I was at work.
“Wha--no,” I said. “I’m going to a boy’s house.”
“Oh, really?!” she scoffed. “You know, when I make plans with people, I keep them. I don’t just ditch them for some yay-hoo.” Yayhoo is a technical term.
Erin was no more sympathetic to my plight. “I would never ditch Robbie for you, and we’re getting married in less than a year!” she wrote in a text. “THAT IS WAY HARSH, TAI,” I wrote in all doocecaps. Still, I was in the midst of a moral dilemma. I did not realize our quasi-monthly bingo excursion was such an important social obligation, but my mother and best friend are the two most important women in my life. While I imagined this would be an argument that I would have a good thirty decades from now, I was in my mid-twenties and possibly having relationships ruined because of no-showing bingo. I was going to have to make an important decision.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
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.
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.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Loring Park Episode #16: Jaymes Vaughn
Previously on Loring Park:
-An emotional affair officially went awry! Roger got drunk and asked Jakey out! Jakey is still closed for business! The CUTEST BOY EVER!
This week's episode begins on a Wednesday night at LUSH, which is the best place to go mid-week (dollar drinks, even though I usually have a Grey Goose Lemonade by the end of the night). I, of course, arrived at midnight because I am inconsiderate that way, but it was lovely to see my usual suspects there: Jared and Joey and Liam and Markie and our friend Esquire, who just passed the bar. South Dakota Version Two, a.k.a., the CUTEST BOY EVER, was on the dance floor and I was blushing just talking about it. I also realized that I remembered nothing of the conversation we had, except that we discussed the weather and the probability of coat check.
"Wait, that's *all* you remember?" Esquire asked. "You don't remember anything about him telling you had a 'positive aura'? He must have mentioned it five diferent times."
No, I remember none of it. And it's not because I was piss-drunk, either. When I later told this story to my brother, he scoffed, "What, were you that lost in his dreamy eyes?" And, yes. Yes, I was.
I didn't talk to him that night, though, because he was dancing with his hot friends. I hate high school. MANUEL~!, the boy who stole my cell phone the week prior and then gave it back to me two seconds later when I said "Excuse me", was starting fistfights on the outside of the club. SOME PEOPLE. Joey and I briefly snuck off to Legends, where I ran into the same St. Anthony girl that I encountered last week! Small moments! Joey is enjoying his new life living with the Muscle Gays, and is allegedly planning a dinner party. Fancy! We will discuss politics and glute exercises.
Back at LUSH, I gave Jared $25 to take a cab home so I could go to A-bar with the boys, and that was only because I knew that Ryan Robertson was going to be coming with us. Ryan Robertson appeared nameless on an earlier episode -- I met him for two seconds at LUSH and he helpfully gave me workout advice -- and while I have never had another actual conversation with him, he has always been as cordial as he is dreamy. Markie, Liam, their friend Blake and I drove together while Ryan drove beside us, and I was a delightful mix of loopy and nervous.
Markie lives with Lawrence and we all trekked down to the basement. Ryan laid on the bed perpendicular to Liam while I sat on the edge of it, and spastic conversation was had. We all went on Grindr as a joke but I have a *horrible* Grindr picture these days, a tragic side effect of always losing your cell phone. Star Quarterback was on Grindr and I refuse to believe that he is 6'2" and 180 pounds.
"He used to be fat," Liam said.
"Still," I said. "That boy is LANKY." And I am not bitter at all.
"I'm 5'11" and 155," Ryan Robertson shared.
"You are *not* 5'11," Markie accused, because Markie is the expert on all things, including height.
"Pssh, I am too," Ryan Robertson said.
"No," Markie yelled. "I don't believe you".
And I, who had said nothing to Ryan Robertson since that fateful night in April in which I learned what ab exercises I should be doing in the morning, decided to pipe up. "Well, stand up," I said. "I'm 5'7".
He stood up in all his lanky sexiness and we stood back-to-back, like you do when you're in grade school and wanting to find out who is the tallest kid in the class. Markie immediately whipped out his measure tape (what, who doesn't have a random measure tape on their nightstand?) and declared that Ryan Robertson was exactly four inches taller than me! And thus ends the closest I will ever be getting to romance with Ryan Robertson.
-An emotional affair officially went awry! Roger got drunk and asked Jakey out! Jakey is still closed for business! The CUTEST BOY EVER!
This week's episode begins on a Wednesday night at LUSH, which is the best place to go mid-week (dollar drinks, even though I usually have a Grey Goose Lemonade by the end of the night). I, of course, arrived at midnight because I am inconsiderate that way, but it was lovely to see my usual suspects there: Jared and Joey and Liam and Markie and our friend Esquire, who just passed the bar. South Dakota Version Two, a.k.a., the CUTEST BOY EVER, was on the dance floor and I was blushing just talking about it. I also realized that I remembered nothing of the conversation we had, except that we discussed the weather and the probability of coat check.
"Wait, that's *all* you remember?" Esquire asked. "You don't remember anything about him telling you had a 'positive aura'? He must have mentioned it five diferent times."
No, I remember none of it. And it's not because I was piss-drunk, either. When I later told this story to my brother, he scoffed, "What, were you that lost in his dreamy eyes?" And, yes. Yes, I was.
I didn't talk to him that night, though, because he was dancing with his hot friends. I hate high school. MANUEL~!, the boy who stole my cell phone the week prior and then gave it back to me two seconds later when I said "Excuse me", was starting fistfights on the outside of the club. SOME PEOPLE. Joey and I briefly snuck off to Legends, where I ran into the same St. Anthony girl that I encountered last week! Small moments! Joey is enjoying his new life living with the Muscle Gays, and is allegedly planning a dinner party. Fancy! We will discuss politics and glute exercises.
Back at LUSH, I gave Jared $25 to take a cab home so I could go to A-bar with the boys, and that was only because I knew that Ryan Robertson was going to be coming with us. Ryan Robertson appeared nameless on an earlier episode -- I met him for two seconds at LUSH and he helpfully gave me workout advice -- and while I have never had another actual conversation with him, he has always been as cordial as he is dreamy. Markie, Liam, their friend Blake and I drove together while Ryan drove beside us, and I was a delightful mix of loopy and nervous.
Markie lives with Lawrence and we all trekked down to the basement. Ryan laid on the bed perpendicular to Liam while I sat on the edge of it, and spastic conversation was had. We all went on Grindr as a joke but I have a *horrible* Grindr picture these days, a tragic side effect of always losing your cell phone. Star Quarterback was on Grindr and I refuse to believe that he is 6'2" and 180 pounds.
"He used to be fat," Liam said.
"Still," I said. "That boy is LANKY." And I am not bitter at all.
"I'm 5'11" and 155," Ryan Robertson shared.
"You are *not* 5'11," Markie accused, because Markie is the expert on all things, including height.
"Pssh, I am too," Ryan Robertson said.
"No," Markie yelled. "I don't believe you".
And I, who had said nothing to Ryan Robertson since that fateful night in April in which I learned what ab exercises I should be doing in the morning, decided to pipe up. "Well, stand up," I said. "I'm 5'7".
He stood up in all his lanky sexiness and we stood back-to-back, like you do when you're in grade school and wanting to find out who is the tallest kid in the class. Markie immediately whipped out his measure tape (what, who doesn't have a random measure tape on their nightstand?) and declared that Ryan Robertson was exactly four inches taller than me! And thus ends the closest I will ever be getting to romance with Ryan Robertson.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Loring Park Episode #15: We're Not All in the Mood For a Melody
I am that weird age where I am too old to be following random 19-year-olds on Twitter but young enough to snag myself a sugar daddy. Both are dangerous.
I went to LUSH twice in a row last week! LUSH is still my favorite gay bar and while I’m very happy to be in Loring Park, I miss being within walking distance of it. Chuck and Joey were both attending, and I felt bad that I didn’t get there until 12:30. I have a chronic inability to arrive at a social gathering before midnight. It doesn’t matter what time I start to get ready. I have to shave, and take an hour-long shower, and put my make-up on, then remove my make-up because it doesn’t look right, then re-apply, then change my outfit three times. I think I have Gay OCD.
Joey moved in with muscle gays in the suburbs, and I have not met them yet but one of them I often see at the clubs and the other one I Facebook-creeped out of boredom. I told Joey that if I am just randomly in his suburb (that I don’t think I’ve ever been to in my life, truthfully), I just might need to borrow something like vodka or a cup of sugar or an orgasm. I went to the bathroom and stood at the mirror next to someone who had to be a model, and then Star Quarterback came out of the stall with four other dudes, and he was wearing a zip-up sweater and looked dreamy. My life is a joke.
At the end of the night, Chuck and I stood by the fire and somehow we ended up in conversation with a boy who used to work coat check at The Saloon. You know I’m not one to be overdramatic or use exaggerated statements, so you’ll have to trust me when I opine that he was THE CUTEST BOY EVER. He was from South Dakota and that meant that he didn’t know that he was beautiful. We talked about the weather, which means I must have wowed him.
“I heard you met a boy last night,” Liam texted me the next morning.
“Not like that,” I said. “We only talked about the weather.”
“I know his last name,” Liam said. Then I Facebook-creeped and found out he has a boyfriend. Cue the music they play when people lose on The Price is Right.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Loring Park Episode #13: September's Coming Soon
Typically on the 13th episode of a TV show’s freshman season, loose ends are tied up because a show is initially only ordered for 13 episodes before the network decides to give it a full 22-episode run. Hell, if this were a cable show, we’d be at the season finale anyway. You would expect something eventful to happen in Episode 13.
I turned down sex three times in one night last week. That should let you know where this is going.
I turned down sex three times in one night last week. That should let you know where this is going.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Loring Park Episode #11: My Summer of Love
It is my third month in the city.
It is my summer of love.
I don’t put out, but it’s still my summer of love.
Love can mean different things, for example. I met a neighbor girl a month ago at the 19 Bar. She has air conditioning and an adorable kitten. She stays up until 5 in the morning like I do. She moved here from Green Bay, didn’t realize she was in the gayborhood, but we all have adopted her. Her posse is a bit different than mine, but one of her friends, Eric, is a hilarious fedora-sporting African-American gentleman who lives a block away and occasionally bumps into me at The Saloon. We share a love for old-school Mariah Carey and singing about a hot guy, “He can gettttt ittttttttt!”
A lot of them could get it this weekend. But we’ll get to that later.
I stopped at my parents’ house after work on Friday night to drop off some mail and get my Entertainment Weeklys (they still deliver them there! Soooo frustrating). Kevin texted me to let me know that he just bought chocolate cake flavored vodka. How sinful is that? But I was going to be an adult about Kevin this time. I wasn’t going to drop everything and drive to the suburbs. I said I would call him when I got home, because we are friends and nothing more and that is what friends do. Italics.
“My apartment is a sweat hut,” I explained at 10:15 P.M. The fan in the living room read 98 degrees. “Wait, that’s not right, is it?”
“Sweat hut?” he asked.
“Y’know, like they have on those resorts,” I explained.
“A sweat lodge!” he exclaimed.
“Yes!” I said. “Anyway, I’m living in my sweat lodge. It’s like doing bikram yoga only I don’t need to do anything.”
“Hmm,” he said, and then he slipped into that damn fake Southern accent. “That sounds tempting. Well, I just bought a new bottle of chocolate cake vodka.”
Awkward silence.
“This is when you invite me over, Kevin,” I directed. This was 50% because I still like him but the other 50% was really because I wanted to sleep in air conditioning.
He did, and I told him I would be there in half an hour. Because this is me, it took me 45 minutes just to shower, throw together an overnight bag, and leave my apartment. On my way to his estate, it started STORMING, almost torrentially, and that is when I realized I left my apartment windows open. The route there directed me to eight different exits, and I panicked more as the storm got stronger. When I drove into his town, sirens were blaring, and I wasn’t sure if I should have been terrified or turned on.
I arrived at his building and a birthday party/quincenera was going on and a man let me in. “You’re in my building?” Kevin said when he called me. “Only an hour. Not bad. You’re just walking around randomly? That’s smart.”
He was right in front of me then, on the second floor of this suburban palace, and it was the first time I had actually seen him in a month and a half. We’re good now, we’re normal and platonic and drama-free, but I would be lying if I still didn’t feel a little nauseous. His tight tee-shirt effortlessly showed off his swimmer’s build, the well-developed biceps and the slim waist, and I calmed myself down with Absolut Citron.
We played video games. That’s not a metaphor like board games. It was actually a very enjoyable, Monopoly-meets-Mario Party type of game, and I learned a lot about things like stock prices and equity and other grown-up things that Kevin is obsessed with. At 28, his mother is financially dependent on him, and that is when I understood why he is always talking about things like 401(k)s and retirement savings. The conversation made me want to call my mother and tell her that I had two interviews for grown-up jobs and I promise to stop being a screw-up by the time I am 28 so that she can live in my basement.
I did the tutorial for the video game while he read boring work things. He chastised me for not using a coaster, and when I responded with something snarky, he responded with “Aww, you’re trying to be cute, aren’t you?” I was sitting almost off the couch because I need glasses but I am in denial, and he forcefully grabbed my thigh and shoved me so I would lean back, and I felt strange tingly feelings in my urrrrea.
He told me that Joey thinks I cried last week because I had a bad show. Awkward. Also, How dare you? I fucking killed it at Campus Pizza last week. He explained he was self-conscious about his teeth because he was in an accident last fall and the flipper finally came off, and I won the Hypocrite of the Year Award when I told him that he shouldn’t surround himself with superficial people.
We went to his closet to get a board game, but he only has ridiculously nerdy RPG-type ones, or Risk, and I really hate Risk. As I was rambling about something ridiculous, he grabbed me by the waist and made out with me. I tried to push him into his room and onto the bed, but he countered me with his superior upper body strength. Then he continued the conversation as if nothing had happened.
Boys are so dumb.
We finally went to bed at 5 A.M., and he demanded mutual shirtlessness. Thank goodness I remembered to shave my chest. I did not pursue sexy time because I hadn’t Naired my legs. We took melatonin, and that morning I had three different dreams about being in bed with him. In the second one we wrestled. I should be so lucky.
I justified going out on Saturday night because we have a major event at work next weekend and therefore I won’t be at The Saloon until the next paycheck! Oh, horrors!
It’s Gay High School. I know I always say it, but it’s true. Most (but not all) gay men did not do high school the "normal" way -- we didn't openly date, we didn't gossip about who we liked, we didn't unabashedly flirt -- and thus we live it out in our twenties. Let's just say I have an embarrassing amount of school spirit, and I just want everyone to sign my damn yearbook.
Nights blur together. Jared met me there, but he didn’t get there until 1:15, so before his arrival, I mingled. I ran into Eric and he allowed me to hang out with his posse. South Dakota was there and didn’t try to make out with me, and I wasn’t sure if I should have been offended or not. Star Quarterback was brooding. Gay Oprah was there oozing fabulousness. I have Drunk Facebooked half this bar!
Just like in Episode One, I left with South Dakota to go to the secret warehouse after-party. It was different this time because I actually knew where it was, and I was able to convince myself that I belonged. I’m not an A-lister, but I’m certainly up to a C-minus. We were in a group of five, and everyone else was a music major because they kept saying their names while clapping the syllables. Ta tah tee tee tah. JA-KEY.
We arrived, my name wasn’t on the list (they have a list now?! Someone has upped the ante at The Place) and I might have overpaid, but it was all worth it once I got to ride the freight elevator with a man covered in balloons. He explained that tonight’s theme was aquatic. What?? Theme?? In line for the bathroom, I was next to a woman dressed like Kate Winslet from Titanic, and she explained that her house turned 100 years old so she wanted to dress like it was 1912. Clever! I love uptown people.
It was an “Under the Sea” theme, and people covered themselves in body paint. A lovely young woman was giving impromptu pole dancing lessons. Jim Wilson was in his underwear. If I had a body like Jim Wilson, I would go grocery shopping in swim trunks. All the local bartenders were there, and I ran into someone who I met at my very first job from the movie theater when I was 16! I was proud of myself for knowing the only heterosexual male in the venue.
Eric was there, too, and his friend got body painted. After an hour of mingling, I totally forgot there was a roof! Last time I was here it was raining, but tonight it was beautiful. I walked up by myself and absorbed the skyline and took in the moment. This lasted all of two seconds, because then I saw Philip.
Philip is an A-lister that I do not speak to. You could say Philip is good-looking, but that is an understatement. Philip won the genetic lottery, boys and girls. Philip is so good-looking that I, to quote Mariah, get kind of hectic inside. Jet black hair! Cobalt blue eyes! Ridiculously white teeth! Naturally olive skin! A birthdate in the 1990’s! Liam once went on a date with him a few years ago, and they went to a roller rink and held hands! I was so jealous when he told me that I almost kicked him out of my apartment.
Anygay (my new favorite segue), Philip was there with two male friends and a beautiful girl, and they asked me to take their picture. It took me three times and none of them turned out well. Deeeeee-lissssssttttttt. The boys were all nice though, and one of them had a crazy athletic build. In a world of twinks, he was strapping muscles and granite, and, to steal a phrase from Liz Lemon, I wanted to go to there.
At 5:30 AM, it was finally time to go, and South Dakota and I took a cab home. South Dakota! The first boy I ever made out with post-moving! Awwwwwww. I still hadn’t Naired my legs. Was I supposed to put out?
“Just so you know,” South Dakota said, “When we get there I’m gonna immediately pass out.”
“That’s okay,” I smiled. What a relief! We stripped down to our underwear and he wore neon green Andrew Christians.
Jared called the next morning at 8:30. “I lost my phone!” he cried. “I’m outside of your apartment! Let me in!” I buzzed him in, and he entered my apartment looking like he had just got back from the club. He was awake, polished, and energetic.
“JAKEY!” he cried. “I lost my phone! Loring Park is having an art festival and I slept in a tent with these artists! They were so weird! But they were so nice to me! I could have been killed! Where did you go last night?” He kept rambling until he noticed that South Dakota was nearly naked and in the bed with me. “Oh!” Jared cried. “Oh! Ohhhhhh!!!!!!!! JAKEY!”
“Jared, don’t be ridiculous!” I cried with mock embarrassment. I am half naked in bed with a cute boy, how humiliating! The Rhoda Morgenstern to my Mary Richards sashayed out of my apartment (yes, I have decided that I get to be the Mary in our friendship and that never happens), and then I overslept. Oh no!!! I drove South Dakota home as is proper faux one-night stand etiquette, but then I took the wrong freeway! Must you be so confusing, uptown?!
I went to work with that post fake-sex glow. I had slept with Kevin and South Dakota two nights in a row! Granted, we didn’t do anything, but still! How exciting! My summer of love! A man from the Internet wanted to come over and play board games, but I still hadn’t Naired my legs. Then I ordered Jimmy John’s and subsequently locked myself out of my apartment building when I went to retrieve it. That would so not happen to Mary Richards.
I was exhausted! Did I even want to go out? Was this what it is to be old? Should I stay in? But I couldn’t go out next weekend! I had to! It was my duty!
I waltzed into The Saloon and turned the world on with my smile. I immediately ran into Davis, who I went to Stout with! He was there with Jim Wilson and I felt awkward and out of place. Then I realized that as he and Jim were sitting at the corner of the bar, and I was now next to Davis’s friend Taylor, who is tall and of ambiguous descent. Taylor had a million-dollar smile and an American Eagle polo. He was very attractive, but I wasn’t intimidated at all, because I was able to charm him with my wit and grace.
I am so full of shit, y’all. Our initial five minutes were like this:
Davis: “This is my best friend, Taylor. Taylor, this is Jakey.”
Taylor (very nice! Very sweet!): “Hi. Good to meet you!”
Jakey: “……………….” (stands awkwardly next to the cute boy for five minutes until I down my first Three Olives lemonade. YAYYY FOR TWO FOR ONES)
Then I summoned the courage to ask Taylor what he was drinking. His poison was tequila sunrise, and he let me taste it.
“What straw should I use?” I asked.
“I don’t care,” he smiled. Then I asked for his hand in marriage.
I went back to the porch and Eric and his fedora were there again! Yayy!!! We discussed the “Daydream” album and how he is often drawn to skinny white boys as his sidekicks. “We’re a hoot,” I explained.
I walked back inside and Davis and Taylor were talking to a girl who was gorgeous. She had long black hair, popping lip gloss and a glittered piercing under her lip. “You are beautiful,” I said. “And when a gay man tells you that, it’s the truth. We have no reason to lie about it.” She oozed sex. I wanted to make out with her.
“I want to make out with you,” Davis told her.
“Me too,” I said. But then Davis actually did make out with her! For like two minutes! It was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen, but I was kind of disappointed because then that meant that I couldn’t make out with her. Davis is classy and handsome, but sloppy seconds is still sloppy seconds. Plus, I’m probably a horrible kisser compared to him. I know my strengths, people.
One of those strengths is schmoozing when I’ve had enough liquid courage! This doesn’t mean that I talked to Philip or Star Quarterback (though the latter and I had the most awkward staredown in front of the bathroom!). I did, however, walk to the back patio and schmooze with Philip’s friend, he of the football player build from the prior evening. He was filling out a blue Abercrombie & Fitch polo and he could gettttt ittttt.
He has family in Manhattan, lives in Madison, is 22, is 230 pounds of solid muscle, and had that magic black hair/blue eye combo that makes the girls melt. I kept trying to lift him up, but he wouldn’t have any of it. The bartender suggested I buy him a drink, but I made him flex his biceps first. I’m only human. I told him my real age. Life is short. I told him he is a gay unicorn and someone like him, an incredibly muscular ‘jock’ with beautiful eyes and dimples, is a very rare breed. I may have even used the term “conventionally attractive”. Life is still short.
We heard rumors of an after-party, but nothing happened, so Football Guy (what a great code name!), his friend and I went to my apartment because I knew Neighbor Girl would be up. She had her man friend over and gave us wine. While in the bathroom she told me she has a lump in her breast. Football Guy and his friend walked me home, and I sobbed hysterically. I called everyone I have ever met before one of my co-workers called me back at 4:30 in the goddamned morning. Boy, do I owe someone a fruit basket.
How does a 24-year-old woman have prospective breast cancer? Is it because I read What Remains by Carole Radziwell and thus I had cancer on the brain? Did I not hear her right? Was this lovely young woman so lonely that she had to create pathological lies for attention? Did she tell me because she had no one else to hear it for her? I thought of the young woman I met at Lush who also told me of her “lady cancer”. Bad things happen to good people. When they do, you question your faith, your God, your belief in concepts like grace, karma and fortune.
I texted Football Guy. He did not write back. Will I ever see him again? Was it all a dream? Thank goodness for Instagram. Neighbor Girl said she would call me today, but maybe the time is too ripe. I will see her at the 19, which does not count as going out.
I was supposed to go to a movie audition today but I totally forgot about it. Dammmmmitttttttttt. So much for my fake show business career. I am going to work at a Walgreen’s until I die. I went to dinner with Chuck and Devin at Psycho Suzi’s, and then I had to tell them about my summer of love. They made gentle fun of me for being such a Prudence McPrude. Chuck is older and wiser, and I told him about the Kevin drive-by kiss at his apartment. “It’s a control thing,” he surmised, and that is why you should always be friends with 31-year-olds who have seen silly boys come and go, when they had their own summers of love and ill-fated emotional affairs.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Pride Weekend Recap: Cliffs Notes
Gay Pride Weekend in 25 Observations
1. I
lost my phone on Friday, stone cold sober, while running errands with Jared and
Liam.
2. My
computer crashed and burned that night. These things come in threes. Jared
graciously let me borrow his laptop, and I am forever grateful. However, I
threw away my router password like a dumbshit and thus the Internet only works
25% of the time. Refresh refresh refresh.
3. I
ran into a high school crush at The Saloon, and while I have no idea why a
straight guy would be there at 1:50 A.M. on a Friday night, I had enough liquid
courage to tell him that I had a crush on him all through high school and that
Erin McCloskey and I called him Colonel Brandon so we could talk about him
behind his back. He was surprisingly not freaked out.
4. I
went to The Eagle on Friday and kept asking people how to aim a shotgun so I
could properly go “bear-hunting”. I learned from Jack that if you are a bear
with a smartphone, there are approximately 87 different hook-up apps you can
download.
5. I
went to work on Saturday and it was surprisingly a breeze! I texted Joey and
was excited to reunite with him. He was on the fence between the ‘90s and The
Saloon, and I said I would probably stop at The Saloon to look for a certain
boy. “Kevin?” Joey asked. “No, of course not,” I said. “OMG, then who?” Joey
wrote back. “Kevin,” I said. “I was being sarcastic.”
6. Kevin
gave up drinking and will not ever be at The Saloon ever again. He told Joey
this via text message, but he does not contact me anymore, and I am totally
fine with this.
7. By
totally fine, I mean I bawled my eyes out in the car like a dumb homo and then
subsequently told everyone and their dog about it at work when I got back from
break. I work with people who have gone through ten times the shit that I have
and you would never know it. Meanwhile, I am sad about a BOY who I met THREE
WEEKS AGO and he thinks I am shit on a shoe and therefore MY LIFE IS OVER I
WANT TO CRAWL IN A HOLE AND DIE.
8. OMG,
am I really wasting all my Pride sentences about Kevin? I will say this: I have
only fallen in love with boys from the Internet or unattainable straight guys,
and despite the fact that we never did anything physical, he will always be a “first”
for me. I think I was saddest that he does not want a damn thing to do with me,
but there are other fish in the sea.
9. I
want that fish.
9b. OK, I totally
get that I am putting him on a pedestal, but he was jocky and fratty and
intelligent and complicated and tragic and complex and arrogant and blunt and
sensitive and ridiculous and ambitious and frustrated and broken and connected
and incredulous and silly and while we only had two of them because I am not
counting the Prince Eric one, I will most cherish the mornings, when I would
sneak in a Listerine strip, pretend I was still sleeping, and surreptitiously navigate
my body as close to his as I could. I was in love with Drew and I was in love
with Puppy, but they were from the Internet, and while I was certainly not in
love with Kevin, the mornings are what I always imagined a real relationship
felt like.
9c. I will never
write of him again.
10. No
one made out with me all weekend, and that is probably karma for telling people
at work that I was taking over-under bets for what number I would get. I think
the highest bidder was 12.
11. When
Jared is Level Three drunk, he is the most hilarious person in the world. “STOP
THAT TWINK!!” he yelled in the park, and a buff dude turned around and was
like, “Did you just call me a twink?” “Yes,” I said. “I could break you in
half.”
12. When
Jared is Level Four drunk, he is not the most hilarious person in the world.
13. I
babysat Jared during the latter half of the weekend, is what I’m saying. I
screamed at his gal pal this afternoon. My anger was misplaced and I apologized
for yelling, but I still meant every word that I said (I just could have said
it in a regular tone of voice and with a dozen less F-bombs).
14. HOLY
SHIT, MYA!! She was great at The Saloon. She did “Case of the Ex” second and
Jared and I, in happier times, queened the fuck out. “I have one question for
you, Minneapolis,” she said. “Where are my soul sisters at? Let me hear them
soul sisters. Hey, sister, go, sister soul, sister go, sister go, HE MET
MARMALADE DOWN ON OLD NEW ORLEANS!!!” Jared and I urinated on ourselves and on
each other and the strangers near us.
15. I
thoroughly enjoyed getting to know Liam as a person these past few weeks. He is
a hoot.
16. I
have been telling a lot of people they are a “hoot” this week, but I genuinely
mean it. Some people even get called “a hoot and a half”. I grabbed one blond
man and said “I sat next to you at Lush last year at Meghan McNamer’s table,
and I just think you are a hoot and a half.” Also a hoot and a half are Chuck’s
boyfriend Peter, Liam’s Gal Pal, and that *hilarious* Star Quarterback who is
so beautiful but manages to look pissed ALL THE TIME. I imagine he is a pistol
at parties, and I am not just saying that because I’m bitter that he’s not even
polite enough to give me a courtesy eye-fuck.
17. Channing
Tatum(‘s publicist) Tweeted me when I sang the praises of someone in a “Magic
Mike” T-shirt who gave me a block party ticket for half price because my drunk
ass lost mine. I LOSE EVERYTHING.
18. I
went to the A-list recovery party on Monday afternoon. I did not have my face
on and looked like sheer and utter hell.
19. I
got flirted with more at that party than I did all weekend when I was all
gussied up in designer clothes and Clarins foundation. At one point I had
actually convinced people I was a sophomore in high school. There is a lesson
there somewhere.
20. I
have glitter all over my apartment.
21. I
AM SO FREAKING SUNBURNED. For the first time in my life, I decided to wear a
tank top (I still have Liam’s. WHOOPS.) Yay for self-esteem because I never
looked twinkier in my life, but now I would like to bathe in a vat of
Solarcaine.
22. At
4:30 AM. On Saturday night, Joey decided he wasn’t sleeping over at my
apartment and then I listened to “Brighter Discontent” by The Submarines on
repeat, even though I have no idea what I was expecting.
23. Joey
apologized right away Sunday morning and all was well in gay world. Feelings
are weird.
24. I
spent all of Sunday taking pictures of hot guys with my disposable camera. Some
were sneak pictures, but most of them were me coming up to them and asking if I
could get a picture, and because it is
Pride Weekend, most of them were ridiculously cute boys from Iowa who probably
assume that this is just how we do things in Minneapolis.
25. I
have been measuring happiness by all of the wrong quantities. I may have the
sex life of a nun, a sub-zero checking account, a hellacious case of sunburn,
and something gross is going on with my gums right now, but I really am
blessed. Happy Effing Pride. Vote No in November.
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