Hello, children! We are in November already! It was a crazy
October, and that’s even if I didn’t
go on a trip that I couldn’t afford.
***
I saw Gone Girl.
What did you think? They showed a preview of 50 Shades of Grey and I started giggling. It is worth noting that I
saw it with two cute boys and purposely sat in the middle. I am 12 years old.
The dude on my left yelled “Son of a bitch” at the two hour mark because he had
a leg cramp and I almost spilled my orange soda on the boy on my right. I
cannot have nice things.
Y’know what was nice? Doing comedy at Nye’s! It
unfortunately no longer has the room because show business is the devil. I met
up with Dennis that night and we went to the Gay ‘90s, which has a $10 cover on
Thursdays. And I wonder how I went bankrupt (it’s because they have dollar
drinks, but I am a princess who eschews rail drinks. Dennis bought me something
with Ketel in it and I quit pouting). Dennis grew up in Miami, so I spent most
of the evening asking him stupid questions about it. The essentials were that
a) everyone looks like a body builder so I will fit right in and b) it is
expensive as fuck. Oh, good.
We made our way down Hennepin to The Saloon, and I ran into
Kevin! Kevin has a new job and a leather jacket and an earring and maybe it’s a
total quarter life crisis (boy did
just turn 31), but he was rocking a Johnny Depp look and I wasn’t nearly as
sloppy drunk as I was the last time I saw him. I ignored him for 15 minutes
even though he was right next to me because he had hurt my feelings.
“You told me to go home,” I told him
“You were really sloppy,” he said.
“I guess I was,” I agreed.
“I haven’t heard from you,” he said.
“Well, I didn’t know the boundaries,” I said. Kevin is
living a new healthy lifestyle and I don’t know if it appropriate for me to make
contact with him considering I am a partyhound booze bag.
“You have a phone,” he said. I told him that once and it
really hurt his feelings.
We went to his house together. Jared was livid because he
thought I was driving, but hell froze over and Kevin drives now! I am enjoying this new version of him.
There was no sexy time except spooning and that is fine
because he is good at it. Some men really hate it (including Jared. He hated
sharing a bed with Joey in Florida because “Joey is like a damn cat”). Kevin
treats it like a sport. He takes it full on and puts his arms around me like he
means it, and I slept like a smiling baby. His cat woke me up at noon while
Kevin had been productive all morning, because I am a great guest that way.
When he dropped me off at work, I caressed his chest like a
slut. I haven’t seen him since. Timing is everything.
“I’m not wearing a suit,” I blasted. He told tales of travel
and debauchery and his plans for New Year’s Eve. I ordered a non-alcoholic
drink with orange juice and Red Bull in it, because I like to gamble with my
digestive system. He ordered a sparkling water and we got it comped when he was
given flat water instead.
“It’s so nice to see you not drunk,” he said.
“And with clothes on,” I said, trying to be funny and sexy.
“Oh,” he said. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot about that.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said.
“It’s fine,” I pouted.
Somehow my ID ended up on the table.
“You’re 27?” he asked.
“You’re bad at math,” I said, and then lowered myself to a
whisper. “I’m 28.”
“You’re so cute,” he said. “With your big eyes and the fast
way you walk.”
I squinted, because that is how I react to compliments.
***
I thoroughly enjoyed my visit to University of St. Thomas! I
still have no idea if I will get in, in part because it has been three weeks
and I still haven’t sent my ACT
scores and AP scores and I have to send a letter defending myself because I
never officially withdrew from CUNY Brooklyn College and I might be dealing
with a whole semester of F’s. Although, I don’t think I technically took
anything higher than fourth grade math.
But that’s the strategy of my life lately. Throw things to
the wall and see what sticks. My friend Shelly thought this was profound and
took a weekend gig playing piano at a theater camp. “Theater people are so expressive,” she told me. “And my shower
didn’t work so the choreographers said I could use their bathroom. I think they
had every single hygiene product ever made in their shower! They had at least
three different shampoos! And we were only there for a weekend!”
My best friend Erin works at UST, so she joined my tour.
Since I hadn’t taken a college tour since 2007, I thought it would be a group
setting. No! It was just me and an accounting major! She was very sweet and
planned to return to Omaha after graduation to work at her parents’ landfill.
This was the day of the shooting in Ottawa, and we had a measured and
interesting conversation about guns. I enjoyed it. I also enjoyed walking by
the gym, because I am only woman.
I didn’t feel like I totally belonged until I met my
transfer advisor, who teared up when she told me how much she loved the
university and when I told her about being named Funniest Person in the Twin
Cities and writing a Fringe Festival show about unrequited love, her eyes
widened.
“You’re not very old, are you?” she asked.
“I’m 28,” I said.
“Well, you look ten years younger,” she said. “And you’ve
accomplished so much in your young life.”
That might have been worth more than the damn degree.
I have no idea if I get in, if I will go, or what I will think of myself if I get in or if I do not get in.
Work is ... promising. Like, I might even be perceived as an adult there. I just had my six-year anniversary. Now, if only I could get my ass out of bed and on time. You'd think I would have this down by 28.
***
It was the day before Labor Day when Paul Ryan asked if I wanted to go to his house and cavort with his frat bro friends. While that sounded lovely, I already decided I was going to head to The Slutoon (shocking!). Jared decided he wasn't going out, and Joey reluctantly agreed to ride in the Uber with me provided he got shotgun, and we would Uber to pick up Paul Ryan -- who lives near the University of St. Thomas -- and then head to The Saloon.
Um, y'know how Uber has "peak rates"? I have never paid more than $10 for an Uber, although I have admittedly only taken it as far as Northeast Minneapolis from Loring Park. Apparently, everyone and their dog wanted an Uber to celebrate Labor Day, because it would have cost $100 round trip to pick up Paul Ryan in one and have us be delivered to The Saloon. And let's not get started on the ridiculousness of the fact that I would be paying for the Uber despite the fact that Paul Ryan had just told me how much he made last month and it is more than I make in a year. Stay in school, kids.
Since I hadn't started drinking yet, I decided I would pick up Paul Ryan myself and then the three of us would walk to The Saloon together.
"I can't believe you're doing this," Joey kept saying as I was getting dressed.
"I know," I said. "But think of it as me being Mommy and I am trying to find a good stepdad for you."
It was raining, and I was already wet when I walked up Lasalle Avenue in my usual parking spot (right next to an always-empty commercial parking lot -- so Mona, my tina Toyota Yaris, usually scoots in. I used to park across from there but I got a $35 parking ticket once). I put music on and ventured to St. Paul, where I am sure I made a fool of myself trying to park and nearly causing a three-vehicle crash (seriously, there were at least three different frat boys standing in their yards amidst the commotion).
I walked into Paul's house and lamented that I didn't have an umbrella. "I have one," he said.
"Good," I said. "Now put on your pants. We are leaving."
"Jakey," he grinned. "Don't you want a cocktail first?"
"No," I said. "I am driving. And I'm all wet. Do you have a hoodie I can steal?" I used to do this when I went to Kevin's house all the time. Kleptomania is part of my charm.
"You can have my Cambridge one," Paul Ryan offered.
"Oh, that looks too expensive," I said. Even Kleptomaniacs have morals. "I'll just take this one." I chose a waterproof blue reversible Billabong zip-up hoodie. Paul Ryan chose a Polo button-up, shorts, and Boss suede shoes.
"Suede?" I asked. "It's raining."
"They're already ruined anyway," he laughed. "I don't care. Why aren't you parked in front of the house?"
"Because I got disoriented and I can't parallel park to save my life," I said. "Now walk fast."
"We're walking by my car," Paul Ryan shared. "I have a Toyota Escalade."
"I have a Toyota Yaris," I said. "Her name is Mona."
"Aww," he said. "We both have Toyotas. We have so much in common, Jakey."
Interestingly enough, a Toyota Yaris is compact and frisky while a Toyota Escalade is large and ostentatious. Sometimes, we are what we drive.
We entered the car, and Paul Ryan, as the tallest person to ever ride shotgun with me, looked absolutely cramped.
"I'm sorry," I said. "It's not really a tall-person car."
"You drive like a white person," Paul Ryan said.
"I still haven't finished my college application," I said.
"Finish it, bro," he said. "That place needs people like you. Everyone there is so ... sheltered. You would have a unique perspective."
We drove up to Lasalle Avenue and my spot was taken! Curses! To Clifton it was.
"Paul, I am very bad at parking," I explained. "You have to do what Jared does and look back and tell me if I have room."
"Remember when I fucked you?" he asked.
"Paul!" I cried as I almost hit a construction cone. "Now is not the time."
"Jakey," he laughed. "Your leg is brushing up against mine. You're getting me hard right now."
"Paul Ryan!" I cried as Mona brushed up against the curb. "Focus!"
"I was pretty intoxicated when we had sex," he said.
"Yes, well," I said as I felt my face get hot. "You clearly knew what you were doing."
"Really?" Paul Ryan asked. "Cool." Boys are soooooooo stupid.
We got out of the car and stood across of a house for sale. "Why would you want a house downtown?" he asked. "Especially Minneapolis. I would never want to live here."
"I want that house," I said.
"Of course it's a Corbett Realty property," Paul scoffed.
"I would like a house for my thirtieth birthday," I said as we walked arm-in-arm, prom-style.
"Really? Not like a trip or something?""
"I just think it would be nice to have a house," I said. "That isn't my parents'."
We arrived back at my apartment and pre-gamed. Paul Ryan was incredulous that Jared was not going and cajoled him to join us. By cajole, I mean he told Jared he would pay for his cover, and Jared got dressed in 45 seconds. Paul Ryan passed the time by trying to show me and Joey his nudie pics, but I would have none of it.
On the walk there, Paul Ryan and I shared an umbrella. I always fake date boys who are rather masculine. This makes me feel guilty for a variety of reasons. As a result, every now and then I have an intense need to demonstrate that I can be "the boy" when needed. Therefore, I insisted on holding the umbrella. However, this did not really work because Paul Ryan is seven or eight inches taller than me.
"Jakey," he scoffed. "I'm getting wet."
"Then you hold the umbrella," I said. "God damn."
We arrived and Paul Ryan took back his offer on paying Jared's cover. Jared started walking home in the rain. I got him to come back.
"I want to go shake my thing," Paul Ryan said. He and Jared did so while I mingled and gossiped. Paul went home with a twink and Joey was outraged the next morning.
"What an asshole!" Joey cried. "I can't believe he would do that."
"I wasn't even mad about it," I said.
"Why not?!" Joey cried.
"Because we never made plans for after," I said. "And I have his hoodie."
I still do, by the way. It is comfortable as all hell and I am not giving it back.
***
I went to the State Fair! I would post pictures but I have temporarily de-activated my Facebook. I will explain this later.
It was lovely to spend time with my extended family, even though the bus ride was horrendous. The driver begged me to wait for the next bus, but I said "I'm little" and stood between a group of mean seventh-graders. I hung on for dear life.
***
I had the opportunity to meet Detox at The Saloon a few Thursdays ago. I further recapped it here. She didn't get on stage until 11:40 (doors opened at 10) ,but she was beyond gracious and genuine during her Meet and Greet, and I felt The Saloon had things organized much better than when DWV appeared last April. I gushed about how when she performed with Battle of the Seasons at the Varsity Theater in December, she was the only queen who gave a genuine, heartfelt speech about being there for the fans. I knew at least two people who went to her after party, so she is a friend in my head. Special thank you to Liam for taking the picture of us, because I am an excellent photojournalist and therefore my phone was dead by the time I got to go up in the line.
Also, Christ, I am getting old and fat.
And when I am older and fatter, I will look at that picture and think of myself as gorgeous, because life is like that.
***
I had the most "Jakey"-ish night on a Thursday, when I did stand-up comedy at Nye's Polonaise Lounge! It is a great room that they run on Thursdays, where you are in the basement and it feels like an old-timey club. A really cute boy that I used to work with was there. I went up first, which is always difficult, and the way the light is run there, you can't see for shit when you're onstage, an aspect I have yet to get used to. This was the day after the news of Adrian Peterson allegedly beating his 2-year-old was released.
"I'm going first and there's, like, 17 of us tonight," I told the audience. "And we're all gonna want to be cutting-edge and ahead of everything when it comes to current events. So, I thought of a game. Just drink every time someone makes an Adrian Peterson joke. And hopefully you have a sober cab, because you are going to be flat on your ass. Much like you would be if you were dating an NFL player. That counts. Drink!" I had fun.
I stayed until the show ended, as is the polite thing to do (and it's not like I was in a hurry! Afterward I was going to Honey, which was just across the street). As I mingled, a comedian who I had never seen before came up to me.
"You're awesome," she said.
"I did okay," I said. I need to read Lean In.
"No, I'm serious," she said. "If you work hard, you're going to be a star. Even your voice is funny. And your material is smart."
Well, shmuck.
But isn't that a novel concept? That you will be a success ... if you work hard. I lost that somewhere. I dropped out of school at 21, was still furious with my mother for ruining my life and was still furious with myself for thinking she had ruined it, and I just kinda gave up, but I also thought that I would somehow still become rich and famous.
Huh.
The evening was marred because Joey and Jared were feuding, but I fixed it when we got home. Joey saves his emotions for when he can no longer accept them, and Jared is constantly on a stealth audition for The Bad Girls Club. I suppose this is the best dramatic re-enactment of it all:
The three of us, along with my best friend Erin McCloskey and my reading-to-filth mother, will be going to Miami together at the end of the month. Thoughts and prayers are appreciated.
***
There is a new boy in our group named Steve who just turned 21 and is smooth-skinned and babyfaced and therefore everyone is in love with him. I haven't decided yet, so I just hug him more than is appropriate. I don't think he has it figured out.
We like Owen, too. He works at The Saloon and is kind of a dork trapped in a hot model's body. Some people are just cursed that way.
Cordero brought me too many drinks at The 19 but then Dollface showed up so I spent all night flirting with him like an asshole. And then I didn't even go home with him! I don't know what I am doing.
I did get a parking spot now, so there's that. I pay $75 to a former Marine named Lowell who is approximately 100 years old and as many pounds. He has a tiny flip phone. I love him.
***
Speaking of not knowing what I'm doing, I went from being an MTV alcoholic to an A&E alcoholic. It was time to dial it back, as the kids say.
The kids don't really say that, Jakey.
Shut up! I am hip!
On a Friday, I was supposed to meet everyone at LUSH, but Jared left without me, so I pouted at The 19, and then I took an Uber to Sean's, and I pre-gamed at his place and then met the kids at The Saloon. Paul Ryan was there and could barely stand up. He travels with an entourage, so they walked him out in one piece.
Then Kevin was there.
"Jakey, we need to go home," said Jared. "We work early."
"Go away!" I cried. "It's Kevin!"
In my head I was all
But instead I was probably all
I had not seen him in four months and did not know what I was expecting.
"You should go home," he told me.
"My family doesn't ask about you anymore," he added. "And I lost weight, which I know you cared so much about."
He did look very much like the 'old Kevin' (well, young Kevin, if you know what I mean). I wasn't going to go home with him anyway, but it would have been nice to be asked. And I get why he said what he did, because it is human nature to want to win. I've done the same thing with other people.
But why was he so standoffish with me? I wasn't that drunk and sloppy.
My Facebook at 3:30 AM said I AM SO SAD.
Okay. Maybe I was.
Sunday was an even bigger shitshow!
I met up with Jared and Joey at The Eagle and we received applause by re-enacting the lift during "(I Have Had) The Time Of My Life". My Uber driver was new to the job and did not listen to directions. When I got there, Joey and Jared were talking to Ricky! The nerve! I acted like a wife who had walked into her husband banging the secretary on the desk.
"It wasn't like that," they promised. "He just came up to us."
"Whatever!" I cried. "This is a betrayal!"
I went to order my drink and was even more horrified when the bartender called me Ricky!
"Um, what?" I asked.
"Do you know Ricky?" the bartender said.
"Yes, but I'm not him," I said.
"He spilled his drink," the bartender said.
I get that The Eagle staff is not fond of the twinks and the twink-adjacent, and I was an odd mix of offended and flattered. Ricky and I are both blond, but he is tan and buff and can have his shirt off in public without people averting their eyes. I wasn't sure what to think.
We tried running to The Saloon but we got there at 9:59 and the bouncers claimed it was ten and made us pay cover. The nerve!
Oh, it went from bad to worse, children. Because Sunday is 2-4-1's night. And Sunday is football day. And boys were wearing Vikings jerseys. And one boy was wearing an Adrian Peterson jersey.
I immediately went to Facebook and typed that there was a hot guy in an AP jersey and I wasn't sure how I felt about it. Then I drank some more. Then I went on the patio and told everyone.
"Oh my god!" cried my friend Doug. My friend Doug is, like a biochemist or something that requires 130% of your brain power, so when he parties, he parties hard. "You should spank him!" he cried.
"THAT SOUNDS HILARIOUS!" I cried. In my vodka-soaked stupor, this would be my finest hour. I'd spank him on the ass, he'd be all "What was that for?', I'd be like "You're wearing an AP jersey!" and we would all laugh and be merry.
Short-term effects of alcohol include the risk of injuries, violence and fetal damage.[11] Alcohol has also been linked with lowered inhibitions, though it is unclear to what degree this is chemical versus psychological as studies with placebos can often duplicate the social effects of alcohol at low to moderate doses. Some studies have suggested that intoxicated people have much greater control over their behavior than is generally recognized, though they have a reduced ability to evaluate the consequences of their behavior.
Now imagine you are a young and attractive gay man -- for some of you this may be a stretch -- and you are at The Saloon with a group of your peers. You are there to have a good time. You are not there to get spanked on the ass by an old, intoxicated skinny dude who thinks his assaulting you is hilarious.
Of course, one understands this the next day. When they're sober.
So I spanked the kid. And he did the best and worst thing he could have done, which was not respond to it at all. I walked back to the patio with my proverbial tail between my legs. My joke completely bombed.
A boy who looked like he could be on Teen Wolf came up to me moments later. "Hey," he said calmly. "I just want you to know, next time you feel like spanking my boyfriend again, you're gonna have to go through me first. Fuck off."
It was really the perfect thing a boyfriend could have done. He wasn't all machismo about it -- he never raised his voice or his hand -- but he let the point be clear. Even though I told Facebook that I spanked the kid and he was trying to get me out (and it had 13 likes! In one hour!), I deleted the whole thing when I got home. By protesting what I thought was a perceived acceptance of violence with violence, I had solved nothing, I had likely ruined someone's night, and I had made a complete ass of myself in the process.
The next day I realized that I still had not finished my college application, I still had not launched JakeyEmmert.com despite going to a former high school classmate's house for a gracious offering of Weebly 101, and in general, I was just becoming super obnoxious.
I de-activated my Facebook.
Which is super stupid to do for my "comedy" "career", but that's going about as well as spanking strangers at the bar.
It will be back up when the website is up.
It's strangely freeing not being on Facebook. Now every time my phone dings, I think it's something important. Then I find out that it's spam from Twitter or my friend Chuck telling me he has gas, but still! It's better than compulsively checking Facebook, right? I would post, like, eight things a day. And then You-Know-Who would be "online", with a green dot next to his name, and I would just sit and stare at it but never think of talking to him because I had nothing to say, and then the green dot would disappear, and I would just get sad about the whole thing. STILL.
I should apologize to the dude I hit, but I don't know his name. Maybe it's best to let sleeping dogs lie. Maybe he's not really that mad about it. Maybe he'll throw a drink on me the next time I go to The Saloon. Maybe his boyfriend will bash my skull in. Maybe I'll send them both matching Bridgewater jerseys.
Next week: Will Jakey really get his website done? Will he really stay in during all of October because he wants to look like a human when he goes to Miami?
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:
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.
Before we begin this episode, we have to briefly go back to my Oscar party, because I forgot to write how funny it was.
"Is Kim Novak presenting 'Frozen' because her face is that way?"
"Why is Zac Efron famous?" - from one of the three heterosexual males who was in the group. The women and gays booed him mercilessly.
"You would rather have sex with Anne Hathaway than Daniel Craig? That somehow makes you really gay."
I was behaving myself until the announcer said, "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Charlize Theron and Chris Hemsworth."
Then I turned into an eight-year-old with Tourette's Syndrome.
GOD DAMMIT SHIT FUCK!!!
"Jacob!" my mother yelled. "I am going to start having a swear jar in this house!"
"Why do you swear so much at Chris Hemsworth?" Joey asked.
I didn't have the heart to tell a crowded room why. We'll go with Tourette's. That is perfectly reasonable. And let's be realistic. It's not like Chris Hemsworth reminds me of anybody.
God dammit.
***
My life always goes to shit in April. I am not saying this to get sympathy. I am blessed. I have loving family and friends, a job with health insurance that I don't entirely suck at, my feet firmly planted into the Minneapolis comedy scene, a 28-inch waist*, the entire series of Roseanne on DVD, and a plethora of eye candy at my disposal.
(*I hate myself for that because I just wrote on the TelevisionWithoutPity.com forums that it bugged the hell out of me on RuPaul's Drag Race when Kelly Mantle bragged about her 28-inch waist. Here we are)
But the fact that April hates me remains. Before I go into details, let me recount the years so you know I'm not just saying this.
2000: Hospitalized for depression 2007: Firm in my realization that I am leaving UW-Stout, my brother informs me that I have been accepted at CUNY Brooklyn College. I have been depressed and numb for the past nine months, so it's like I'm not even there when my father accompanies me on the plane ride and we stay at a Howard Johnson in the ghetto. I apply for Creative Writing as my major and I roll my eyes at the man who goes over my prospective first classes with me. 2008: I drop out of CUNY Brooklyn College, to the surprise of absolutely no one, especially my father and mother, who discouraged me from going and staying, respectively. 2011: I get called a faggot on a party bus for my friend Kristen's birthday and subsequently break my nose at The Saloon when I fall off the whorebox. I wrote about it here. 2013: You were there. That puke stain never really went away, by the way.
But April did have some sunny spots. We'll talk about the end of March first, though.
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."
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.
The Gay World Series is in town, and as a result my checking account is practically subzero. Jersey chasing is a sport in itself.
But before all that, I went to Peter's apartment in St. Paul. It was a lovely chill night of wine-drinking, and Peter is a delicious source of gossip as he knows all of the names I drop. We are opposites, he and I. At 19, he is already "over" the club scene as he went through his bar-star phase when he was ridiculously young but with a fake ID and connections. I, on the other hand, am 26 but think it's all new and exciting, and therefore have the same wide-eyed lust as a silly, naive, high school junior would. Nevertheless, I instantly had to tell him of my past weekend and summer of love, and his opinions were scorching and hilarious.
"You're friends with Taylor?!"
"What? He was nice to me! He let me have some of his drink!"
"I don't know. He acts like he's hot shit."
"He is kind of hot shit, though. If I looked like that, I wouldn't be nice to anybody."
"Wait, is that PHILIP?!"
"Yes! I don't talk to him, though."
"That bitch is MY age! He goes tanning way too much. He has pock marks everywhere."
"But look at his buff friend! I had to get a picture with him just to prove to myself that I actually met him!"
At this point, I think Chuck had rolled his eyes so far backward they made marks in his brain. I talked about possibly being promoted at work, and Peter and I discussed name brands for an hour, which made Chuck roll his eyes back AGAIN. I slept on the couch under a blanket with hot shirtless men on it (Peter only has the best things), and in the morning I realized that my car had been towed.
Apparently, you can't park in front of a driveway in St. Paul.
Chuck drove me to the impound lot, rubbing my leg in support and constantly apologizing, but I really wasn't that distraught. I mean, yes, it sucks, and it's another month that The Money Fairy won't come, but when something like that happens, you have two ways to react to it: You can feel like the world is against you and is ending, or you can realize that shit happens. Also, I have a Discover card.
