Previously on the series finale* of Loring Park ...
Jakey had an illuminating card reading! The boys found a new apartment! Jakey lost his wallet AND locked his keys in the car.
We said good-bye to Loring Park.
We live by Stevens Square Park now. It doesn't sound as sexy. I just call it Loring Park Adjacent. It's not necessarily a new show. We still have the same friends, work at the same job, and take the same exit off the freeway.
And we have a million shows on our TV which means I should stop going out all the damn time. I should buy a yoga mat to tell myself I will do crunches, but in reality I'll probably just end up eating nachos. I'm going to the Lake Calhoun pool party over Pride weekend and even though Chad Kampe (DJ Fancy Restaurant) told me they do "no body-shaming", I'm still worried I am going to be mistaken for a buoy.
***
"I trusted you," he said, and even next to me he sounded distant.
"I know," I said. "I'm sorry."
Sorry is about as effective as epsom salts for a headache. Despite any benevolence in my intentions, I had lied. And then I lied about lying. As Judge Judy says, you have to tell the truth because you eventually won't be able to keep your story straight.
He dropped me off at my parents' house at 3 AM where I promptly peed about a gallon on their front lawn.
"Text me when you get home," I said.
"No," he said. "I can't talk to you right now. It will be a few days."
It has been a month now. I am okay.
By "okay" I mean that my heart physically hurts and I have spent the last month walking around feeling like I have an open wound and I haven't been sleeping and even when I was in the same room as one of my personal heroes (we'll get to that later), I couldn't stop thinking about it. Out of anxiety, I have bitten my lips to the point that I resemble Angelina Jolie if she had canker sores.
I am sad. So damn sad. But integrity has to trump your own emotions and preferences. He might not ever speak to me again, and that would be entirely his prerogative. I coped by listening to Christian radio and eating a lot of gummy bears. The hole in my heart transferred to a hole in my stomach lining.
I also listened to "Infinity" over and over, because I will always have Mariah.
And if I forget about this whole thing, May was a pretty damn good month.
***
For one thing, we moved! My grandparents helped out and it wasn't nearly as arduous as I thought it would be, but moving is still never fun. I'm convinced that our rent will go way up next year, but if it doesn't, Jared and I are staying here until we are 40 (unless he gets married or I decide to move back to New York). Also, you will be shocked, just SHOCKED, to learn that in the moment we were to turn in our keys was also the moment that I locked my keys in the car. Again.
The stress of moving was so great that I went back to the closet. #muffintop
We live in the bottom half of a basement in Stevens Square. It has been a month and I still haven't made any dumb jokes about us being bottoms. The lady upstairs is also the caretaker of the house. Jared has met her and says she's really nice. I have never met her but I didn't know that our driveway was shared and on the very first day, I was greeted with a note that read:
Please park all the way to the right so I don't have to park all the way in the trees. Seriously. Who does that????
My very first passive-aggressive note! Never change, Minnesota.
Previously on "Loring Park": TJ the bartender moved across the world! A friendship went off the rails! Terri Runnels! Lessons in Comedy
March began with me doing three shows in a week! I loved how busy it all felt. On Tuesday, I was invited to do a showcase at the VFW, on Thursday I performed at Bryant Lake Bowl for the LOL/OMG show, and Friday I had an awesome time slot in the Die Laughing marathon, where I got to do a half-hour set (that's the fundraiser for which I did "Brunch with Jakey" last year).
Show business, it seems, is kind of the devil. Yet you are always learning when you are in the trenches, and that is what I love.
First of all, the VFW show is really fun because they have a DJ by the stage and you can kind of riff with him and it's like having your own Paul Schaeffer. Bryant Lake Bowl was fun because I got to work with my friend Chris again, and Jason Schommer always puts together an eclectic and fun group. And Die Laughing was fun because of what I made out of it.
Other than my mom coming to the Bryant Lake Bowl show (which I really appreciated), nobody else I knew came to any of these gigs. Which is fine because no one owes you anything. I always believe that! But when people on Facebook insinuate they're going, and say they're gonna bring four of their friends, and then they don't, it becomes kind of a letdown. It especially felt his way at the Die Laughing Marathon, because I was led to believe that several folks from my high school were coming. I even brought my old yearbook! Also, the room was held in a HUGE banquet hall, so the audience of less than 20 looked even smaller.
But right before I got onstage, I realized the lesson. It does not matter how big your audience is, or who necessarily is in your audience. I mean, work certain angles if it makes the show better, but don't obsess over it being all women or all dudes or young/old whatever. It matters that you do your best to better yourself as a performer but more so for the people that are there. I let go of my disappointment that none of my friends showed up and had a damn good time on that stage. I was happy to learn that Fearless Comedy Productions achieved their fundraising goal over the weekend. Without them there would have been no Fringe Festival show for me, and I will always be grateful.
I walked to my car and made the drive back downtown. I realized it was a Friday night at 9 and were this just a week ago, I would have called Sean. We would have pre gamed at his apartment and maybe done Jetset or Saloon. Later in the month, Entertainment Weekly would do a full-length article on Delilah, the sappy radio DJ we both admired. It was an abrupt loss that, while certainly not romantic, was nonetheless difficult to process.
I had a paid gig that was cancelled a week later when I was the one who noticed the venue was advertising a completely different show for that evening. The booker felt bad and I didn't take it personally. Still. Show business is the devil.
I did the Tuesday Night Showcase the following week. I didn't do as well as the previous week because I was arriving right from work and was all frazzled and didn't have a clear routine. The crowd was still really cool. After the show, Gabe Noah, Isaac Witty and I went to The Saloon and drank Fireball and watched Latina drag queens and judged everybody doing karaoke. Life does not always have to suck.
My friend Sarah McPeck was the first ever female celebrity guest on Drag Queen Game Night! I was so proud of her. My friend Markie noticed my gut on this evening and later in the month an acquaintance grabbed a fat roll and on Easter Markie (again) would tell me to "suck it in". As stressed out as I have been lately, I am hoping some of it will lead to accidental weight loss.
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.
Previously on Loring Park: Jakey went crazy! A one-man show turned into an ensemble comedy! And Pride weekend was looming ...
OK, so here's the deal. I miss this blog. I miss all of you. I miss the deep episodes with funny moments that encapsulated my best and worst evenings.
But I can't do the summer justice, because I am already three months behind. The memories will be too faded if I try to write them in the format of our previous 31 episodes. So let's buckle up and recap summer 2013, RAPID FIRE. This is going to take us from June to August, and then by Episode #33 we can be back to normal.
JUNE
1. The read-through for They Shoot 25-Year-Old Gay Men, Don't They? went swimmingly, even though I still didn't have a Jayden (twink character) and my original Randy (closeted hypermasculine broski who is not based on anybody I know) bailed out after the first reading. In a delicious twist of irony, the only gay guy he knew was Prince Eric, who was the guy that came to Kevin's apartment last summer on the first of many nights that he made me feel stupid.
2. Wesley and I went to The Saloon and he was mad at Quinn and Quinn was mad at him and then Quinn got mad at me and texted me "You should disappear for a while". I was now in a gay Mario Puzo novel. I thought I would feel a sense of victory, considering that when Wesley chose Quinn I spent an entire Sunday crying on my toilet while reading The Glass Castle, but I mainly felt bummed.
3. I ran into Under Armour and his friend Miles, who is a dreamy Nordic sex god. With a smile on his face, Miles told me all about how he still has a torch for Under Armour, and I was like oh my god, gay broski's can have feelings too! I told him to give me a hug and maybe he would feel better. It didn't, but I told him to hug me three more times. You can't shame the shameless.
4. We re-cast the broski! The actor came in wearing a douchey Nike T-shirt and I was sold! I met the twink actor through an actress who I "worked" with when I rehearsed a play for eight months that never happened. We met in Loring Park. I felt bad because he was approaching the role with a very serious actor's perspective -- What is his motivation? What is his back story? -- and I could only tell him that his character was a carefree babygay.
5. Joey, Jared and I reunited with Sina, who was visiting from Los Angeles! I made us take a cab because I was all sweaty thanks to wearing dress clothes, as I assumed Sina would expect nothing less. I was disappointed when I found out she was wearing sexy casualness. Nevertheless, I was not only happy to see her but also happy to be at the Gay '90s, because they have a big giant fan for the drag queens to cook their make-up, and I surreptitiously used it to stop being a sweat monster when it wasn't otherwise occupied.
6. A picture of my dick ended up on my Facebook for three hours before it finally got deleted. DO NOT ASK ME WHY I HAD A DICK PIC ON MY PHONE. I am not Anthony Weiner. I was only sending it to one person. Anygay, I was walking through the park while Facebook chatting, and I dropped my phone in the mud, and it uploaded to Facebook every picture that I had on file. My very own sex scandal! I panicked at The Saloon as Liam and I failed to delete it from my phone. I took a cab to the 19, where my friends Bjorn and Jody were savvy enough to take it down. They don't make a card that says "Thank You For Staring My Penis Picture in the Face and Deleting it as I Had a Meltdown at The 19", but if they did, I would frame it and give it to Jody.
It was the worst thing ever!
One of my gal pals from college was like, "That was your penis?"
Under Armour told me it was impressive.
It was not the worst thing ever but it was still quite awful!
Kevin showed up at The 19 and was his usual Hollister dreaminess. We went to The Saloon, where everyone was being really nice to me. Go figure. As we left the bar, we found ourselves guiding a bachelorette party from Winnipeg to their hotel. It was raining that sexy summer rain, where it's light and misty. I enjoyed myself because I was with five fun girls, and learned all of their names. Kevin, on the other hand, got stuck navigating with Celine, who was the bitchy maid of honor that refused to listen to his directions. The nice girls in my posse told me we could have shots when we got to their room.
"Is he your boyfriend?" they kept asking. I blushed and did not really answer. We arrived at The Hotel Minneapolis and one of the bridesmaids began to pour me Ketel One. There was a random girl sleeping in the bed who was happy to have male visitors. Kevin sat across from her on the other queen bed.
"Hey," she smiled. "You're cute. What's your name?"
"Kevin," he said. "Kevin," she repeated. Oh, dear. This poor girl.
"You guys have to leave!" Celine yelled. "I'm tired!"
"Celine!" one of my new gal pals cried. "These boys walked us all the way here! I said they could have shots!"
"No!" Celine yelled. "We have to get up early!"
Then Celine took off her shirt and then she took off her bra. The theme of this evening was apparently nudity. "Look!" she cried. "My tits are out! This means you have to leave!"
"I don't really care," I said as I sipped the drink that was promised to me. "Gay guys aren't repulsed by breasts."
"Are you gay, too?" the girl in bed asked Kevin. He nodded affirmatively and I could hear her heart crack.
Kevin and I eventually left, and we got a cab back to my apartment. We knew we couldn't stay there because I do not have air conditioning and Kevin hates my apartment anyway. We called Blue & White but they wouldn't give us an estimate of their arrival, so Kevin scoffed, huffed and puffed and we called a town car to drive us to his house. The car arrived promptly, but the price they gave us was $20 higher than what we were told, so Kevin did not leave a tip.
We sat in his gazebo and watched the rain and I showed him the script of the play I wrote and for the first time in our complicated friendship, I think he realized that I was more than just an underachieving and unaccomplished airhead.
"He just left me," he said, and the tears on his face mixed with the rain. "There was never a warning
"Did you wake up crying?" I asked. I have never had a failed relationship, but I did wake up crying.
He nodded.
"Me, too," I said. Then I started crying, too.
In the morning he put on a red Hollister shirt and a white baseball cap. "Let's get breakfast," he smiled.
"You look so broski right now," I grinned. Then I pulled him back in bed.
7. I was sick with this cough that wouldn't go away so I went back to my doctor, who is dreamy. He looks like the husband in a Lifetime movie. He prescribed me Prednisone, but he told me he was worried because "you are already pretty squirelly." I did not know squirelly could be used to describe anybody over the age of ten. I was glad he said that, as I used it for the two stand-up gigs I had in June, which were at CAMP Bar and at The Portland Emporium. The latter venue is a house that comedians live in and they turn the living room into a stage. It was hotter than hell but it was also awesome. I wore my new Joe's Jeans.
8. Quinn reached out to me and apologized, and I was proud of the both of us for acting like grown-ups in the situation. I know I talk way too much like I'm a Bravo Housewive, but we will always be in the same "circles", and it was important for us to be in the same room and not want to strangle each other.
9. I went to DJ Flip Phone, which is every month at Honey! The theme for June was PRIDE 1999, and I was jealous of someone who had a pouka shell necklace, in part because I was trying to track one down for the play (there was a character based on Kevin). Wesley was at The Saloon and was bitching at me to get there, even though I told him I was going to Flip Phone. Cooper gave me a ride there under the provision that I paid for his cover. Good enough!
I got to The Saloon and was wearing my LOVE IS OVERRATED t-shirt. Chuck had tied it into a knot so it was a tacky midriff belly shirt, which was fun for comedic reasons, but I couldn't get it undone. I'm sure I looked ridiculous. Wesley was angry because he can be out of his comfort zone when I am not there. "You look like a fucking faggot," he hissed. This is indefensible, but it is Wesley, so I will try to defend it anyway and say that he does not like when I dress that way because it represents an overt expression of sexuality that he cannot have in his life.
Or maybe he just thinks I'm disgusting.
I chose to go to the patio and talk to Football Guy. I always thought Football Guy's name was David Lopez, and it turns out his real name sounds nothing like David Lopez. Maybe it was a dream. Football Guy's boyfriend kept staring daggers at me, which made no sense because his boyfriend has abs that could be put in a museum. He was clearly not going to be leaving with my scrawny vanilla goodness. Calm down, girl.
Then Wesley grabbed my phone and texted awful things to Quinn from it. I was MORTIFIED because Quinn and I had just made peace! Quinn told me the next day that he figured it was Wesley and not me because of the horrible syntax and grammar, and I was relieved.
10. "You know he's unfixable."
11. He is mad at the world, and I am the world.
12. June ended with PRIDE WEEKEND!!!
I got the whole weekend off. I LOVE MY JOB I LOVE MY JOB I LOVE MY JOB. I knew it was going to be exceptional this year, because Joey is my neighbor now and we would be close to all the action. I was pleasantly surprised to see Wesley on Friday night, as when I first re-connected with him several months ago he told me he wasn't doing any Pride events in fear of being seen. I considered it a small victory for him, even if he was wearing a neon green golf knit. Jared and Joey were there too (natch!), and Wesley encouraged Jared to do the splits, which I thought was his way of trying to apologize for past boorish behavior. It was a night of warm fuzzies, y'all.
"I want to go dance," he said, but we couldn't leave because Mariah Carey was playing!
We danced to "Dreamlover" and if it would have lasted a minute longer, I would have needed CPR.
I left The Saloon that night with Joey and Sprite, along with two creepy dudes who were in the back seat with me and kept making out. And before that, there was a random drunk man sleeping in Sprite's back seat that we didn't even know! Sprite politely asked him to leave and he obliged. Sprite was driving a Ferrari and couldn't figure out how to get out of the parking ramp because he misplaced his ticket. "But I have a $20," he told the parking agent. Joey put his debit card in the machine and then the machine ate it. We mercifully departed from the garage, and Sprite told us he knew of a party in uptown. It started raining, and Sprite was driving fast. When we arrived at the house in uptown, Sprite admitted that he didn't know what house it was or who was having the party or if it was even happening. The three of us slept at Joey's apartment and the next morning, Sprite made 17 different comments about the lack of a couch.
I regrouped to take a nap, and Joey and I went emergency Pride shopping! There were new outfits and liquor to be purchased! It was fun stopping at our workplace, as our colleagues were genuinely supportive of our weekend off. Not to be sacrilegious, but Pride really is like our Christmas.
I wanted to be sure to go to an event for Pride weekend, so I chose Lollipop at the Skyway Lounge. I ended up standing in line next to all the muscle gays and felt unsure of myself. This happens every Pride weekend.
Manila Luzon of RuPaul's Drag Race was performing, and a brazen co-worker of mine instantly took a picture with her. I love it! In a delightful sidebar, her opening drag queen went to a show of mine at the U of M!
Last year at Pride I took a random picture with this super cute boy in the elevator at the Doubletree. I never saw him again but made it my profile picture when I was having a bad day. I saw him at the event and I was right next to him standing by a fan, and instead of saying anything I ran to the bathroom. I wonder why I am single.
Friends were texting me saying I should go to The Saloon, and I assured them I was planning to meet him there, but I wanted to see Manila perform first! I have had a newfound appreciation of RuPaul's Drag Race (I've never watched a full-length episode of it, but I feel like I've watched the whole show via Tumblr), and Manila looked amazing. Plus, she's from Minneapolis! Represent! I also loved that she mentioned appearing out of drag to see Raja the previous night at First Avenue. Queens supporting other queens gives me a warm fuzzy.
I was heading out when I ran into Kevin! He told me he was staying at the Doubletree. Running into him was a delightful surprise, considering that he refers to The Saloon as "the zoo".
But to the zoo I went! Jared and Joey were there again, as was Wesley and his friend Howie. Howie is twinky and attractive, and has always been nice to me. I was mature, except when we were all in line and I told a boy next to me that Wesley is in love with me and just needs to get over me. Oh! There's another new character! A boy named Hugh!
Hugh was seeing Joey for a few weeks but he wanted things to be serious and Joey didn't. He is young (younger than Joey even) and didn't know any better. He came into work once and gave Joey a rose, and I pouted because the only thing the boys I like have ever given me is a headache. I said hello to him as I waited two hours to find an empty bathroom. I reunited with Wesley and Howie near the stage. "He has a crush on you," Howie said, but I rolled my eyes and paid no attention to it. It was triangle communication. It was unnecessary. It was confusing. I went to the dance floor where I ran into Football Guy! I hoped to be an adult and say more than five words this time.
"Football player!" I cried.
"Comedian!" he yelled. I was good at this. "Your eyes are so blue," I whispered.
"What?!"
"NOTHING!"
"Hey," he smiled. "Is that broski still giving you trouble?" Oh my god! Why am I always talking about broski when I am drunk? It must have been the night he called me a faggot.
"No, he's fine," I said.
"Okay," Football Guy smiled. "I'll beat him up for you if you need me to."
"DON'T!" I cried. "You probably could. He's up to your chest but he's built pretty solid."
I went home close to 3, and Kevin called asking if I wanted to stop at his room. I was wired so I accepted his offer. I took a bike cab because I thought it would be cheap, but it turns out it was a special event so they charged me $30 or something insane like that. I paid anyway, because Pride Weekend money is like Las Vegas money.
Kevin was staying in a room with three beds in it (a double and two singles) with a hallway separating the singles. His friend Raymond was sleeping in the other single bed, and two dudes were passed out in the double. Why was I even here? It was so late!
I don't even remember what we discussed, and I refused to take my shirt off because I had been excessively attempting to shave my chest and I was a red, blotchy unsexy mess. I still enjoyed myself because spooning is an American pastime. However, I had to get up early because I was going to watch the parade from the rooftop the next morning with Liam and Cagefighter. Ryan Robertson briefly showed up to grab some alcohol. You see everybody during Pride weekend!
I woke up with a sense of urgency in the morning. It was time for the parade and brunch, the best two things in the world! "I have to go!" I cried to Kevin, who is always a zombie in the morning. "Aren't you gonna watch the parade?"
"Mmmmmmffffffggghhh," he responded.
"Well, it was good to see you," I said. "Give me a kiss." I surprised the both of us with the level of my directness, but at least the boy reciprocated.
I sprinted outside of the hotel and the actor who was playing the broski in They Shoot 25-Year-Old Gay Men, Don't They? was outside of the hotel! I said hello, but had to be terse as I was already running late and I didn't want to keep Cagefighter waiting. I brazenly chose to wear a cut-off midriff shirt and Quiksilver short shorts as if I had the body for it. I met Cagefighter and Liam on the rooftop of Union, and we could barely see anything. We ended up going to Chambers and spent most of the parade getting drunk indoors. It was just like Stonewall, you guys.
Liam went to vamoose with others, and I was to spend the afternoon in the park with Cagefighter. Unfortunately, I totally ruined what was supposed to be a sexy afternoon. First, I had to pee every five seconds. Then I was convinced I had a urinary tract infection and then I was convinced I had a sexually transmitted disease even though I hadn't actually been engaging in that kind of behavior. Then my eyes started watering to the point that I couldn't see and Cagefighter had to guide me around Loring Park like a seeing-eye dog. He eventually got tired of me, and I didn't blame him. I took some eye drops, bought the pills that make your pee neon orange, and took a nap. I briefly went back to the park, where I ran into Becks! We discussed my Internet porn career and then his friend told me my penis looked like it had an infection, and then I told his friend to shut the fuck up. On a lighter note, I ran into my uncle Ander and enjoyed a light dinner with him, his girlfriend and a delightful lesbian couple. I felt truly lucky that during Pride weekend I could enjoy the company of both my gay family and my real family, as not everyone in my circle has that.
OK, so here's how disgusting I am. I had no clean underwear. I first went to The Saloon with no underwear, but my undercarriage was sweating profusely and I could not enjoy myself. I know, you guys. I am disgusting. I walked back to my apartment and mercifully found a clean pair. At that point, Peter had texted me and I decided I would wait until he came to my apartment. I was so excited to see him, as he was soon going to move to the East Coast for school. Also joining us was the actor playing the twink in the show. We pre-gamed at my apartment and didn't leave until midnight. Wesley was at The Saloon and was upset that I was taking so long, but that was par for the course at this point.
We got to The Saloon and Wesley was talking to a policeman. He saw my outfit and looked like he was about to hurl.
"You look like a 12-year-old girl," he said. "You look absolutely ridiculous." "Excuse me?" I cried. "It is Pride Weekend." I looked just fine in my midriff shirt and camo short shorts. Wesley, on the other hand, was in a golf knit and what I can only describe as "dad shorts". "You look ridiculous."
Wesley's demeanor was upsetting me, so I ditched him and had a tequila shot with Cagefighter. I honestly didn't need to be with him that night. This was to be a night of fun and mingling, and his cranky pants were not going to bring me down.
I took pictures with my disposable camera (a Pride tradition!) and was happy to pose with Peter and Under Armour and random hot shirtless guys. My new tradition was to boo whenever a hot guy put his shirt back on. Peter and I continued to mingle when we ran into Kevin!
"Kevin!" I cried. "I thought you were going back home!" "No, we got a room downtown," he said. "You guys should come after this."
"Okay," I giggled, because Kevin turns me into a teenager. There was a random short man he was talking to, but I was too full of pride to roll my eyes.
After The Saloon shut down and Pride was sadly over, Peter and I found ourselves in Kevin's swanky hotel room. His friend Raymond was in the bed again. Peter revealed his newfound BANGIN' body and talked about his exercise routine. At one point he mentioned that he benched 120 for 10 reps. I sat down next to him.
"Do it!" I joked. But then he actually did it.
"Let go of me!" Peter yelled. "I can actually do it!"
"I'm gonna fall on you and kill you!" I cried. But nope, that boy was able to bench me ten times, and Raymond cracked up.
Peter found himself, erm -- canoodling with Raymond, at which point the awkward short man came to the room. Kevin always does this. I swear, we would be at the altar and he would be like, "Oh, Jakey, this is Corey. He's gonna be my weekend husband. That's cool, right?" COMMENCE EYE ROLL.
Still, I wanted to be nice and hear the short guy's story. Turns out he was an amateur photographer. He told us he photographed both nature and porn. Um, okay, then. I just started drinking more. He mentioned something about holding grudges.
"Are you a Cancer?" I asked.
"I don't need to tell you," the short guy said.
"Really?" I asked. "I innocuously was inquiring about your zodiac sign because holding grudges is a typical trait of them. You're acting like I asked for your goddamned Social Security number."
Kevin's mouth was moving, almost as if he was trying to prevent a smile.
"Well, I'm sorry," the guy said. "I didn't know it was such a big deal to you."
"I don't really care," I said. "I was bored and was trying to make myself interested in this conversation."
"Jakey, why don't you go to bed?" Kevin asked.
"Ugh, fine," I whined, and I crawled into his bed.
"So, you're sure you're straight?" Kevin asked the gross photographer.
"Yeah," lied the gross photographer.
"But you've been tempted before?" Kevin asked.
I WAS NOT DOING THIS AGAIN. I had done this enough times. I was not going to lie in bed while Kevin banged this photographer.
"I'm leaving," I announced as I stormed out of bed.
"What, it's 4:30 in the morning----?" Kevin said.
"Whatever," I said. "Have a good night. Peace out."
I slammed the door behind me, ready to do the walk of shame down Nicollet Avenue.
It was 4:30 in the morning, as Kevin said, and there was glitter all over the sidewalk. There was also nary a soul. It was just me. I felt like I was in a gay zombie horror movie. I began to feel nervous and vulnerable in my midriff shirt and short camo shorts. Wesley was right. I did look ridiculous. Also, I think I left my keys in that asshole Kevin's hotel room.
Mercifully, I ran into Victor at an intersection.
"Jakey," he said. "Is that you?"
"Yes," I said. "Is this real life, Victor? Are we dreaming?"
"I can't find my hotel," he said. "I'm staying at The Millennium."
"I know where that is," I said. "I will take you there."
I slept in his bed. I would have spooned him but he had glitter all over his body, and glitter takes forever to get out of anything (I still had some on my face for a week after Pride, and I tried my best to avoid those full of it).
I woke the next morning, frantically calling Peter and Kevin. Neither was answering their phones. I decided to walk back to the fancy hotel, which was connected to a tower in the skyway. It was now Monday. Most of Minneapolis was in business attire. I, on the other hand, was still rocking my midriff shirt and camo short shorts. I was supporting the troops, god dammit.
They still didn't answer when I got to the Marquette Hotel, so I walk-of-shamed all the way down Nicollet Avenue again, and had to be let into my apartment by the building managers. I was preparing to write a check to replace my keys when Peter called! He had my keys! And he and Kevin were still at the hotel! I agreed to drive us to the after-Pride party at Lawrence's houses, which is a bigger deal than the damn parade.
The after-pride party is when Lawrence hosts all of Minneapolis at his house, and you basically drink more than you do during the weekend, but it is still called the Recovery Party. Just go with it.
I went over details with Peter first, and then, because I am a teenager, I asked if Kevin banged the short photographer.
"Oh, no, honey," Peter said. "That boy slept on the couch."
"He didn't even get the bed?" I asked. "They didn't even snuggle?" "Nope. Boy got couched."
I still had to smooth things over with Kevin, so I called him as well.
"I didn't realize you were so upset," he said.
"I was projecting," I said. "I was still mad about somebody else."
"Who?"
"You told me to stop talking about him, so I don't want to bring him up."
"Well, I forget."
"The broski."
"Oh, yes. Him. Yeah, I don't like when you talk about him. It makes me .. oddly jealous."
Kevin and Raymond went to the recovery party on their own, but Peter and I had to run errands! We had to change clothes, buy underwear because my lazy ass still hadn't done laundry, take showers, stop to get his paycheck, and buy food and drinks for the party to be good guests! I was proud of us that we got there before 5 P.M., and even used blonde ambition to get from St. Paul to North Minneapolis on a quicker route than our GPS was sending us on.
"Your boyfriend is here," Liam was texting me.
"Which one?" I asked, but I knew he meant Kevin.
It was a bit awkward when we first arrived because Chuck was there. I wouldn't have said that Chuck and I had been fighting lately, but he was getting frustrated with my constant state of Kevin Kevin Kevin Wesley Wesley Wesley, and I was worried he would be upset that I arrived with Peter. Everything ended up okay, and with Peter's blessing, I went up to Chuck first.
"Your boyfriend is here," Chuck laughed. "He's not my boyfriend," I said, and I looked over at Kevin, who was standing by the fence with strangers, smoking a Merit. His gut was protruding. He didn't use to smoke.
"Yep," I said. "That's my hubby."
Peter and I went to go make cocktails.
"Hurry up!" I cried. "I want to go flirt with Kevin."
"What?" Kevin asked, who was right behind me.
"God dammit," I said. "Hi, how are you?"
I continued flirting and mingling, but Kevin soon voiced that he wanted to go home. To be fair, it was almost 7:00 and he had been there for five hours, the first three of which were without me.
"Okay," I said. "It was good to see you."
"Can't you drive me home?" he asked.
"Ugh, nooooo," I said. "You live so far awayyyyyyy."
"Don't," Peter said. Peter was upset with Kevin because Kevin had spent much of the day boasting about his education and socioeconomic status. I tried to explain that that is because Kevin achieved such education and socioeconomic status with the stack decked against him, but, just as with Wesley, I had to stop apologizing for boorish behavior of the objects of my affection.
"I'll come right back," I said. I was upset, too, because Ryan Robertson had just shown up, and it's like, Pride tradition for me to awkwardly flirt with Ryan Robertson. I also could tell Peter was uncomfortable with being alone with certain people.
"Do you promise?" Peter said.
"Yes," I said, and I meant it.
Kevin and I got to my car.
"I had to get out of there," he said. "TOO MUCH GAYNESS. It was like the gay zoo in there."
"Whatever," I blasted, because I still couldn't believe I was doing this. "You masculine gay men think you're God's gift to the world."
"That's really harsh," he said. "Take that back."
"No," I said, because I was a mature adult.
I took my shirt off in the car because I was roasting. "Will I get sunburned in the car?" I asked. "Really?!" he asked. "You get sunburned any time the sun hits your skin. Wow. I had maybe too high of an opinion of you." "SO RUDE," I said. "I'm driving you all this way." "I don't think you should go back to the party," he said. "I think we should just hang out and drink at my house." "No!" I cried. "I promised Peter I would go back. And I have other friends there." "Is this because I don't have a backwards baseball cap on?" Well-played, Kevin Thomson. Well-played. "You were really mad last night," he said. "It was deja vu all over again," I said. "The very first time I hung out with you at your apartment you pulled that shit where you brought somebody else over. I wasn't gonna deal with it." "Well, you clearly liked me much more than I knew you did," he said. Yepppppppppppp.
"I don't think I can ever have a relationship ever again," he said. "But my mom won't stop raving about you. I really like you, and I know you like me, and I don't know why we don't ever do anything about it."
"And now you're not saying anything."
What I was thinking: Why did this conversation not happen a year ago? Six months ago, even? Yes, I *was* crazy about you, but in January you decided you liked Quinn instead, and that was when I began learning how to let you go. And now there's this other boy in the picture who has cut my heart out and pissed on it. I just can't deal with this right now, broseph!
We clarified his boyfriend situation (his ex-boyfriend still lists them as an item on Facebook because he can't let go. Allegedly.) I told him to not expect full-on intercourse because I don't do that right now. I even used the word intercourse. I know.
I did not go in the house because he forgot he had co-workers over (Kevin is not as closeted the way Wesley is, but I don't think he is openly gay at his workplace, which I understand and respect). I got out of the car and couldn't stop smiling. What the what. I said I would come to his Fourth of July party.
"I'm over parties like the one I was at today," I said. "I love them!" I said."I'm social! Say hi to your mom." "See!" he cried. "Exactly!"
I stopped at the liquor store on the way home and took a cab back to the party. I sat across from someone who was telling a story, and I made the mistake of trying to dive in.
"This is an A-B conversation," he hissed.
"Well, you're a real C," is the response that I thought of four days later. I would find myself seated across from the only asshole at the recovery party. Shade is for lounging, even in the summertime.
A friend who works at CVS graciously agreed to develop my disposable camera for me. Peter and I cabbed back home to Loring Park and ordered sandwiches. I gave him my Gucci jacket as a going-away present, because I looked okay in it, but that boy just looked bangin'.
Next week: We recap July! I turn a year older! So does America! And will the show go on?
Previously on "Loring Park": Jakey was going to work on his one-man show for the Fringe Festival and FOCUS ON NOTHING ELSE.
It's been a month, children! I apologize for taking so long between episodes. We are headed into the steamy summertime in Minneapolis, and you know that I love summer. I was born in the summer, and it is when I feel the most alive.
I also feel almost sexual, but that's because I put out for air conditioning. Here we go.
***
Of course, the nights blur together. One of the weekends was Wesley's birthday, and I bought him a present because I am a big stupid saphead. He was running late, and I began to panic when I was at The Saloon. My anxiety has become much worse lately, and "Wesley is running late" soon became "Oh god, what if Wesley crashed into a tree?!" My friend Cordero (from episode one!) was there, and calmed me down by introducing me to a shot called a Blonde Headed Slut. It has Jagermeister in it, and I usually stay away from dark liquor, but it did manage to calm my nerves.
Besides, so many other people were there to focus on! THE ORIGINAL SOUTH DAKOTA was there! He even bought me a drink! I should have asked him to pick me up for old times' sake, but I was feeling fat I walked by the impossible sexiness that is Football Guy. He doesn't remember my name, so he said, "Hey, comedian." "Hey, football player," I smiled, and I'm sure I was as red as the paint in what some call The Red Room (I just call it T.J.'s bar). Piano Man was there for his birthday! We discussed my anxiety issues and we practiced breathing exercises on the patio.
Wesley finally showed up and we sat by the fireplace. I gave him his present and then tried to hug him like a broski. I don't know if I did it right. We sat down and then Running Back came over to yell at Wesley for playing "hard to get". I felt awkward because I like Running Back (he's my unofficial dance coach!), so I just pretended to be too drunk to notice what was going on.
I was out at The Saloon the next night (quelle surprise!), and was reunited with Sprite and Abercrombie! Abercrombie is the boy who I sat next to in the hot tub at the New Year's Eve party and he has abs that could be insured for millions of dollars. I re-introduced myself, and then Liam and Roger came in. They had been Sunday Funday-ing and drinking since noon, and could not contain themselves. I bought Sprite and Abercrombie Blonde Headed Sluts from Danny, but then Roger basically started humping Abercrombie, and I was mortified!! We are judged by the company we keep, and now I worry that I will forever be seen by them as an old drunk pervert. There was another very cute boy who was going to the U of M and tried to stop an older man from hitting on me, and I should have asked for his hand in marriage. Or at least remembered his damn name.
I decided to associate myself with better-behaved company, so I was happy to run into South Dakota Version Two! One of the many reasons I want to be South Dakota Version Two when I grow up is because he has a banging body and yet has no shame in eating French Fries at The Saloon. I, on the other hand, don't even want people at The Saloon to know I eat solid foods or have a digestive tract.
We discussed mutual acquaintances, and then the conversation turned to Wesley's birthday. SDV2 asked if it would be awkward if he messaged him. That's when I realized they didn't know each other as well as I thought they did. Still, I found nothing odd about it, and SDV2 wrote to him on Facebook. No harm, no foul.
I was reunited with Markie and his pals, and he graciously agreed to drive me home, but at first I wasn't listening because I was drunkenly flirting with Ryan Robertson. Ryan was pretty drunk, too, and we discussed the cultural zeitgeist at large and the conflict in Syria.
I somehow got shotgun, and Ryan and Markie's roommate Stephen sat in the back. I live far too close to The Saloon, but it's always nice to have a ride home. Markie pulled into my parking lot, and as he put on the brakes, Ryan shifted his body from the back seat and kissed me on the lips.
He probably won't remember doing it, and I won't ever bring it up (to his face!). That being said, I don't mean to worship the man, but his lips are like velvet pillows.
