A Big Gay Weekend!

by theappliedprocess

Friday wasn’t very eventful, or at least I don’t remember it being. I woke up and did nothing. Just laid there. I wasted my morning sobering up, going online, and catching up on my HBO. I needed the rest. Jet lag is now a reality.

I ran some errands with ‘Reindeer’. We checked out a place he might be moving to, had some surprisingly good Mediterranean food, stopped by a card game store to get some booster packs for their Magic deck (I love these dorks), and picked up his girlfriend’s luggage. He had to pick her up from work and drive her to the airport later. He dropped me off, I took a party nap, and woke up when he returned from SFO. Facebook told me I could now get legally married in my home state. It was time to celebrate.

I texted a few friends from LA who were in town for the festivities and decided to go meet two of them at a place called ‘The Stud’. I paid the stiff cover for the three of us, me, ‘Reindeer’, and his brother. I checked us in to facebook. We met my friends, had a drink, and watched a drag show. We stepped out for a cigarette. All of a sudden, ‘SF boy’ taps me in the back. I said hi and continued talking to ‘Reindeer’. We chatted briefly. My hosts decided they wanted to leave so I went inside to say bye to my other friends. I said bye to ‘SF boy’, who was being elusive and nonchalant as always, and we headed to another gay bar closer to their place on Haight. I’m not sure if he showed up because he saw I checked in or it was a coincidence. A part of me thinks he did follow my check in, a part of me tells the other part of me to stop being self centered. I was drunk.

After a pathetic game of pool, one of them suggested we go back to theirs and smoke. I didn’t really care to smoke but I took this as an opportunity to leave. As soon as we got home, I sneaked out to the couch while ‘Reindeer’ was rolling the joint and passed out.

Saturday I was planning on going to the de Young museum for a Balenciaga exhibit, and to get my much anticipated tattoos. I had made an appointment the prior day. ‘Raindeer’ had to work. I woke up early, got dressed, and headed to the Haight for some food and ink. I was eating some nostalgic fish and chips when I finally heard back from my friend who I was supposed to accompany to the wedding. We planned on me taking the train and then a cab to the venue as soon as I was done getting scribbled on my skin. I finished my food and just like any masochist would, headed for some pain.

The tattoos took three hours. It was a little longer than expected but overall a very pleasant experience. The tattoo artist was from San Diego, where I first met him.  He had done my very first two tattoos ever, and I’d been wanting him to do an upside down flying fox using his signature style, day of the deadish and folky. The other, a vintage medicine bottle with my last names, was in honor of my parents. I was riding the adrenaline wave and sort of lost track of time. When I left, I checked my phone and realized I had a few missed calls from the wedding party. I got in touch with them and started my journey. No one was home so I took a bus to ‘Reindeer’s’ job, picked up the key and cabbed it back to his place. Packed, left the key with his brother and cabbed it again to BART. Two hours and $40 later, I was at the reception in the middle of butt fuckin nowhere USA. It was the perfect scenario for a slash film.  No one’s phone had reception.

The wedding started off weird. I felt very out of place. It was mostly family and direct friends. I couldn’t see anyone I knew so I walked to the bar, ordered some red and pretended I knew what I was doing. After about 15 minutes I felt a familiar tap. It was a girl I had met the year before when I accompanied my friend ‘Honey’ to the bay for bay to breakers. She helped me find the rest of the group. We said hi, gave hugs, I congratulated the brides (who looked stunning by the way), and continued drinking. I later met ‘Honey’s’ dad, who offered I take his seat since I wasn’t assigned a seat on any of the tables. Of course, I politely declined. I went to have a cigarette and watched the celebration continue. I was about ready to go to the other side to a grass field, smoke cigarettes, drink, and read while the party dined, but then ‘Honey’s’ roommate fetched me up and arranged a seat for me.

While we were dining, the usual toasts and speeches were given. I felt weird. It all seems beautiful and cheerful, but for some reason, it just seems fake to me. I have to clarify, I’m not talking about this specific wedding, just the whole concept in general. I consider myself quite empathic, but when it comes to stuff like this, I truly cannot feel what these people are feeling or understand why they do it. I got chills. More wine.

After dinner we all started dancing. I had a good time. Met lots of nice people, and some really annoying ones. The DJ played some Taio Cruz and I nearly came. We left for the hotel to continue celebrating. I was tired. I had a drink or two and followed ‘Honey’s’ roommate to bed. The next morning was pride, and my new found appreciation for said date wanted to be in top shape to enjoy the debauchery.

Of course Sunday morning, despite planning to leave by 9 am, we left ridiculously late. We didn’t get to San Francisco till 1 in the afternoon. We made some road sodas and walked around the fenced streets where the fête was taking place. We all got separated, ‘Honey’, her roommate, and I lost the rest of them. We walked around and I took pictures with the ‘characters’ of San Francisco pride. The crazies came out to play that day. We finally found our group and sat down on the lawn near a makeshift bar. I met a ginger who was infatuated by me, and we kissed. He asked me to come home with but I wanted to stay out. Half the group, ‘Honey’ included, left to go to their respective airports and catch their respective flights. I continued the party at the Castro with the brides and a couple of their friends. We were all a bit drunk and we didn’t last long out. One of them got kicked out so we decided to leave. I went back to ‘Raindeer’s’.

I didn’t want the night to end but I did feel I needed some rest. ‘Reindeer’ left to pick up his belle, and I napped. He came back and we went out in the Castro again. Somehow we ended up at The Cafe, the same place I was at earlier. We sipped on drinks, smoked some fags, and stared at some too. We met some kids from New York with whom we ended up hanging out for a while. We left the bar at 1:45. California sucks. We unsuccessfully tried to find somewhere to drink more. California sucks even more.

After wandering aimlessly for a while we went home. ‘Reindeer’ and I smoked a spliff and went to bed.

The next day, he woke me up before going to work. I hugged him goodbye and hung out at his place till it was time for me to leave. I decided to take the bus, as I was getting used to them more and more. This time, the experience was far from pleasant. A creepy, eastern European, sexagenarian sleaze kept bugging me the whole way to BART asking inappropriate questions, and then following me as I got off the bus. I managed to get rid of him and board the train. I got to my flight with 23 minutes to spare. The plane was full of faggots, all coming home after their migration to the holy gay Mecca. I wondered if they found love, good sex, or just some STD’s. I love San Francisco. I love it even more and more every time I come. For a second, I was affraid I was gonna have negative associations with it because of ‘SF boy’, but to the honest, the more I think about him, the less he matters.