Anxiety | the.applied.process.

22.07.2011

weekend boyfriends!!

As I had mentioned, I went to work straight from DJ’s apartment, unshowered and smelling a bit like sweat and sex. The day went by quick. After work I rushed home thinking our bus for Atlantic City left at 5:45. I packed quickly, walked my baby, freshened up, and headed to some hardcore porn headquarters in the same building as DKNY and other fashion related companies somewhere near Times Square where I was to meet ‘Fixie’.

A bit of background on my future weekend boyfriend: I basically fell in love with him the first time I met him about a year ago. He is, physically, almost exactly what I look for, I don’t think there’s a creature in this planet who fits the bill 100% but he comes pretty damn close. At the time he had a boyfriend, but he seemed like a sweet guy that I’d like to know more and possibly wait for. We got to hang out a few more times and I got to hear the usual drama that comes with having a significant other. The more I saw him and the more I got to know him, the more I fell. We’d kissed a couple of times and discussed the possibility of sex. I am very into him, however, we live very distinct lifestyles and for me it’s just been a matter of “Can my horny penis finally deliver the coup de grâce to my over analytical anxiety ridden brain?”.

I was a bit hesitant over what the weekend might bring. I was anxious over drinking because I knew that that would most certainly help Mr. Winky dish his final blow, but in a way, I was somewhat ready for it. We walked across the street to Port Authority. He informed me the bus wouldn’t be leaving for another hour so we decided to grab a smoothie and wait in line. He is so damn dreamy.

Upon arriving at Atlantic City, our friends were nowhere to be found. ‘Fixie’ and I wandered around for an hour till they were courteous enough to show their presence and let us in the room to drop our bags. The weekend started on an off schedule. They had already eaten, we were starving, so we opted to go have dinner and meet them later for drinks. They kept texting us to hurry. I had a slight feeling they were trying to find out if we’d fuck already. The tension was there. Finally we met up with them at a club on the rooftop of our subpar “resort”. The moment we walked inside the club, we knew we were the two hottest guys in the room. Most eyes were on us. We developed a certain sense of entitlement, and I believe that was what started solidifying our ‘weekend boyfriends’ status. We had a few drinks, but they were ahead of us and left before we did. We were pretty tired from the long trip so we left the bar and headed to the room. No kissing. No sex.

The next morning again our friends wanted to eat a proper breakfast, we wanted smoothies, so we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. We walked along the boardwalk. We bought matching tees. I was feeling like a 12 yr old school girl hanging out with her crush. It was kind of cute to say the least. We ended up at a starbucks on a mall sipping on some subpar smoothies. Again, mom and dad kept texting to see where we were. A couple of friends of mine (including the love of my life/best friend a.k.a. ‘The Wife’) were driving from Philly to meet us for the day. We ended back at the room where we downed a couple vodka sodas and finally headed to the beach to meet the rest of the crew.

The beach was nice. I normally hate it, but me and ‘Fixie’ had decided to just have a crazy silly weekend and go in our speedos to try and ruffle up some guidos. Again, most eyes were on us (although for different reasons). ‘Fixie’s’ zebra print banana hammock out did my Euro sleek black Dior ensemble. He looked adorable. We splish splashed, smokey smoked, and tanny tanned. Very unlike me but, like I said at the end of the previous post, my bastions were promptly crumbling.

After the beach most of us opted for buffet. I discussed with ‘The Wife’ my feelings and concerns at the moment over ‘Fixie’. As expected, she suggested I just go with it. We stopped by the room prior to getting food. My sober self for some reason agreed to take a shower with ‘Fixie’. This was not me. This was not me. We had our first full view of each others’ genitals. I’d heard about his, and they were certainly as beautiful as they’d been described/ I’d been expecting. My usual self consciousness wasn’t there.

We walked to the buffet and stuffed ourselves beyond our skinny (or not) capabilities. After food, ‘The Wife’ and her friends headed back home. The rest of the posse decided to give in to the already present food coma. That night we were gonna try and do a pool party, Jersey Shore style.

Prior to la piscine, we went to a drag show upstairs. It was pretty phenomenal to say the least. After the show, we bar hopped along the boardwalk a bit. Per a handsome bartender’s suggestion, we nixed the pool party and headed to a beach bar. It was empty but drinks were cheap. We then tried to hit the Chelsea Hotel but were denied entrance due to our outfits. I won’t even start on my feelings about subpar clubs telling me how to appropriately dress. The girls who were with us stayed there, us boys decided to walk back to the club we were at the night prior. We made a pit stop at the beach where I had a one to one with my friend ‘Mexican Paddington’, then he had a moment with his beau ‘Queen of the Dammed’, and I had my first kiss/junk fondling of the weekend.

‘Fixie’ and I decided to strip down to our European beach attire and walk back down the boardwalk to the hotel weekend boyfriends status. Black girls loved us, black boys did too (although shh!!! don’t tell because they’re on the DL). People took pictures with us, gave us free stuff, and complimented us left and right. Again, most eyes were on us.

Back at the hotel, we decided to do the club in our speedos to top off the already atypical (although not really) night. People stared twice as hard as the night before. We managed to give a show, dancing on the go-go boys stage, making out, grabbing each other’s semi erect crotches, and whatever else my blurry memory won’t let me recall. We let our roommates head back to the room for a bit and do their thing, after all, this was their quasi-pre-wedding vacation. Not being very aware of the time we went back to the room a few minutes later not honoring our promise to let them enjoy man on man sex. We took another shower together. Somewhere out there there’s a video of me eating ‘Fixie’s’ ass in a New Jersey hotel room bathroom. Chip chop the bastion was down. I pranced around the room in my new found comfortable nudity and gave my first live sex show (although there wasn’t any actual sex, it was still very dirty). ‘Fixie’ passed out and I went to bed.

Sunday was our last day. We all checked out and walked down the boardwalk to where we were the night before to a cute little restaurant where the food and the ambiance wasn’t subpar, for once. Sadly, can’t say the same about the service. Again, somehow we all did our own thing and ‘Fixie’ and I ended up alone gambling. We started pounding drinks. We gambled some more. I was not very lucky, him on the other hand, had the typical case of beginner’s luck. I was out 100 dollars, he made a last minute $400 with the 20 bucks I gave him thanks to Carrie, Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte. We went back to the beach for a celebratory make out session.

We meet up with the rest of the group and waited for the bus back home. On the bus ride home we were cuddly for a second, but that’s not really him, and it’s not really me either, lately. I took a brief nap. The whole weekend ‘Fixie’, being the sexually liberated over-evolved gay man he is, was blatantly talking to other men for sex, although he made sure to always include me in the plans. It bothered me a bit, for some reason, although I’m not sure why, yet at the same time, it’s kind of comforting to watch him be so open about it. I woke up and blatantly asked him if we were having sex when we got back to Brooklyn. He said he was already talking to someone else, but he was free on Monday. I said I had a date. I guess there’s always next time.

We got back to New York. We all went our separate ways. I met up with my friend ‘Buck’ and co. for some night before night before last partying. Still being in my beachy pool mood, we ended up at the rooftop at the Gansevoort. Then Greenhouse. I was mighty wasted so I did my usual disappearing act and, unlike my usual self, proceeded to booty text both DJ and ‘Fixie’. Throughout the whole night, I could not shut up about ‘Fixie’. It felt nice. I don’t think I could date him, although I’ve been surprising myself left and right, but it was a great weekend. It felt great to have that sort of tender crush one has when naive, yet this time with the maturity to take it for what it is: just a crush.

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19.07.2011

Fags, stags, and drags.

This week has been very eventful, to say the least. It all started last Friday with the arrival of my friend ‘Buck’. He’s one of my old friends who I hadn’t seen in about 3 or 4 years. I wasn’t sure what to expect. I knew he was staying with his friend so I figured I probably would see him a few times for drinks and that’s it. Boy was I wrong.

To my fantastic surprise, he stopped by my work. I screamed his name and gave him a giant hug. The thing about friends like him, is that it doesn’t matter how long it’s been since the last time you’ve seen each other, it feels like it was only a few hours ago. I was supposed to hang out with ‘Tiny Narcissus’ that night as it was his second before last night in the city, but to be honest, I was tired of the same old gay shit so I decided to plan a straight night. I was going to show ‘Buck’ a proper Billyburg hipster time. We decided to meet at my place for drinks that evening and then go get more drinks around the hood.

Work resumed and I headed home. ‘Buck’ showed up with a couple of his friends and a couple of my friends did so too. The madness started. Shots were shot. Drinks were drank. Smokes were smoked (at least by some of us). First, we hit Union Pool. Normally this is not my bar of choice, but if someone was to do an anthropological study of Williamsburg, Union Pool would be their best bet at capturing the essence of this part of town. Also, it is one of the two places that come to mind to find some tail for a fellow handsome single stag. The other place for that would be The Woods, where we proceeded to go after. I introduced the crowd to the fantastic ‘picklebacks’ (a shot of whiskey chased with a shot of pickle juice… trust me, they’re good). Drank. Danced. Devoured some tacos. All sloshed up we stumbled to our final destination: Lucky Dog. The night gets blurry but I’m assuming we drank more and somehow we ended up home.

Saturday I worked. After work I hurried home, fed the dog, walked the dog, napped, and cabbed it back to the lower east side. I met some friends at Freeman’s for ‘Tiny Narcissus’s’ going away dinner. I was feeling a bit off after the nap. The Greeks took a bit to get there but finally by 9 o’clock we were seated and ordering drinks. Freeman’s is good, but I’m starting to realize not my place of choice. The food is heavy and for some reason I’ve been feeling somewhat orthorexic lately. Regardless, ‘Tiny Narcissus’ gets to decide what we do and I get to follow gladly, it’s not everyday someone leaves this beautiful city to potentially not come back.

I have to say I was a bit annoyed during the dinner. The combination of waking up from the nap, being in company of a couple of annoying Greek QUEENS (and I CANNOT stress that enough), being somewhat left out due to the impolite use of a language I do not speak, and my cellphone being dead had me getting up every few minutes and smoking a ciggy and catching some air.

After dinner I made the executive decision of going to chez Frenchies for a quick drink before ending up at sugarland (per Tiny Narcissus’ request). At said apartment, I was promptly spotted (and hunted) by a very French gentleman who we’ll call ‘Sandpaper’. We talked, smoked, and drank some more. We split ourselves in groups and cabbed it to Brooklyn. On the way there, ‘Sandpaper’ could not keep his hands off me. I was being coy and ladylike despite the fact I knew I was going to eat his face as soon as we got to sugarland. I hurried home, dropped my stuff and waited for ‘Buck’ to come meet, and we headed back to my facial peel.

As soon as I got back to la terre de sucre I hunted down ‘Sandpaper’ and proceeded to give myself an exfoliating make out session. ‘Sandpaper’ was scruffy, hence the nickname, and so am I. Honestly, there’s nothing sexier than the abrasion created by two somewhat bearded men rubbing their scruff together as they kiss. I had told him I wasn’t gonna have sex, but somehow after close to two hours of almost nonstop kissing, we ended up at my place. My friends followed. We bid our guests good night and headed to the bed room. More making out. If I hadn’t been that drunk, the raw pain on my chin certainly would’ve stopped me from continuing to fiercely kiss him. My inhibitions and judgement were not in bed with me and I was ready to potentially fuck him… then he said: “you said no sex”, and went to bed. I enjoyed this.

The next morning we did some more kissing and a couple of hand jobs. We joined the party in the living room and all headed for brunch. I am not very well versed in French etrickquette (yes, my own word) so I wasn’t sure what to expect, but he asked me to invite him for coffee back at my apartment. I offered tea. ‘Buck’s’ friends were meeting us for a quick stroll down the Brooklyn Flea Market and then a trip to the alleged best pizza in New York. ‘Sandpaper’ didn’t even finish his tea so we said goodbye and decided to meet again. He’s not necessarily my type, but he is a persistent motherfucker, and honestly, persistence pays. I’ve seen him a couple of times since.

The Brooklyn Flea Market was uneventful. The pizza quest took about an hour, and although it was REALLY good, I can’t say it’s the best. It was too heavy and shiny (greasy) for my orthorexic taste. After feeling like a beached whale, we spontaneously decided to go to Conney Island. I’d never been and I’ll probably won’t go back for a long time. It is a scary place. The lower income bracket does not appreciate me, and although I try to, it’s hard to have empathy for those who don’t have it for me. Regardless, I had fun. Rode some rides, played some games, rode more rides. We were supposed to go to the Gansevoort that night and possibly Le Bain, but my little princesses required a shower and fresh clothes so we nixed that and drank local. If you want to know what happened just scroll back and reread the third paragraph. The night was somewhat familiar exchanging The Woods for Metropolitan. Nights on autopilot.

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08.07.2011

NY NY NY NY NY NY NY

It’s been exactly 7 days since I’ve been back. I figured that rather than posting constantly about every single day, while in New York I’m gonna post once or twice a week, unless something truly exceptional happens. I’m not saying I don’t have quite the exceptional life, I do, I love it, I enjoy it, I don’t want to change it, but I’d hate to sound repetitive and predictive: yes, I went out again tonight and got drunk and crazy… how many times do we want to read that? Without further ado I will try to write a recap on my first week back home to the best of my blurry mind’s abilities.

I landed last Friday. As soon as I did I started texting people. I had dinner plans within minutes, so I took a cab home, and called ‘Freckles’ to let me in to my own apartment. ‘Freckles’ is my friend who’d been house sitting for me. I walked my exceptionally graceful dog who is an amazing traveler to have him pee after holding it in for 6 or 7 hours, and went upstairs. I was in dire need of a shower, so after a brief catching up I did so. Then, we headed to ‘Pulino’s’ to meet up with my other friend ‘Jose Maria’ and one of my coworkers. The whole time I’d been texting with ‘Latin T’ I thought I liked. He was in the neighborhood and decided to meet up with us for a drink.

After Pulino’s we headed for more drinks at a few bars in the East Village. Nothing really different or out of the ordinary. I was ecstatically happy to be back. Summer nights in New York HAVE to be the best place in the world. It’s warm and everybody’s walking around almost naked and enjoying the weather. Us New Yorkers put up with the winters and the summer days for the few hours of summer nights we get. ‘Latin T’ decided to kiss me. It felt nice. He was very forward but in a cute way. I didn’t mind. I felt like I could play the roll of “average fag in love for the night” for the night. We were holding hands, kissing, hugging, basically making my friends wonder who the fuck had gotten back from Europe and what did he do with the real me. ‘Latin T’ asked me to come home with me. I politely declined. I wasn’t feeling it for a couple of reasons. To be honest, I wasn’t sure how I felt about him but I was intrigued to find out, so I decided not to fuck it up and explore my new found Latinophilia for the next few days. I ended up passing out at around 4 or 5 in the morning, I think.

Saturday was my first day back at work. I was very excited to come back. I was somewhat dreading all the catching up I’d have to do, mostly for my own crazy reasons because I’m sure it wouldn’t be that big of an issue if I just didn’t get up to speed and just started fresh, but that’s not me. I’m obsessive compulsive. It was nice to be welcomed back with open arms and blank stares (the beard was gone). That day was ‘The Cock of the North’s’ birthday. I had gotten him a really nice present that I was sure he’d love. When he opened it, he was happier than a sick child who’d just received news of his new kidney after life riskingly waiting for a transplant. As expected, we went over to his house after work and celebrated his day. We had some cocktails and then went to a bar. It was a nice chill night at first. Then, my other friend ‘Afterline’ suggested we go to an after-party at Le Bain for a quick late night dip in the hot tub. I wanted to loyally stay and hang out with ‘The Cock of the North’, but I also felt guilt tripped into going, and I knew it was gonna be fun regardless, so a posse of about 10 of us ended at the rooftop of The Standard getting even more intoxicated and eventually wetting our underpants. I got home pretty late/early.

Sunday was a chill day. Me, ‘Freckles’, and ‘Jose Maria’ went for a late brunch at a tiny tapas bar in the village. The food was delicious, the sangria was smooth, and the atmosphere was just right. They kept playing old school Shakira and Mana for my nostalgic Mexican ear’s delight. Another friend, ‘Occhio’, joined towards the end. We left and headed back to mine for more drinks and board games. Later that night, we ended up at the Gansevoort rooftop for a gay party. I wanted to see the DJ, he’s an old ‘friend’ who I’ve fooled around a handful of times. He was nice and charming as always and greeted me with a peck. We didn’t stay long. We went to Le Bain to show ‘Freckles’ the view. Again, somehow we all ended up in the pool. She did so topless claiming she didn’t want to get her bra wet, but if you ask me, that’s just her excuse. She’s a flirt, and why not, she’s beautiful. If I was her, I’d be butt naked. I think I kissed a guy while inside the hot tub. They night just got blurrier, but some how I was sober enough to have a very intense conversation with ‘Freckles’ when we got back to mine. We passed out at 7am.

Monday was 4th of July. We didn’t have set plans, but me being the usual leader of the pack decided to have people over, head to the park, get drunk, and then find a rooftop to look at some fireworks. Prior to that tho, I met up with my old roommate from community college and her man. I persuaded them into having a pop burger and hoped they would prefer it over in-n-out. Us New Yorkers desperately try and find a substitute, but sadly there is none. West Coast, you can have this one.

I took them to the highline. We walked for a bit and then headed back to Billyburg. We stopped by my place, picked up my pooch, and headed to ‘Lucky Dog’ for a quick beer before the park. At about 5pm we were finally sitting at McCarren indulging on outlaw vodka, and chips and guac. There were about 10 of us and the group just kept getting bigger. ‘Latin T’ joined us with his friend and so did my fellow Frenchies who are dating each other. More food. More drinks. More boardgames. So far a successful 4th of July.

That evening, we walked to my friend’s apartment further down into Williamsburg to go to his rooftop party and watch the fireworks. I was very drunk by that point, and I’m sure my friends were too. The fireworks were nice, but they would’ve been nicer sober. ‘Latin T’ left without saying goodbye which got me weirded out a bit. I was too drunk to stay out so I stumbled home and passed out before midnight. My dehydrated body woke me up a bit before 3 in the morning. I decided I’d text my friends and see if they were out. They weren’t. Having slept a few hours, I was sleepless and opted to go to ‘Metropolitan’ for last call by myself. I met a random Domincan Republic man who proceeded to hit on me with his unintelligible “Spanish”. I let him buy me my last drink, left the bar, skyped a bit, and went to bed.

Tuesday was wasted on recovering. I had errands to run but was too lazy to do so. ‘Freckles’ went back home. I stayed in and watched a bootleg movie. I met ‘Latin T’ for a drink as we had planned, and then we had dinner. It was supposed to be a date but two of his friends were there. He’d just been fired and needed friendly support. After dinner, he suggested we go back to mine and watch a movie. I agreed, but told him I had to go meet ‘Jose Maria’ who was having some boy issues later that night. To be honest, I am not certain how I feel about him yet so I’m being evasive and taking it slow. We cuddled while laying on my couch. It was nice. He left at about 11:30 and I headed to the east village to meet up with ‘Jose Maria’ and ‘Tiny Narcissus’. We had a couple of drinks and somehow ended up at Le Bain, yet again. Inebriated, I kissed ‘Tiny Narcissus’ and after unsuccessful attempts of getting them in the hot tub, I went in by myself. Nothing new here. Went home drunk.

Wednesday I actually did run my errands although first I met up with ‘Afterline’ and a boy he had just met at school that morning. We did a nice brunch and then a beer and a game of scrabble. I kicked both their asses. How’s that for ESL? Then ‘Latin T’ came over to print some stuff. It was slightly awkward, but I’m not sure why. After he left I finished some of the many things I had to accomplish, and met up with ‘Tiny Narcissus’ and his friend for dinner. I had a bit of Greek overload that night. ‘Jose Maria’, my Greek answer to the common Greeks, caught up with us at Eastern Bloc. I kissed a certain someone I’ve talked about that I hadn’t kissed in a while. It felt good and validating. I still have it. I left horny and went to sleep.

Thursday I worked. We have a new intern, she’s nice but not as obsessive compulsive as I am and hence a bit slow (in my book). I really have to learn to accept the more sane humans I share this planet with. After work I went to the boonies of Brooklyn to meet up with ‘Jose Maria’ for a BBQ. Although I was starving, I politely declined all food passed in front of me because despite the fact that they were courteous enough to think about us sensiblevores (yes, I made that word up), they were not conscious enough to fully separate the meat from the non meat items. I can’t deal with my faux meat touching something that had once a face. His friends were nice. I randomly talked to a guy who went to med school with one of my best friends in junior high. How unbe*fucking*lievable small is this damn planet?! I can never get over that.

We all played Cranium, which was very slow and interesting considering the smorgasbord of racial backgrounds and nationalities we had going. The lesser adept gave up and went home. We continued playing, and my team lost. Me and ‘Jose Maria’ were supposed to go meet ‘Tiny Narcissus’ and some other friends at Le Bain, but I was tired and lazy and did not feel like doing the usual yet another night. Ironically enough, I ended up at Metropolitan. I met some handsome half Spanish half Irish thirtysomething and made out with him for the rest of the night. Two interesting things happened: he left for a second and asked me to take care of his drink, but when he came back, he apologized and said he didn’t trust drinking out of it so he got a new one. The other thing was that he seemed ok and not pushy at all when I let him know I was not going home with him. I think we both enjoyed the slight differences exhibited from the accustomed New York homosexual interaction. I felt a bit bad for ‘Jose Maria’. Whether he admits it or not, I felt he was a bit annoyed, and why not, I probably would too. I left my Spanish conquistador and headed home. You know the rest.

Today I worked. It was a slow day. It took me the whole day, on and off, to finish this entry, but I feel good about it. I like this new approach. My closing thoughts? Like I said, I’m not sure how I feel about ‘Latin T’. He’s very nice and I find myself randomly thinking about him throughout the day and looking at my phone for signs of interest, yet at the same time there’s something slightly off, something missing. I enjoy being single. I also enjoy having a boy around. There’s an interesting dichotomy here, when you have someone circumventing you, you tend to attract more and more suitors. I’d love to know the chemistry behind this, or maybe it’s just pure coincidence. Either way, I’m not stressing about it. Like I’ve stated, I’m taking it slow, exploring my options, enjoying my time. Today was also SF boy’s birthday. I wished him a happy birthday via Facebook, per my religious habits. He hasn’t responded, nor will he. It doesn’t matter, I woke up in such a great mood, and my day has been getting strangely better and better. An old friend, ‘Buck’, is in town. He stopped by the gallery. We’re going for drinks later. I was meant to go to the Chelsea Hotel for ‘Tiny Narcissus’s’ second to last night, but to be honest, it’s been a delightfully atypical day, and I want it to turn into an even more delightfully atypical night. Tonight I’m playing it straight.

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05.07.2011

LA LA LA I’m off to New York.

I was back in sticky icky Los Angeles. No matter how much I force myself, I still don’t like it. For brief moments I kind of feel nostalgic and think there’s something to it, but I always end up being reminded why I’m glad I don’t live there anymore. This time, traffic and the sun! People claim they prefer dry heat as opposed to the humid heat we get in New York, I don’t. Yes, humid heat is gross but at least I feel moist and I don’t feel the sun charring my skin.

The cab ride was annoying. Traffic and sun. Three twenty dollar bills later, I finally got to ‘Chet’s’ place. He’d gotten out of work early. I took a quick shower and we headed to ‘Malo’ for some happy hour good times. My friend ‘Talent Waster’ was meeting us later, and so was ‘Chet’s’ belle ‘Dandayamana Janushirasana’. Before even having a glance at the $1 happy hour taco menu, we compulsively ordered a few rounds of margaritas to take advantage of the remaining 15 minutes of happy hour. Not strange behavior for me and my LA beezies. The evening was off to a good start.

We drank and chitchatted. As per usual, I complained to ‘Talent Waster’ about why she hasn’t quit her job and moved to New York. She got her nickname because she comfortably works at fashion suicide headquarters Forever XXI, yet she is probably one of the most talented people I’ve met in my life, and I know a lot of talented people. Another friend of mine (‘Riff’) joined. Drank some more. Smoked. Headed back to ‘Chet’s’.

We made more drinks and put on a movie, and again, as usual, within minutes the three of them, ‘Chet’, ‘Dandayamana Janushirasana’, and ‘Talent Waster’, were asleep. ‘Riff’ decided to head back downtown. I hastily decided to catch a ride with him and go to ‘Mustache Mondays’, a weekly gay night at a Mexican dive bar. ‘Riff’ decided to join. The bar was pretty empty. We only stayed for two drinks. I said hi to acquaintances and cabbed it back to silver lake. I stopped at ‘Akbar’ for a very early last call (1:30). ‘Akbar’ was empty as well. What can I say? it’s California.

The next day I dilly dallied and caught up on my HBO. I went to the beach with ‘Ceviche Mama’ and her two kids. It took us forever to get there. My phone was acting up and she didn’t have one so we had to navigate old school style. Smartphones have made us dumber.

The beach was nice. I normally hate the sun, but ‘Ceviche Mama’, being the crazy mexican/spaniard anti dark skin woman she is, brought an umbrella so her children wouldn’t get any skin cancer, but most importantly, tan. We ate her deliciously prepared ceviche, scampi, soyrizo, homemade tortillas, and rice pudding. I drank the one beer she brought for me. We walked to the water for a second and I stepped on a motherfucking bee. It didn’t sting as much as I thought it would.

We didn’t stay much longer. We trekked back to the car and I sneaked off to enjoy a cancer stick. Spending time with children reminded me why I don’t want to have any. Lovely kids, but I don’t think I’ll ever be willing to take on the task of raising one. I do think, however, I’d be an awesome uncle.

Just like her kids, I slept the whole way back. I got dropped off at ‘Chet’s’. His woman had a work dinner, so she was going to meet us later. We decided to go to ‘Sun of a Gun’, a new seafood restaurant that’d been getting a lot of hype. ‘Talent Waster’ joined us. The food was a bit too overpriced for what it was. I really enjoyed it, but I think New York has spoiled me when it comes to restaurants. Carson Daly was there.

We went back home and drank some more. At some point, I made plans with another friend, who’d just moved back to LA from New York, to meet for a quick drink at ‘Akbar’. It was nice to see him. I’m still mad he gave up on the city, but whatever, just like LA isn’t for me, maybe New York wasn’t for him. I keep forgetting not everyone thinks the same way I do.

Wednesday morning I woke up, said bye to both my hosts and wasted more time till I had to catch my train to San Diego.

I arrived to downtown SD at around 7 pm. My friend ‘Deenial’ picked me up with her man and her kid. We went to ‘Sipz’ for some tasty vegan asian food. Again, I don’t want to have children. My ‘nephew’, I’ve been given the title of Drunkle J, is lovely, but I insist, I don’t want the responsibility. We left the place and headed home. She was gonna drop me off at my mom’s. We stopped by a grocery store on the way. I bought a bottle of wine with a screw top to satiate the needs of my anxiety. I’ve become more wise when it comes to drinking, hence the screw top as opposed to a cork because who knows if I’ll be able to find a corkscrew. I hid it in my bag for when I needed my medication. My parents don’t really comment on my addictions, but I’d rather not give them reasons to do so in the future.

As usual, I barely saw my parents. They were asleep. I picked up my dog, who was a bit mad at me, and force hugged him till he loved me back, and went to my sister’s room. I finished my bottle and dozed off.

The next morning I ended up at the doctor’s office all day. First the dentist, then my dad’s clinic, then the dermatologist. I was prescribed 6 weeks of medicine for my yet to be correctly diagnosed scalp condition. The doctor took a chunk off my scalp for testing, and strongly stated that I not drink while I was taking the pills. I normally don’t care for such warnings, but then my dad and my cousin, both doctors insisted I really don’t drink because I would most likely severely scar my liver. I decided to listen to them, and as soon as I get the medicine, which I’m mailing my self from SoCal, I’m gonna try and not drink. My skin will be glowy, my belly will be less bellyish, and my scalp won’t leave dead skin trails everywhere.

After my anatomical tune up, we went to a molecular gastronomy restaurant in Tijuana. Yes, I said we went to a molecular gastronomy restaurant in Tijuana. Apparently, the place had been written about on the NY Times. I was very intrigued to see if it’d live up to my expectations. My parents claimed it was good, but this is also coming from the man who once said that a multiple personality disorder Asian place similar to PF Changs was good. To my surprise the food was actually very good. The restaurant was ok. Service was bad for such a restaurant, but good for Tijuana.

I said good bye to my daddy and my mom drove me to my friend’s place in San Diego where I was to spend the night. It took a fucking eternity to cross the border.

While in San Diego, I went to happy hour with my friend and her roommate at another restaurant with multiple personality disorder. It is a sushi restaurant with an Italian name and a diverse menu. No, it is not fusion, it’s just not plain Japanese sushi, or Mexican food, but a strange mix of both. I’ve been to the place before, it’s alright for its convenience. It is literally downstairs from my friend’s apartment, and it’s quite inexpensive during happy hour. We downed a few drinks, ate some bad fish, and crawled back up the stairs. Her roommate and I had another drink, she didn’t. We all went to bed.

I woke up to my last few hours on the west coast. I was very excited to get back home. My mom picked me up from my friend’s, we drove to target, bought some stuff I needed, shipped myself a box of goodies, and off to the airport I went (with a quick pit stop at in-n-out, FINALLY!). My travels have been good. I’ve enjoyed them and the people I’ve visited, but never have I missed a city I lived in more than I’ve missed New York. As I write this, I’m trying to think of a good song lyric to describe how I feel about the city. My mind sings a few different ones, but non of them accurately express my emotions. Basically, I’m just getting chills, and that’s really the best way to describe it.

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29.06.2011

A Big Gay Weekend!

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.

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24.06.2011

About love and other drugs.

A few days ago I heard a friend said his friend said he wanted to meet someone who he can loose his hair with and not care. I found this an extreme statement of what I guess “true love” is. I was listening to Florence and the Machine on shuffle earlier and the song “you’ve got the love” started playing. I’d heard this song many times before even before Florence did her take on it. I started thinking: now that’s true love. I understand what loosing hair is supposed to mean, but I don’t really care nor have major insecurities about my looks. I do, however, have a major issue with my anxiety. It is a very private thing. People don’t get to see it because: a) it’s not their problem, b) it’s very personal and they don’t deserve to, c) it’s embarrassing. For those of you who’ve seen it full fledged, and I have fingers left on one hand to count how many have been “lucky”, you know it’s not a pretty thing.

Anyway… I related to the song because I guess if I was to find true love, I’d probably find it in the person who not only is OK with my anxiety and my self medication, as opposed to conventional treatment, but also, the person I feel worthy and comfortable enough to let them see it. It’s true love, a somewhat godly, selfless appreciation for another being. All or nothing. Ever inviting. Ever embracing. Ever comforting. That one safe haven you, or at least my crazy Pisces self, run to when feeling threatened.

I know it sounds too utopian and absurd. It should be. Love is not as easily found as we like to believe. For those of you who think I like to portray a heartless, numb asshole, you’re wrong and you’re right. You’re right in the sense that yes, I’m very emotional and a hopeless romantic, as you claim I truly am, and as every Pisces usually is… but you’re wrong in the sense that I do sometimes strive to be a numb, heartless asshole. It’s not a facade. Because more than heartless, I’m quite hopeless… I don’t find it easy for others to share my very specific mindset… and thus, I refuse to waste time. After all, I do firmly believe that the whole idea of finding a partner and settling down in order to be happy and have a fulfilled life is completely ridiculous and needs to be eradicated from the human zeitgeist. We can be perfectly fulfilled and happy flying solo. So unless my equally demented prince charming/clone comes, this toad is remaining amphibian.

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23.06.2011

Stockholm.

I woke up to the sound of my alarm clock saying it was 8:31 a.m. I hit the snooze button and started to doze off when I realized I never changed the time on my clock from GMT to Parisian time. It was actually an hour later. Fuck my plans of carefully packing, taking a shower, and catching a train to Orly, I was an hour late. I briefly thought “fuck it! I can skip my next stop and just go straight to London in a couple days”. I always seem to have this thoughts a couple hours before I have to board a plane/train/bus. I called the concierge and asked for a cab ASAP. I started meticulously shoving everything in my bag, got dressed, and sipped some water, the out the door I went. I was sure I’d forgotten something, but as long as I had my wallet, my iPad, and my passport, everything else is easily replaceable or easily forgettable.

The cab had been waiting for 11€’s worth. Thirty-four more euros later I was at the airport. I checked in with enough time to do absolutely nothing but run to the gate. I boarded the plane and off we went. The flight had a lay over, I had to switch planes at Bergen (which I later discovered was in Norway). My connection was quite pleasant as the next vessel had free mile high wifi. I grindrd 3000 feet above ground, but of course there was no one. Norwegian Air had employed an all female flight attendant team.

I landed at Arlanda at about 15h and texted my friend ‘Thunder’. She was gonna be busy for another two hours so I said I’d waste time at the airport. I got some nasty pizza, wrote on the blog, facebook’d, and grindr’d, of course. At 5 pm I got on the express train to Stockholm city. As instructed, I then took the metro to my friend’s stop where she’d be waiting for my arrival. We walked a few blocks to her place and started our very lovely evening. We drank wine, smoked cigarettes and caught up. She made some lentils for dinner, we had some more wine, and smoked some more cigarettes. I told her about the blog. She suggested I read her an entry, and she’d play me a song. She is an unbelievably talented musician. I’m not being biased here, I’m just being honest. She also speaks 4+ languages (I forget the exact number), and she’s very bright, and well traveled. But enough about her good attributes here, she’s not perfect. For instance, she doesn’t own an iPod or any sort of mac product, and she’s not on Facebook. Ha.

The night was almost perfect. It was exactly what I needed (except for the iPod situation. I, of course, had forgotten to pack my charger and had left it in Paris and my worldwide web addiction was cursing my forgetful self for depriving me of a fully charged iPad). I don’t see her that often, we write emails every now and then, but due to her credo, I am not constantly updated of her life through Facebook, nor is she of mine. She didn’t know I had a massive beard. I didn’t know she was moving to the south of Sweden.

I like the connection we have. She understands to some degree my fucked up world view, and I understand hers. More wine. More cigarettes. Bed.

The next morning we had a quick breakfast, I finalized my plans with my other Svensk friends, updated my blog, and left her apartment. It was refreshingly nice to see her and even more refreshingly nice to spend some time in ‘medieval’ (as she put it) Sweden, with no sight of iPods, and no Facebook. It’s easy to forget how dependent and attached we are to these things.

I met up with ‘Titi’ at the train station. We walked over to ‘Mr. American Gothic’s’ “if I lived in Sweden I’d want to live in a place like this” penthouse apartment. It was really nice to see both of them again, especially since last time it was under work conditions, and this time it was just for fun. And fun it was. We chit chatted a bit and promptly left his apartment for some sushi in the park and drinks. Sadly, the weather, which I was loving, was not conventionally favourable for lunch at the park, so we went back to his’ and ate and drank there.

We decided we’d go shopping. They took me to a department store where I scored a pair of Thom Browne swim trunks. We made several pit stops along the day at different bars to refuel our buzz. It reminded me of our time in New York.

We walked back to his, and drank some more. They played card games, I fed my social networking addiction. It was time for bed and so me and ‘Titi’ left to her apartment, as it was decided by them I should do. Her apartment was not too far just across the ‘river’ (sea). They kept correcting me when I referred to the large bodies of water as rivers since, apparently, unlike most other European cities, Stockholm lacks rivers.

Unlike the previous night, this one was far from pleasant. It had nothing to do with my hosts. I barely slept two hours. I had a few crippling anxiety attacks. Nothing unusual, of course, but they’re never fun.

The next day I somehow managed to lift open my eyelids despite how tired I was. Me and ‘Titi’ had a typical Swedish breakfast, as I was quickly learning this was what Sweds usually have before noon. We made plans with ‘Mr. A.G.’ to maybe go to Fotografiska (the photo museum) to watch a Robert Mapplethorpe exhibit. We were late. We took a boat to the other side of this river/sea that divided their respective apartments. We briefly stopped at a couple local stores. We finally got to ‘Mr. A.G.’s’. More drinks. No museum. Instead, I’d decided I wanted to shave my beard and make a video out of it. We walked across the street to buy some clippers, and then a few blocks away to buy alcohol. Champagne bottle in one had, cigarettes in the other, and shirtless I was ready to be rid of my hair. ‘Mr. A.G.’ wore a leather blazes as he shaved my hair. I’ll eventually post the video online. I’m sure a few cliche gay men will wet themselves over it. I showered and nervously headed to a blind date ‘Titi’ had set up for me.

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21.06.2011

Grind Date No. 4: Twentyeight.

On my last day in Amsterdam, I woke up somewhat early. I had lots of things to accomplish that day. The previous days I had partied, rested, and dilly dallied and not really gotten anything done that should be done when you first visit a city. I fought my usual hang over the same way I usually do: juice, water, pastry.

The day consisted of the Anne Frank house, Stedelijk Museum (contemporary and modern art), the Van Gogh museum, Rijskmuseum (Dutch history and heritage), a bike ride through the park, and eating some raw herring. I accomplished 66% of my goal. Anne Frank’s house was emotional. Stedelijk Museum was closed for renovation… or so I thought… Later I found the actual museum, not the annex, and it was quite nice. Van Gogh was overpriced, but a must when visiting Amsterdam. Rijskmuseum was educational. Back to the hostel I went. There was no bike ride or raw herring.

I logged onto grindr and started talking to a few boys. I ended up making plans with one who worked really close to my place: ‘Twentyeight’. He suggested I go eat at a place not too far away from where he lived. He said he’d meet me for a drink after I ate and after he got off work. I googled the place and it sounded decent: a nice little vegetarian Indian place.

After my decent dinner (I’d been eating home made Indian food in Birmingham, this place stood no chance), we decided on meeting across the street at a place called ‘mustache bar’. ‘Twentyeight’ arrived promptly. First impression: he’s different and cute. He spoke really good English, unlike my previous encounter. We ordered a few rounds and had a very nice conversation.

After, he suggested we went to a karaoke place since we both didn’t feel like going out raging all night. We walked for about ten minutes to his place of choice. He’d warn me it was quite unique and with a very mixed crowd. This man spoke the truth. Unique is an understatement. Upon entering the bar I spotted two very grungy drag queens behind the bar, a few older drunk straight men, a couple of fags with their respective hags, and some average looking people. The karaoke was hilarious. We ordered drinks and chatted a bit more. It turns out his birthday is the day after mine, and his favorite number is 28. What are the fucking odds! I was starting to like this guy… not in the way that “I want to marry you”, but in the way that “yes, maybe I’ll come home with you”. After a few more rounds, I did.

He’d told me his friend signed him up for one of those “home makeover” shows, so I was intrigued to see the final result. His place was a bit messy. I didn’t mind. It was nice for being my second Dutch apartment I’d ever seen. We listened to music, drank some more wine, and started kissing. The kissing continued downstairs in his bedroom. As i was kissing him I felt bumps on his back. I was a bit concerned, but also a bit drunk and horny. The clothes came off. Another nice (although bent), big Dutch dick. Either I’m lucky or Dutch men are packing. We discussed “gay roles”. Turns out we’re both tops. ‘Twentyeight’ asked if I’d ever done poppers. I said yes. He offered. We sniffed. Smart move. Not. Fooled around some more. Oral sex. This time I did suck. He wanted me to fuck him, he claimed poppers turned him into a bottom, but to be honest, those bumps had my usual paranoia augmented. We ended up just jacking off. He bit my nipple very hard, and then came on my chest. I came on my chest as well. He rubbed my nipple after with the cum. Crazy old me started thinking the worst case scenario: he bit my nipple, I must have a minuscule cut, he rubbed semen on it, I will get HIV. He laid on my chest for a second. He asked if I’d spend the night but both my paranoia and the fact that I was leaving next morning convinced me to leave. I got dressed. We said goodbye and I started walking back.

On my way home, I texted Geordie-mo. He managed to calm me down superbly. To quote him: “unsafe sex is like fear of flying – when I get scared on the plane I just think of the trolly dollies who do it everyday”. I didn’t have unsafe sex, but the thought was comforting. I dozed off with minimal thoughts about the evening and a nice, post orgasm smile on my face.

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21.06.2011

Grind Date No. 3: Silver Fox.

Hung over. Again. My youthful body is starting to betray me. I wasn’t feeling much like doing anything so I laid in bed and went online. I managed to score a date with a 44 year old Dutch man. I didn’t have much time till my rendez vous so I got up, got dressed, bought juice, and walked to Nieuwmarkt to meet him. He asked “how will I know it’s you?”. I said “you’ll notice the beard”. He did.

We had lunch on the ‘tourist side’, as he stated, of Nieuwmarkt. I asked him for some insider tips on Amsterdam. He recommended a few spots to check out and offered to walk with me towards them since it was on the way to his place. Sly silver fox.

First impression: very handsome, despite his slimmy aura which was only enhanced by the mismatched track suit he was wearing.

We finished our food and I followed him as instructed. We got to his door step and he asked if I wanted to see what a Dutch apartment looks like. Despite my slight fear of walking into the unknown and potentially getting gang raped by a few men twice my age, or possibly ending up in a bathtub missing a kidney and having to dial 112 (that’s Dutch for 911), I obliged.

He had a beautiful apartment overlooking a quaint canal. I could tell he had money. He mentioned he had some high position at KLM (that’s Delta Air Lines in Dutch). To my surprise, although I don’t know why, ‘Silver Fox’ played some gaga. He offered a tour of his sleeping quarters. He asked to touch my, and I quote, “hairy chest”. I let him. He kept asking me to relax. I probably looked/acted a bit tense. We kissed. He felt my dick. I felt his. More kissing. Some nipple nibbling. More compliments to my hairy physique.

We got in bed. Through it all he was respectful, constantly asking me if I was ok and only doing what I wanted to do. We jacked off. He had a significantly big dick. We came and laid there for a second. He showered. We got dressed, and walked towards his gym.

He kept mentioning how “good looking” I was and what a “nice hairy body I had”. I told him he was extremely handsome, which he didn’t seem to believe. What is it about older men not being able to take compliments from us twentysomethings? It’s not the first time this has happened to me. I feel as if they think we’re mocking them when, in fact, call me crazy but I find handsome, mature men extremely arousing.

His gym was next to Rembrandthuis. He pointed the way to some photography museum I should check out. I vaguely paid attention because, really, it doesn’t make a difference. I’ll promptly forget the route given. We said goodbye and I slowly started walking towards my destination stalling so that he’d go into his gym. I wanted to take a picture of Rembrandthuis for when I’m older and I actually care about these touristy things, but I didn’t want to seem touristy in front of him (or anyone else for that matter). He dilly dallied as well so I gave up and just left.

I found FOAM (the photography museum). It was under remodelling and only half of it was open, and thus, half price. I saw some photos of an LA artist I briefly met a while ago called Luke Gilford. It was a nice surprise.

I walked back to the hostel and stopped by a tattoo shop for my mandatory ‘coordinates’ ink. I picked up a pita and some wine and ate at the ‘lobby’. That night I did the red light district pub crawl with ‘Finland’. I was supposed to go with some Canadian staying in my room, but he seemed like quite the inferior life form. Later on I discovered my first impression was on point. I had heard not much goes on on Monday nights so I figured the pub crawl would probably be my best bet at drinking myself to sleep that night, and also seeing a part of the city tourists are ‘supposed to see’. I could elaborate on the crawl, but I don’t want to give such things more importance than deserved. It was as much fun as such things can be.

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19.06.2011

Public Displays of A(sex)tion.

Apparently, I do porn now. I ended up on an alley just off Oxford street with my pants down having my dick (and other nether-regions) orally stimulated en plein aire. CCTV and all. Since when did such behaviour became ‘normal’ to me? Let’s back track a bit.

As soon as I got back to London, I stopped by Geordie-Mo’s flat to pick up my luggage. I had left it there because I couldn’t be bothered to drag it all the way to Birmingham and back considering I was barely gonna be there three days. I was also making plans with a friend of a friend to potentially meet up later that evening. I hurried to my hostel, checked in, left my bag in the locker provided, and quickly changed outfits (I was really sweaty and didn’t have time for s shower). I headed towards Shoreditch for my first taste of east London (among other things).

Upon exiting the tube station, I met my tour guide for the soiree: a tall, slender, aptly dresses Greek with a properly sexy British accent. Let’s call him ‘the kid’. He took me to a pizza place in the same building as Shoreditch house. We requested a table, but were told there was a 35 min. wait. We wrote down our name on their list and left to grab a drink at a nearby pub. We clicked right off the bat. Conversation flowed effortlessly. I have to say my friend had been right in stating me and ‘the kid’ would get along.

We finished our drink and headed back to the pizza place for our table. All in all, I had big expectations for the night and, coming from New York, I’d been wanting to try the ‘over the pond’ version of our famous pies. Again, not disappointed.

During dinner, I put ‘the kid’ through my usual boot camp of ‘questioning authority’, being ‘progressive’, and coming out. Basically, trying to break down whatever preconceived notions we have grown up with. He handled it well and long enough for me to notice I was doing it and to tone it down.

After dinner, he took me to a nice bar around the block that reminded me of ‘Apotheke’, a quaint little speak easy in New York with divine drinks. We downed a couple expensive libations and continued bar hopping. All in all, I was very satisfied with the east London nightlife.

We ended up at his place. It was late, we were drunk, and he suggested I spend the night rather than paying a 30+ quid cab ride. My alcohol induced amnesia prevents me from remembering the exact sequence of events, but I ended up sleeping on his bed and we kissed. No sex.

The next morning we payed in bed for a bit over an hour cuddling and kissing some more. He was soft. We got dressed and headed our separated ways. I had lunch with a friend. He had lunch with a client. We decided we’d hang out again upon my return.

Lunch with my friend was nice. I was running ubber late so, sadly, it only lasted half hour. After, I walked west along the Thames doing a bit of exploring, but also looking for the Tate Modern and Hayworth gallery. The Tate was great. Same stuff I’ve seen before, but they also were featuring a fantastic photo exhibit by a woman who’s name I forgot, but I’ll get back to you on that. I was supposed to meet my sister later that day so I skimmed through the rest of the rooms and headed off to the other gallery.

After walking for what seemed like ages (I never imagined London being this vast), I finally found Hayworth gallery. There was a Tracie Emin exhibit. I paid the pricey ticket (12£) despite being a bit reluctant to do so. It was worth every pence! I love this woman. I love her art. I love her pain.

I finally got back to the hostel. I took a shower, went on the internet, and waited for ages for my sister to come. She’d never been to London. I was planning on taking her to a nice dinner and a few bars. Unfortunately, her cheap boyfriend, and his even cheaper brother, who they were gonna stay with, spoiled my evening. We ended at Nando’s just down the road from the Victoria station. The whole time both men were complaining about money and Europe. The brother was married. His wife, a wonderful Polish girl who I connected with, saved my evening.

After being incredibly annoyed by both Neanderthalian siblings, I opted to instigate a bit by talking to the Polish girl in English about topics I was sure would hit soft spots. Being well aware that any primal male will revert to marking his territory when threatened by a more intelligent, better looking, younger specimen, I turned up the volume. He noticed. I ignored.

We finished eating and after a short, very futile attempt at finding an open pub around the area (because God forbid we venture into SoHo!) they left. I was annoyed at the waste of both my and my sister’s time. She didn’t speak up, so whatever, there was not much I could do. I was done feeding pearls to the swine.

I hurried back to the hostel to try and find someone to go out with. I phoned my mom and bitched about the evening. She saw my point. I saw this Korean girl who looked and dresses somewhat cool enough for me to consider her a possible candidate for the night, but to be honest, I was desperate, and I would’ve gone out with a crippled, albino, midget if need be. The Korean girl was with some pseudo, hippie, lezzy from Alaska, and a Korean guy she’d just met.

We took the bus to soho. Grabbed a drink at a Spanish pub and then went to good old ku bar off Leicester square. Ku bar was the first gay bar I ever went to in London the very first time I came and since then it’s always been a safe spot. I started to buy doubles. I wanted to get wasted fast. We met a French guy, a Puerto Rican, and a Brazilian. Hung out with them for a bit. Followed them to “heaven” (the club, not Jesus’s home) and then left them since they weren’t allowed in. They were incoherently drunk. We didn’t go into “heaven” either, instead we went back to hell.

Ku bar was kind of empty. There was this one guy (Coif), however, that I had seen when we first came and had made eye contact with. I bought more drinks, danced myself silly, and hung out with him and his friends. They invited me and my posse to an after party. The Koreans politely declined. The lesbian followed. At some point ‘coif’ asked me if I wanted to go with him to this place off Oxford street where you can rent a room to fuck. By this point we had already kissed. For some reason, I figured it would be fine. We ditched his friends and the lesbian and walk towards my slut closet. The place was closed. Coif grabbed my hand and took me to a nearby entryway. He pulled his pants down and so we began. He knew what he was doing. He’d done this before. We kissed, he sucked me, he rimmed my asshole and asked I return the favour. I have an issue sucking stranger dick. Asshole, on the other hand, not so much. In my head it seems ‘safer’. He wanted me to fuck him, but despite the fact that we didn’t have rubbers, I still wouldn’t have done it. I shot. He swallowed. He shot. The floor swallowed.

We walked over to get some food. Coif kept talking about his relationship with his ‘granny’, which I didn’t mind, and made me think he was a nice guy. He paid for my food. We left and walked to the bus stop. We were going opposite directions so we bid adieu.

On the way back, I didn’t think much about the incident. I think I’m relaxing my ways a bit. Whether this is good or bad I’m not sure, but it is what it is. I definitely need to monitor myself a bit more, but also, I think it’s a good thing that I’m not getting as much anxiety as I used to. There’s a saying in Spanish that goes “un clavo saca otro clavo“, it translates to “one nail takes out another nail”. I haven’t been thinking much about SF boy. I think I’m finally detoxing from his toxic bachelor ways. My newfound sluttyness must be helping. Also, I think I like a Mexican.

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Category: Anxiety