the.applied.process.

wit. honesty. everyday ramblings.

Category: Family

So Happy I Could Die.

“Just give in, don’t give up baby, open up your heart and your mind to me. Just know when that glass is empty that the world is gonna bend.”

The first forty-eight hours of the second week of holiday parties were great. Despite the massive panic attack I had Monday night where for the first time I had to call my parents, I enjoyed the quality couple’s alone time we had decided to schedule earlier in the week, as well as the rest of the holiday parties we were planning to attend till the day I left for California. And thus it begins…

It all started very routinary, we woke up, fooled around, showered, and I laid in bed as my boyfriend went to work. I dilly dallied for a bit, but started the day at around 11am. I took ‘Toto’ to the vet to get his health certificate for our upcoming California trip, went back home and continued gathering paperwork, and had another skype session with my shrink. I mentioned how I’m not sure about the medication and how my dad is still suggesting I go for a more natural solution. The funny thing is part of my whole issues I guess has to do with constantly seeking approval from my dad, and I’m doing it again by asking if he thinks I should take Prozac or not…. I bought the prescription but I haven’t started to take the pills.

After therapy, I spent about half an hour going through both ‘Nickle’ and my pictures on Facebook. Bad idea. I started to get a bit of anxiety because, being the lunatic sadomasochist I am, I started to wonder and ponder about the previous men in his life. Why? I don’t know. I also don’t know why I even bothered to do so, I’m usually very good about not using Facebook to stalk and find out things that are better kept unfound. I managed to stop before it got crazy, told myself it’s all fine because I also have a past, and decided to leave my apartment to go x-mas shopping.

I headed to Saks to get my mom her staple limited edition Flowerbomb holiday bottle, and then walked to Barnes and Noble to find books for people on my list. It is a belief of mine to give books because I find them personal and I think reading is one of the best things one can do. On my way to the store I received a phone call from my dad with some bad news which set the anxiety off almost instantly. I went from being stable to full on panic mode in about a block’s walk. Have you ever walked down a buzzy street feeling so anxious that you’re about to pass out and nothing makes sense? I have. Often. Except this time it was worse. I felt dizzy, I felt weak, I felt like I was going blind, I felt paralyzed.

I mustered up the mental strength to tell my right hand to reach into my pocket and pull out my cellphone. I dialed ‘Jose Maria’ who lives near by and asked him to join me for a drink. I was getting nauseous and, although it’s probably not the best solution to a panic attack, it’s a quick fix and I know it works. He mentioned he was cooking dinner and couldn’t come meet me plus he didn’t think I should imbibe. In retrospect I agree. I insisted and he told me he’d start getting ready and I should call him in 10 minutes if I still felt anxious.

I hung up the phone and almost instantly texted him saying I’d just go home instead. I had more errands to run. I got on the subway and headed back to Brooklyn. I picked up some groceries and started cooking dinner for my date night with ‘Nickle’. I was determined to redeem myself since the first time I cooked for him turned out to be subpar. This time, my spinach pasta with faux bolognese sauce was going to work out.

My boyfriend showed up at our door (yes, I’ve decided that’s what I’m going to start calling my place) at around 8pm just in time for me to finish cooking. Spring mix with ricotta and balsamic vinagrette followed by the fusili and chased down with red wine all whilst I stared at his piercing greyish blue eyes. Once we were done, we moved to the couch where we had more wine and some sexy time and then we passed out.

Being the unstable sleeper I am, I woke up at 1am and dragged us both to bed. Before falling back asleep, I had a bit of an anxiety attack. He held me and kissed me to try and make it better but that didn’t help. I calmed down for a nano second and then it came back stronger. This time I got up and went to the living room. I was freaking out about errands I still needed to do and just having completely irrational “worse case scenario” thoughts. I caught a grip and went back to bed. Almost as soon as I laid down it started for the last time but unbelievably strong and crippling. I got up and went to the living room to call my mother. It was that severe. I have never called my parents before for something like this but as soon as she picked up I couldn’t even speak. Eventually I started crying and she desperately tried to calm me down. She then asked to talk to ‘Nickle’ who reassured her I was fine and he’d be there with me. Per her medical advice, I drank some chamomile and lavander tea. My dad called me as soon as I hung up the phone with my mom and also talked me out of my fit. I’m not sure if it was something chemical that just needed to happen or if the tea actually helped (I’m often skeptical), but I managed to fall asleep shortly after.

Tuesday morning I woke up feeling terrible. I was exhausted. I was embarrassed. I was emotional. My unbelievably supportive boyfriend mentioned it was all fine and I had no reason to feel any of that. We took a shower and then we sucked each other’s dicks. I still had x-mas shopping to do so I told him I’d get an early start and head to the city with him when he went to work. I like when we take morning train rides together.

At Union Square he went downtown and I went uptown. The first stop was FAO Schwarts where I had a muppet version of ‘Nickle’ made to order. I called ‘Jose Maria’ to see if he was up and if he wanted to join me for breakfast as I waited for the muppet to be put together. He first hung up on me, but later called back and agreed to meet. I walked over to Lexington and 70th street to a little corner cafe where he was waiting inside with a half hung over face. I mentioned the long night I had, he continued to reassure me everything would be ok, and we enjoyed some overpriced coffee and pastries. I asked him to come with me as I tried to find a gift for ‘The Lady of Derbishire’ who was graduating later that week and had invited me to the ceremony. He didn’t want to but after a bit of convincing and mentioning how I miss hanging out he agreed.

We walked around the upper west side with absolutely no luck at all. I decided I wanted to get her a bright yellow scarf and a book about journalism (her Master’s Degree). Do you know how hard it is to get either of those too? At some point, ‘Jose Maria’ gave up and I walked around a bit more till I ended at Saks where I found the first of the damn things. I then went to Barnes and Noble and asked for the book. Deja vu. They didn’t have it. I was looking for “The Sun and the Moon” and the only copy Barnes and Noble carried in the whole city was at their Upper West Side branch. I had to go to work so I couldn’t go over there but somehow I remembered to call McNally Jackson in SoHo where I could certainly stop on my way to or from work and pick up the copy if it existed. It did and right before getting to the office I completed my gift mission.

Work was fine. ‘BoGo’ was being lazy and emailed she wouldn’t be coming in which annoyed me but at the same time I took as a blessing. I love it when it’s just me and my coworker ‘McGuire’.

At some point in the afternoon ‘Nickle’ texted to ask if I wanted to go see the x-mas tree at Rockefeller once we got out. Of course I obliged. We met up at around 6:30pm and took the train uptown for my second time that day. Yes, it was pretty magical. Pictures, kisses, and sappy romantic behavior happened. I was still a bit tender from the night before but I felt significantly better having him there.

After the tree, he decided to take me to a noodle restaurant in Midtown. We sipped on some Japanese soup, shot some sake, and I believe we went home straight after. We were spent.

Wednesday was appointment tripletsies day. ‘Fixie’, ‘Nickle’, and I all had Doctor’s appointments. We got up really early feeling a bit more hung over than usual, managed to take a shower, and took the train to the city together again. I got off at Union Square where I walked over to the Doctor’s office. The lovely man managed to forget to let me know that he had to reschedule the appointment because he was out of town on a family emergency. I walked back to the train and headed back to Brooklyn because I didn’t have anything to do.

I didn’t stay long at my apartment, I wasted time on Facebook and headed back to the city for ‘The Lady of Derbishire’s’ graduation. I told work I’d be running late for that purpose so after the commencement which, by the way, was one of the most streamlined and pleasant ones I’ve ever been to, I stuck around for the after party. Bad hors d’oeuvres, two glasses of cheap wine, and about an hour later I decided to be responsible and head to the office. When I got there, ‘BoGo’ was absent. What a surprise.

The anxiety had been present the whole morning. Work wasn’t fun and again, I kept trying to figure out excuses to leave early. At around 5:30pm I decided I had to get to the post office before it closed to mail out some catalogues. I bid my annoying boss and my lovely coworker farewell and walked up towards Union Square. The post office was a mess and I hate holiday shippers. It actually took me significantly longer than expected. Finally, after close to an hour I left to walk over to Upstate, a bar on 1st and 6th where ‘Nickle’s’ firm was having their holiday party and he had invited me to be his +1. I like that we’re doing holiday parties together.

The evening was fine. I was still having a bit of anxiety, but not as much as the previous days. I guess it’s very cyclical?

Earlier that day, my man had suggested we head to “The Church” after the party. I was a bit hesitant because I was tired and I also didn’t know how I felt about going to a bar where I used to go regularly and where I know I’d run into familiar asses. Somehow during the holiday party I decided I’d be fine. We walked over for a drink. ‘Judy’ joined. I kind of felt like he was mad at me for a second but I was drunk so I didn’t really pay much attention to it. I said hi to the regulars, and asked to go back to Brooklyn. I was spent.

We all hailed a cab and took the Williamsburg bridge home. Naturally, before going to bed we made a final pit stop at The Abbey. Neither ‘Nickle’ or I remember what exactly happened or for how long we were there for, but I assume it wasn’t anything too crazy, we were just significantly intoxicated by that point.

Thursday morning we had to wake up early again. I had my rescheduled Doctor’s appointment and ‘Nickle’ had to go upstate for work. He left before 8am. I took another nap and woke up an hour later to be out of my place by 10am. The appointment took significantly longer than expected. I waited for about an hour and a half in the reception amidst gay guys, fruit flies, and STD pamphlets. Peculiarly and completely coincidentally, my Doctor is very gay friendly.

Well past noon he gave me the needed shot, and I left his office to head to work where I was supposed to be an hour earlier for a staff meeting. Although my bosses were not mad at me, I felt a bit bad that I’ve been slacking lately. The meeting, orchestrated by ‘BoGo’, went surprisingly better than I expected. It kind of rekindled my love for my job, and gave me some sort of hope that things might get better.

The day went by rather quickly. That evening we were having my holiday work party. We started having some drinks right after we closed, ‘Nickle’ showed up about half hour after, and at around 9pm we went across the street for a very traditional Chinese family style feast. The party was fun. We played that game where you have a post it with the name of someone famous glued to your forehead and you have to guess who you are. According to ‘BoGo’, I was Andy Rooney. I’m not from this country and I’m in my 20’s, I had no idea who he was. We drank some weird Chinese liquor that tastes like what I imagine Asian spunk would, and I got inappropriately drunk which I didn’t care because so did my boss. One by one everyone started leaving and after about 2 hours, ‘Nickle’ and I went for a nightcap across the street with ‘The Lady of Derbishire’ and her beau.

I blacked out again.

As expected, we woke up on Friday to another bad case of hang overs. We put ourselves back together and headed to work. I had a really really bad case of anxiety again. Per ‘Bogo’s’ suggestion, ‘McGuire’ missed work to sleep off her illness. I believe she had the flu or something. I didn’t mind because that meant that I was by myself and if I needed to have a fit I could do so. I talked to my dad about why I’d been having worse attacks lately. I mentioned that I thought it had to do with the natural alternative he suggested I take as opposed to the Prozac because I had read online that for a small percentage of people that can happen. He told me to stop taking it and see if that helped.

My lazy boss was running late. I had a hair appointment to make at 2:15pm so at around 2:10pm I texted her to let her know that I needed to leave for a bit and would close the place for the duration of my haircut. She replied saying she was on the way and I locked and left the office. I know it’s not very professional of me. I love my job but sometimes it’s hard to care when those above you don’t.

I returned with a new do to a very annoying rest of the day. Even though she has her own office, she decided she’d seat by me for most of the afternoon. Again, I tried to device and excuse to leave early and realized the shipping stuff is usually a great one. I mentioned I had to go drop off something at FedEx before they closed at the imaginary time I decided was their business hours and so I’d be leaving before 7pm. Karma is a bitch and FedEx, just like the post office two days before, was really packed. I wasted another 40 minutes.

At around 7:30pm I finally shipped the package and headed to Solas to meet ‘Nickle’ for a drink before we went to the last of the Holiday parties (or so I thought). Two Jack and gingers later we were on our way to the west 4th train to go uptown for ‘Nickle’s’ friend ‘Spirit Animal’s’ annual holiday party. Right before getting to the station I suggested we go to ‘Fixie’s’ birthday party first because it was closer and made more sense and so we did.

Of course my dear friend decided to show up late to his own party which would’ve been fine but I could sense that ‘Nickle’ was getting a bit antsy and wanted to go to his friend’s because all of his friends were texting him and I didn’t want to give him more reasons to want to leave. However, after ‘Fixie’ showed up and we had a giant one liter beer and some German snacks, he chilled out.

As promised, we left after an hour to head uptown for the last stop of the night.

‘Spirit Animal’s’ holiday party was more fun than I’d expect. In a way, it was a bit more organized than I would assume it would be, or maybe I was just more relaxed to go with whatever was throw at me. Regardless, I had a blast. Like I’ve said before, it’s always nice to go where everybody knows your name, and it’s even nicer if not only do they know it but they also love and anticipate your arrival. That’s exactly how ‘Nickle’s’ friends, who I guess are now mine as well, made us feel. In true ‘Nickle’onian matter, we proceeded to drink lots and lots of beers and maybe a couple of shots. Later that night, we moved the furniture around and danced like complete idiots to a menagerie of Rihanna, Lady Gaga, and Beyonce.

Towards the end end of the night, we got a bit sappy and talked about marriage. Not to each other but they idea of it, and if we’d ever been proposed before. Turns out we both have. It also turns out that stung quite hard. I don’t know why because like I said we both have, but I guess sometimes I’m insecure and I stupidly feel like I’m running behind. I shouldn’t compare myself but I can’t help but do it. Especially when irrational me kicks in, then it’s all gone and lost till I manage to snap back to reality.

And I did. I snapped back, danced some more, and enjoyed the rest of Friday’s holiday parties. We took a cab home and were sound asleep before 3 in the morning.

Having going to bed earlier than usual, we woke up quite energized. We had sex first thing in the morning, then we made breakfast, and then we had sex again. It was supposed to be my last day in New York before flying home for the holidays on Sunday and I really did not care if I was late or not so I just went with the flow. I think I was only about 30 minutes behind.

Work sucked but it was endurable. As I mentioned, it was my last day before a long break so I just kept telling myself: just a few more hours. We had made plans to go to Dyker Heights to see the x-mas decorations that evening, and so as soon as the time to leave was approaching I texted ‘Nickle’ to see if we were still on for that. I had a feeling we weren’t. He mentioned he was having dinner with ‘Clive’, ‘Gwen’, and her family at The Meatball Shop in Williamsburg and I said I’d meet them there. At that moment, I realized the x-mas light bike ride was not going to happen, which was fine because I was pretty exhausted, yet at the same time I don’t like when plans are broken like that. I expected the last night with my boyfriend to be extra special with just me and him for at least part of it.

I arrived at the restaurant to a very welcoming crowd. I’d never met ‘Gwen’s’ family but they greeted me with great excitement. I know I’m an awesome guy, but I do attribute a lot of this to the fact that my man is very loved and everybody’s very happy to see him very happy. We had a drink and some food and then discussed the bike ride. He mentioned going to The Abbey for a drink before Dyker Heights. I was thirsty and somewhat in the mood to compromise so I agreed. It also didn’t help that I was pretty tired and cold and kind of looking for a reason not to go.

While at The Abbey, ‘Nickle’ noticed my disappointment in potentially not going to see the lights. He suggested we finish our drink and go home to get our bikes. Again, I was cold, but I do like pushing myself at times for special occasions.

We ended up at my apartment being lazy and lovey dovey and drinking a six pack of beer. We went back and forth between going and not going but we eventually mutually decided not to. I texted ‘Fixie’ and ‘Jose Maria’ to see if they wanted to meet for a drink before I headed to California. ‘Fixie’ did with his circumsised beau, ‘Jose Maria’ gave me a bunch of excuses.

Back to The Abbey it was for a few more beers, shots, and a very blurry rest of the night. Next thing I know? I’m waking up on the couch at 7 in the morning a bit mad at ‘Nickle’ for letting me sleep there as opposed to next to him the last night I was going to spend with him in 11 days, but then again I can’t complain. I was a drunk mess and so was he.

Sunday bloody Sunday. We woke up still drunk from the night before. I didn’t want to leave that day so I casually threw out the idea of staying till the next morning. Naturally, ‘Nickle’ was all about it. I put a bit more thought into it and decided that I needed some liquid courage to pay the extra fees to change the flight. We concluded that I would go get us coffee while I walked Nigel and he’d have the whiskey and breakfast ready.

And so I did, Irish Coffee in hand we had some food and opened the rest of my presents. They were, to say the least, very very meaningful and thoughtful. ‘Nickle’, however, apologized for not being very romantic because he thought of getting me jewelry and then decided he wouldn’t. The funny thing is that I do notice a bit of a difference the gay generational gap creates between us. He’s a different kind of gay than I am and it’s moments like this that make me giggle. I told him not to be silly, romantic to me does not mean you get me a nice bracelet, I won’t wear it. Romantic is finding me a vintage catalogue of a Mexican Illustrator that we discovered on our first visit to The Met Together. Romantic is ordering me a guitar pic from my favorite band in the world Blink 182 and somehow giving it a new meaning for what was written on it. And yes, romantic is getting us matching beer bottle opener rings, it’s jewelry and it’s practical. I love my man.

Of course after the gift exchange we decided to thank each other by fooling around.

After our second cup of Irish Coffee I had mustered up enough balls to pay 260 bucks and spend a few more hours with the boyfriend. The rest of the day we decided we’d spend together drinking. Wise, wise choice.

First stop was his work where we spent a hefty two hours filling out and packing my x-mas cards. This year I found vintage x-mas romance novels at a thrift store in which I included my signature picture of me and ‘Toto’ in bookmark version, and a written personal season’s greeting on the book cover. We didn’t have time to mail them so I left them all for him to do later. We left his office and headed to the East Village for the second stop: Tattoos.

Before any judgment is passed, I just want to say that yes, we got couples tattoos, and no, it wasn’t a drunken decision. We had both thought about it long time ago, and we were completely aware of the superstitious implications of doing so. I told him that even if we were to brake up the second after, the moments I’ve spent with him is enough for me to be glad to have gotten a permanent mark and… if it really doesn’t work it it’s ok. It’s just his middle initial (he got mine) and I told him I happen to have a track record of dating guys who’s name begins with the same letter so I’m sure there’ll be more. He laughed.

We left the tattoo shop with our new brand of love and walked over to Bar 82 for yet another holiday party. I believe this one was the last one. Elaborating on our brilliant moment of eureka we’d had that morning, we continued to drink heavily. We decided we’d get wasted and go home early so we could wake up in time for him to drive me to the airport at 6 in the morning. We called both ‘Lego’, one of ‘Nickel’s’ friend, and ‘Jose Maria’ who came to join us at slightly different times.

First ‘Lego’ showed up for a couple of rounds, then we left for Solas where ‘Jose Maria’ met up. From there on it gets blurry. Talking to ‘Jose Maria’ I discovered we went to Ten Degrees for a split second. We didn’t even have a drink. Then to Lucy’s around the corner to play some drunken pool. And lastly, and this is debatable, we might’ve ended up at The Abbey because, according to ‘Jose Maria’, we coerced ‘Lego’ to come with for one last round. Then again, I wouldn’t be surprised if we just left him there and went home. We don’t remember but we’re pretty sure that’s what happened.

Our 2011 holiday season together ended. The next morning I was going on a trip to California and Mexico. Was I excited? Not really. I love the city and I love my man, couldn’t bare the thought of spending 11 days without… then again, what else could I do? I still feel obligated to see my parents for x-mas. This year, however, will be the last. I’ve started to build an adult life of my own and I think next year it’ll really be up to me to go back, pressure or not.

“Happy in the club with a bottle of red wine, stars in our eyes ‘cuz we’re having a good time. So happy I could die.”

Advertisements

Family, Fuck Buddies, and Fuckin’ Beyonce!

Monday night my sister had a layover in Newark and missed her connecting flight to Spain. For some bizarre illogical reason my parents asked me to book her a room at a nearby hotel room rather than her taking a cab over to Brooklyn and sleeping at my place. She wasn’t leaving till the next day at 9 pm, but apparently, common sense doesn’t run in this family. I thought it did. I downed a few buck-a-piece PBRs and forgot about the situation.

The next morning, I get a call from her saying she’s coming to New York. I tell her to take a cab. Five minutes later she calls me back saying she’s taking the train because they told her a cab would be $120. Again, I know she’s never been to New York, but she’s well traveled, how the hell does that make sense?! A cab to and from Newark is never more than four Jacksons ($20 dollar bills for my international readers, although I’m quite certain that most Americans don’t know that either). Regardless, I headed to Penn Station to wait for her. I called her as soon as I arrived. She hadn’t even left Jersey! I wanted to shoot myself because, if you know me, you know how impatient I am especially when it’s about common sense situations. She finally arrived, and we started the day.

** side note: me and my sister don’t have a close relationship at all. On the contrary, we never talk, and it wasn’t really till she turned 18 and I was 23 that we begun to barely hang out. Before, we just didn’t. Furthermore, I would probably drown in roll over minutes if her number was the only one I could dial. I know I’m like that with my parents, but not as severe. It is not that I don’t love her, it is just how we grew up. Regardless, just like my friends, the moment I see her it’s like I saw her the day before. **

My 5-hour-first-time-visitor-quick-tour-of-New-York started with a walk through the sea of tourists that is Times Square. I’m not sure if she was afraid of what I would say or if she just didn’t care, but she did not ask to stop for a photo op (thank GOD!). We just swam through the crowd and boarded the 50th street 1 train uptown to Columbus Circle. I pointed out the city’s top restaurant (according to the S. Pellegrino’s World 50 Best Restaurants) Per Se, she’s a chef so she likes these things. We strolled through the park till we arrived at 5th ave. I showed her the now under remodel Apple store. She wanted to buy some shoes so, naturally, I took her to Bergdorf’s. No luck. Then we walked to Rockefeller Center, went to the top floor, and took pictures of the view which, to me, is the best as far as rooftops in New York go.

We carried on with our shoe hunt, which lead us to Saks. She found a pair of Choo Shoes she liked but they weren’t available in her size. We walked to the Choo shop, but it was closed. Finally, we headed towards the 6 train and stopped at Bloomingdale’s where she purchased some cute Prada flats. We got on the train and off at Grand Central Station. She took a few pictures and ended up at the Bar à Huîtres indulging in some oysters, mussels, clams, and crustaceans. We had a nice chat about my dad’s crazy and annoying family.

Her time was running out. I took her to my apartment really fast so she could see my dog and some of Brooklyn. We didn’t stay long. We headed back to the city and ate a lite early dinner at DBGB because, as I stated, she’s a fan of certain chefs, in this case Daniel Boulud. The food was nice. I called her a car and off she went on a $58 ride back to Newark. I haven’t talked to her since.

I went back to Brooklyn and ended up wasting time till I met ‘Fixie’ for some Criff Dogs and drinks. We biked to a couple of bars ending up at Metropolitan. A couple acquaintances of him were there. We chatted with a guy I find attractive but happens to be a male hustler (probably subconsciously why I like him). He was there with two of his friends from Wisconsin. To say they were all odd is an understatement. We decided to leave after 2.5 drinks and some awkward conversation. I was going to ask him to come over, but he had plans so we said goodbye. I went home alone and slightly sad I didn’t get to sleep next to him. I still like him a lot.

Wednesday I worked. It was a very very long day. I received a message in the morning from a friend of a friend back in LA who happens to live in New York. I had messaged her months ago before I moved here because my friend had said we’d get along. After almost a year she finally responded. She was having her birthday party at some karaoke bar in Korea Town. I told her I’d stop by for a bit, but I had to go to my “Wednesday Religious Service” at 11ish. After work, I went home, took a half hour nap and called ‘The Lady of Derbyshire’ to come with to watch drunk Asians sing White songs. The girl who invited me was really nice. Another girl I knew from back home was there. I don’t know why that surprised me. The Koreans, just like the gays, all seem to know each other.

The crowd was very young and kind of annoying in a “I’m no longer in my early twenties, but they are” kind of way. Birthday girl was complaining about turning 24. We left after two beers and four songs. I walked ‘The Lady of Derbyshire’ back towards her place and my train. I was asked for a cigarette by this crazy black woman (I am not trying to be offensive here, she really was black. That was a joke BTW). I gave her one, then she asked me for a lighter. I didn’t want to give her one because she looked crazy and a bit dirty so I said I didn’t have one. She got mad and ripped the cigarette to pieces in front of my eyes. I was shocked and I wanted to scream: “Bitch you know how much cigarettes cost in New York?!” but I didn’t because she was scary. I got on the train and headed to the East Village. I was on a mission.

The train was running express from Union Square to Brooklyn Bridge so I got off and walked to the bar. I didn’t have to work the next day. I was intending on spending some quality sexy time with DJ. The bar was nice. I got free drinks and socialized with the regulars. Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name. DJ was there with two Spanish friends who were a couple in an open relationship (shocker!) and spoke very minimal English. Per his request, I entertained them. I could tell one of them was into him. I kissed DJ and went outside with the Spaniards to smoke un cigarro. They decided to leave so they went inside to say their goodbyes. The younger of the two made out with DJ in front of me and his beau. Again, I did not care. I hung out with DJ some more and kissed him again. I like that he’s always telling everyone how cute I am. He said he liked that I had manners a.k.a. I was ok with him kissing others. I told him it was fine. I think I kissed someone too that night. We made out in the bathroom. His coworkers made fun of us. His friend was staying over so I suggested we go back to my place. He agreed. We left close to 4am and cabbed it to Brooklyn.

He’d never been to my place. We kissed and fooled around a bit but nobody came. My dog was acting very crazy and I was a bit paranoid that DJ was gonna be annoyed. As I told him, he is a JAP. He proudly admitted he was. We woke up around 8. His initial reaction: taking a couple of seconds to realize where you are, was hilarious and familiar. I’ve been there. We slept a bit more and woke up again at 11. I offered to get him a smoothie when I walked my dog. He suggested we get brunch (another first for us). I lent him some shorts to spare him from the walk of shame as he was wearing some tight zebra print biker shorts. We walked to DuMont for some eggs in his case, and gazpacho and a salad in mine. He was acting very cute. He said he never stays over at other people’s places nor does he seem them in the daylight. I am not sure what to make of that. I liked it, but at the same time it was a bit outside my comfort zone with him. I think he likes me likes me. We talked about boys in a very unconventional way. I think most guys would not be comfortable conversing about other sex partners and dates with the guy they just slept with. It doesn’t bother me.

He went home right after. He said he was djing near my apartment on Friday so I told him I’d stop by and pick up my shorts. He said he could maybe stop by my work on Friday and drop em off (another first!). We kissed goodbye. I’m starting to like this whole making out right outside the train station situation.

I went home and purchased Beyonce tickets. I wrote on the blog, cleaned up a bit, ran some errands and took a nap.

At around 7pm I headed to the Meatpacking to meet up with my friend friend who was to be my “date” for the show. We ate at The Dinner and cabbed it to Roseland Ballroom for, as I stated when I checked in, “the OTHER black party”. I don’t think anyone got my joke on Facebook. The show was amazing. I love Beyonce and, although I wished she’d performed more songs off “I Am Sasha Fierce”, I was quite pleased. “End of Time” and ” Countdown” sufficed.

Regretfully, she didn’t do an encore. We left the show and he cabbed it home. I cabbed it to the Lower East Side to meet up with the Frenchies and ‘John G’, who was pissed because they wouldn’t let him in to The Box. If you ask me, who cares! I hate that place. The Frenchies stayed at The Box and I walked with ‘John G’ to 2nd and 2nd. We had a couple of drinks at The Cock. The bartender, also a bartender at Eastern Bloc, gave me a free drink. We left promptly.

I drunkenly texted DJ to see if he was up. He didn’t replied so I took a taxi home.

I woke up this morning and got ready for work. It’s been a slow day. I’ve been on Facebook and writing on here for the past 5 hours. DJ hasn’t come. For some bizarre reason I’m really enjoying my life right now. The anxiety is still there, but I’ve had a different take on the situation. I think I have a lot to be grateful for. I think I’m gonna go to San Francisco for labor day. I think I’m gonna see DJ again tonight. I’ve also been giggling a lot. That’s that.

 

EDIT: DJ just texted he’s coming over in 20 minutes. HA!

Post-mo? Post-no!

I read this a few weeks ago and my fickle self had been meaning to write a response to how I felt when I first read it. It took me a while but, since it’s raining and my evening plans are no more, without longer ado, and rather than boring you with more of the same drinks/cigarettes/clubs/sex monotonous BS, here it is:

Let’s just start by saying that I find the writer a bit conflicted. I’m almost sure of where he stands, but like I said, only almost. I mostly agree with his points, and I find it really weird that the article turned out to be quite controversial. Where is freedom of expression? And are we really just bitter old queens who are pissed that we had to fight for what we have now, and the newer generation doesn’t? (by we I mean the people who felt the need to leave negative comments. I agree with Paul “I’m not fighting the good fight. It was never mine to fight.”)

Second, what the hell is going on with the pictures of all these men?! It seems like they chose a smorgasbord of the different “flavors” of gays available. I guess they didn’t write the article, but like Paul said, being gay should be secondary or even tertiary, to me they seem like they make it a priority to show it, and again, I might be biased, because I guess I do identify with the more “straight looking/acting” homosexuals out there. The difference is, I always have. I’m gay because I like MEN. This is not a new trend for me, although I will admit that somewhere in my late teens, early 20’s I did give in to shaving religiously and making it a bit apparent I was gay. One way or another, we all have. On a side note, I came out when I was 20, not sure if that’s late or early, but I find it appropriate.

So basically we are talking about how we have it so easy right? And how we seem uninterested and somewhat ungrateful about the past? Well I can definitely say that’s not my case, nor is it the case of plenty of my fellow twenty-somethings here in NYC. I still believe we have a long way to go to get to proper acceptance of homosexuality. New York, as I’m assuming Toronto is (I’ve never been), is pretty liberated. I used to live in LA and although they too are very open minded, I didn’t see as many gays everywhere. I feel they stick to their neighborhoods perhaps, but here I can’t say I spend more than 5 minutes without looking at a fellow ‘mo when I walk down the street. Sure I live in Williamsburg, and I work in SoHo, but still, we are everywhere (as long as you don’t venture into areas where it takes a half hour+ train ride to get to Union Square, but that’s a whole different story).

Like I said, I’m somewhat confused with where he’s going. He’s trying to pitch a new term, the post-mo, and being far too stereotypical about it, and thus ending up with yet another stereotype. I don’t identify with this post-mo. I’m not careless, I’m not reckless, I’m not disinterested in gay rights, I didn’t have it super easy growing up, I’m not big into pride, I’m not big into cliches either. I agree, being gay is secondary, but it is part of who I am and I embrace it, both the good and the bad things that come with it. I feel he is just being antagonistic and trying to prove that he’s anything but typically gay, and it doesn’t go with what he’s trying to achieve, which I assume should be making “gay” a sexual preference and not a defining characteristic. It is never good to be black and white.

More than a direct back and forth between what he said and what I think, I am just going to state how I feel as a gay man in different aspects of my life and hope that gets the point across.

As I’ve stated, I came out when I was 20, I didn’t come from a completely radical PFLAG family. We are Mexicans and, although quite educated, still somewhat attached to the culture and what it entails. My dad constantly made homophobic jokes and hinted that he’d want nothing to do with me if I was gay. Naturally, a teenager would be somewhat scared of exploring his sexuality if threats like these were made. I also went to Christian School where I was constantly reminded it was a sin to “get to know” (as it is stated in Biblical terms) someone of the same sex.

I had my first urges when I was around 11 and, no, I am sorry but I can’t say that I always knew I was gay because when I was 5 I would get turned on by the pictures on baseball cards (as one of my ex’s stated), that was not me. I remember watching a porn at a friend’s house and thinking “hey, that dick is kinda turning me on”, and it started then. Yes, I agree with Paul, the internet has made it extremely easy for us. I surfed the shit out of the macy’s website looking at pictures of dudes in their underwear, and later when I was a bit more adventurous, online porn. I had my first gay experience when I was about 13 with my best friend/neighbor at the time. He suggested we jack each other off, and finally after his third attempt during a slumber party, I gave in. Of course I felt guilty and dirty the next morning, and rightfully so, aside from the obvious omne animal post coitum triste, it had been engrained in my head that what I was doing was wrong (not to mention my crazy overprotective father thinking that most gay men will eventually contract HIV… but more on that later). When I was 15, I had a stalker situation that both scared me and intrigued me, he was older and looking back at it, it was dangerous, but thankfully nothing happened. My mom found out but we didn’t talk it about it. I wasn’t that close to my parents till I came out.

Of course I was pretty much in the closet, even to myself, till I was 18 and I moved out. After my first man on man kiss I went a bit crazy. Blow jobs in a public bathroom stall, instant crushes, anilingus, but still no sex. It was the last strike till I came to terms with who I was, and also I was trying to give the “first time” the very stupid importance we all do. Finally, when I turned 20 and moved to LA I met my first boyfriend, had sex, and came out. My mom was completely fine with it, she already knew. My dad was different. I told him a few weeks later whilst they were visiting me in LA. As expected, he went ape shit. He threatened to cut me off and, instead of me caving in, I bitched back at him by saying: “you don’t want me in your life for being gay?! well I don’t want you in mine for being a close-minded bigot!” and left his hotel room. He called me the next day to apologize and every since then it’s just been getting better and better. He’s even given my ex a christmas present he purchased himself.

And with this I come to my first point. The battle is far from won. There is still a lot more to do. I’ve never been big on pride or gathering a weekend each summer to “celebrate it”. I don’t like pride of any kind for that matter. Gay, brown, white, whatever, it’s just another reason to segregate and alienate. I do enjoy the parties tho, but it wasn’t untill I lived in Paris and my straight friends wanted to go to pride that I started seeing it as just a big party, and not just a reason to parade my homosexuality  to end up sleeping with someone that night. I often wonder how many people get carried away, party too hard, and end up with some disease the day after pride, but then again that’s just crazy old hypochondriac me. Yet I see a point in the whole shenanigans. I constantly tell my friends, especially those who are not out but who’s parents obviously know, that if it’s not for them, then do it for others. I was really moved the past year by all the stories of suicide because of gay bullying. We’ve all been there, and thankfully I live in New York Fuckin’ City and I very rarely deal with that, but all those poor kids in the midwest have it hard. I went to visit my ex’s family one time in Wisconsin. My ex isn’t (or wasn’t last time I talked to him over a year and a half ago) out to his parents, although they know. They personally invited me to come visit, so they know. However, my ex’s sister has a friend who is very very effeminate. The kid has long blond hair and dresses in girl clothes. He’s been beat up so many times that they told him at school he couldn’t go there anymore because they couldn’t protect him, yet he’s out there being who he is. What a fuckin’ testament of both pride, and the need to change people’s minds. Again, that’s why I tell my friends, if not for you, then for them. Expose others, especially your loved ones, to the fact that being gay is not aberrant so that slowly, but surely, things can change. You don’t have to wear rainbow flags and hold hands in public, just be proud of who you are. I agree, Paul, pride is not what it was, but we shouldn’t just cross our arms and let it continue to decay.

On the other hand, I also don’t agree with the ubber proud gays. The ones who choose not to befriend straight people. I can think of two friends of mine who are very much like that. One of them said to me “I’d rather help a gay than a straight”. It baffles me to hear such thing. Really?! So are we fighting fire with fire here? Who’s supposed to be the bigger person, because I think everyone should strive for that, gay or straight, and focus on the betterment of society as a whole, regardless of sexual orientation, but really anything else as well. Wouldn’t that be the true meaning of a gay-straight alliance?

While visiting my other friend in London, we were discussing going out. I personally wanted to try East London as I’d never been. When we suggested this to his man, he said “why would you want to go there? it’s a mixed crowd”. I assume he expects me to find “a mixed crowd” an issue? But to me it’s quite the opposite. It’s what I look for when I go out (or at least what I used to back in LA, going out in New York is different, and I do sometimes miss my straight dive bars). Again, ridiculous, but as always, I try to be empathetic. After all he is older and one of those gays who had to “fight the fight”. Sorry but my fight is different. It is not of achieving the same rights only to remain parallel, it is about achieving them to become integrated. My friend joked “segregation now, integration never”.

Earlier I was talking about growing up with this constant anxiety over STD’s (HIV and herpes to be more precise, the rest go away within a week or two of itching and medication). As I mentioned, I grew up with a Mexican father who grew up during the 80’s and thus has his biased opinions about HIV and homosexuality. I don’t blame him, but I can say he did extensive psychological damage to me in terms of that. While I do believe in being extremely safe (although there’s been a time or two when by my high standards I’m far from it), I do not enjoy having ridiculously high levels of anxiety every time I go home with someone. It has definitely gotten better, but it is still a week or two of a constant burn in the pit of my stomach and a persistent “worse case scenario” train of thought. I don’t find Paul’s statements about being safe but sometimes forgetting the condom appropriate, because it is giving sexual health less importance than it should have, and in terms of the older gays who fought for awareness and lost a lot of loved ones it wouldn’t be fair. It is something that should definitely be a constant in our minds, not something that should be treated lightly.

Finally, I truly feel like I’ve grown up a lot as a person. I have become quite comfortable with my stances, my beliefs, and the way I approach situations. I strive to be empathetic and understand others for who and what they are whether I agree or not. I don’t expect people to agree with me, but I do expect them to respect me, and thus I do the same. I constantly push myself to be more open minded, and approach every situation without any preconceived notions. That is what the post-mo should be. One way or another, gay men in metropolitan cities do have an easier life than their straight counterparts. Like Paul stated, it’s trendy, we have more disposable income, and the city can be our oyster. It is time to not just enjoy this but use it towards being the better group, and I don’t mean it in a discriminating, “superior race” kind of way, I mean the more mature, forward group, but really, there shouldn’t be a “group” at all. Just individuals striving to be the “post-man” (and feminists don’t you dare come at me because I used the term “man”, it is short for “human”).

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.

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.

50 is the new ‘veinte’!

Last Sunday, I arrived to San Diego in one piece (despite terrible turbulence). My mom picked me up a few minutes late, and we then crossed the border into my home country. Oh how I don’t miss it… but I came for one purpose, and one purpose only: my dad’s 50th birthday. It is a bit strange to think that he’s only turning 50, because that means that he had me when he was 23, which is terrifying in itself because, at my 26 years of age, I can’t for a single second imagine myself with child.

I often get friends from home on facebook demanding I come visit, complaining that they don’t see me often, and badgering me about stuff that, to be honest, I care very little about. I don’t mean to sound like an asshole, but for example, I cross half the planet (isn’t that how America sees itself) to come home, and the moment I get here it’s like pulling teeth to see them. They’re often unavailable, and somehow they manage to blame our unsuccessful encounters on me. I am sorry, I don’t have a cellphone that works here. I have facebook, and I post on it that I’m home and you know where I live and you have two feet or a car or a donkey or whatever and you can displace yourself to where I might be! (yes, that was purposely a run on sentence with no proper punctuation)

So yes, I was here and after a few complaints from friends, I did see one of my friends on the first night. It was nice catching up. Then the next day, after again, trying to gather up everyone (I swear, herding a few dozen blind sheep is probably easier), we all went to Puerto Nuevo to eat some lobster! It was delicious. Later that night, we ended up at my friend’s house again. Not much to write about. It isn’t that interesting. It’s not the purpose of my trip.

I came home and went to bed relatively early and relatively sober for the second night in a row. It felt strange, but I was pretty tired still from all the traveling and my last few crazy NY party nights.

The next morning it was my dad’s birthday! I woke up, got dressed, went to the dentist (right next door to my dad’s clinic), and gave my dad his present. I got him a Baume et Mercier watch with a black dial and a black alligator strap. Extra slim. He loved it. I left. Came back home. Took a 30 minute party nap (I swear I believe my ex when he used to say that coming here always gives him a Mexicoma and all he wants to do is sleep), and headed out with my mom to meet my dad for a late lunch/early dinner (according to American mode de vie), or just a lunch (if you’re on Mexico time). The restaurant, which I used to love, was subpar. Not sure if my standards have raised, or if the restaurant’s have lowered, but I was dissatisfied. Food was pretty good. Service was shit. My dad said that, in fact, it was the restaurant’s quality that went down. Read the rest of this entry »