wit. honesty. everyday ramblings.

Category: Fashion


“Let me see who you are, don’t try to hide the world that you belong. Let me see who you are, you’re better off where you started from.”

I self medicate. Yes, my go-to cure to my daily anxiety episodes is alcohol. I don’t expect to be understood, we all have our poisons. I do, however, expect not to be judged, because I rarely do so in return.

Tuesday I woke up sober. I was still a bit off from the mental state I was in the prior night. As usual, I felt embarrassed, confused, and stupid. A kiss or ten from my boyfriend helped it go away momentarily. I started to feel better and after going through my usual morning routine, I decided to bike to work.

I jumped on Bat Wing, the nickname ‘Nickle’ has donned for my bicycle, set google music on my phone, and started my morning commute. The weather was perfect. Not too hot, not too cold. An appropriate breeze kept my body temperature at a comfortable point where I wasn’t sweating nor was I cold. I took on the Williamsburg bridge head first and just as I started to feel the burn of the incline on my thighs, Madonna’s “I Love New York” started serenading my eardrums. I went on a state of trance that was only augmented by the fact that the Manhattan skyline looked as beautiful as it’s ever looked under the early November sunlight. “What lactic acid!?” I thought as I kept pedaling. I reached the top of the bridge in a record time and the cruised downhill enjoying some other Madonna hymn until I arrived at my destination.

The day was slow, as it usually is on a Tuesday. I took the time to call my dad and talk to him about my medication and the side effects I’ve been experiencing. Being one who does not believe in over-prescribing or excessively invasive antidotes, he suggested I stop and continue with the rest of the less sever treatment. To be honest, I didn’t know what to do. A part of me wanted to run to the nearest bar and have a cocktail, but another part was glad to be going through such a challenging experience and somewhat succeeding, despite being a mental wreck. I also wanted to continue having ‘Nickle’s’ support because I knew that in the end it would be good for him too.

That night, we had plans to go to Solas for some bar tending event. My boyfriend, however, suggested we skip it since I wasn’t suppose to drink, and instead we go for a quite night. Again, despite craving the sweet numbness alcohol brings, I concluded that if I’d already been a week without drinking (as heavily as I normally do), I could do it one more day. After work, we met at the bottom of the Williamsburg bridge, and biked back together.

Right before getting home, we made a pit stop at a small grocery shop and purchased the necessary ingredients for a home cooked meal. The menu: spinach farfalle with a potpourri of mushrooms and some olive oil, and a salad with a pre-bought balsamic vinaigrette.  No wine. Dinner was followed by Paris is Burning, a documentary about a group of African American and Latino gay men who are part of the late 80’s ball culture in New York City. It was entertaining, inspirational, and educational. I made it through the whole movie without my customary mini doze off and we went to bed promptly after, completely sober.

Wednesday morning I woke up sober, again, but for the last time in a while. I rushed to work because I had a long day ahead. My new boss, ‘BoGo’, who replaced ‘The Cock of the North’, emailed me early morning saying she was running a bit late because she was moving out of her old office and bringing some stuff we “needed” over. I honestly didn’t care, she’s not much help anyway.

**Disclaimer: When I first started this blog I said I wasn’t going to talk shit about people and I was just going to be honest. Brutally honest, that is. I feel like I’ve grown soft. This morning, I’ve been in a very odd mood. I had a very severe and long anxiety moment last night and I am not feeling like I’ve been recently. The old, more caustic me has resurfaced and I’m happy to let him parade around for a second. That being said, I will be brash and unapologetic, and let myself write as I see things trying to remove the filters I’ve been developing lately.**

Back to the topic. I was at work planning for the night’s event with still a very long list of to-do’s. I started early, and started hard. I emailed ‘The Cock of the North’ the night before asking for some guidance in this, my first event completely without his presence. He, of course, came to my aid thoroughly. I was ready for war and I had my armor and my small battalion of three interns (the good, the bad, and the useless) with me. The list of chores was slowly but surely getting accomplished. My dear ‘BoGo’ showed up an hour and a half before the event was to start with a few unnecessary items she deemed important enough to go get from her old office earlier that day instead of helping out. To be honest, I truly believe she is not as competent as she presented herself to be before getting the job, and thus chooses “flight” over “fight” when overwhelmed. More examples to support my allegations will follow in this and the next entries.

I politely acknowledged her presence, but did not take the time to make her feel like I was glad she was there. One of the things I adored about working for ‘The Cock of the North’ was that he had no qualms with doing whatever was necessary to get the job done, from sweeping the floors, to more complex tasks, he did it all, and I respect that. Furthermore, today I rediscovered how hard it is to work for someone you don’t respect.

The event ended up being a success. A lot of familiar faces turned up. Sadly, ‘Nickle’ was stuck in traffic and could not make it, but a few of his friends did, and they congratulated me on my very first soiree sans ‘The Cock of the North’. I felt like all my blood and sweat were worth it.

We left the event a bit after close and I walked with ‘Jose Maria’, ‘The Lady of Derbishire’, ‘Occhio’, and ‘Martha’ (one of ‘Nickle’s’ friends) to Tartinery on Spring and Mulberry. I was texting with my lover about him meeting us there after he dropped off the keys to my place at The Abbey so that my dear friend ‘Geordie-Mo’, who was arriving in to town from London, could pick them up, drop his bags, and meet us all out and about. I am not quite certain when or where things took a turn, but ‘Nickle’ ended up not coming to dinner. Instead, he said he’d meet us after for drinks.

After dinner, we opted to walk to Phoenix because the plan was to meet ‘Geordie-Mo’ at “The Church” once he freshened up at mine. ‘Occhio’ and ‘The Lady of Derbishire’ went home, the rest of us did the fifteen minute trek up to the East Village. Once there, I texted ‘Nickle’ to see his ETA. He called me back right away and said he wasn’t feeling like meeting me and he was in a strange mood. I spent about ten minutes carefully trying to see if I should convince him to come out or not. I wanted to see him, I’ve been in his situation, I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to do. I insisted he join us and he did. He showed up a bit drunk and emotional. We had a chat about us and about how he feels like he’s loosing himself. About how he’s scared of where he’s going. All familiar subjects for both of us. Having reached compromise, he went home (or so I thought, apparently he had a few more rounds at Nowhere) and I went to “The Church” with ‘Jose Maria’ to meet up with ‘Geordie-Mo’.

It was nice to be back. I hadn’t been to my old stomping grounds in a while now and I was happy to say hi to the Wednesday night gays. The highlight of the evening, tho, was seeing ‘Geordie-Mo’, who’d just been through a break up and had planned a New York trip to get away from all the things that come when you end a relationship.

That night, I drank more than expected. I got back to my handsome asleep on my full size bed. I kissed him goodnight and dozed off next to him.

Thursday morning was a brand new day. I had told work I was coming in late because “I was going to wait for my friend to get back from the airport” but really I didn’t want to deal with the post-event clean up. ‘Nickle’ went to work, and I went to brunch at The Crosby with ‘Geordie-Mo’ and ‘Jose Maria’. Since I was now allowed to drink again, I ordered a bloody mary to go with my fall vegetable soup. We all started drinking. David Gahan from Depeche Mode sat on the table next to us. We ordered more drinks. I concluded that since I wasn’t going to have much time to spend with my British friend, I should probably take the day off and hang out with him right then and there. I called work and said my friend’s flight was delayed.

We scheduled the rest of our day: The Daphne Guiness exhibit at FIT and more daytime drinking. We finished our meal and skedaddled down spring street to the ACE train and up to 23rd street. Prior to entering the museum, we had an impromptu photo shoot with the autumnal foliage on the streets of New York and acted stupid, but not too stupid. Even though I was glad to be out of work and having fun, I was still in business mode answering emails and phone calls.

The exhibit was everything that I expected from her and more. It didn’t hurt that it was free, but I would’ve payed a pretty penny to be a part of one of my favorite and most inspiring persons in the world’s experience. It was short, it was concise, and again, it was educational.

We left FIT and walked over to Madison Square Park to kill some time. We then walked to Boxers for happy hour but were shit out of luck as the place didn’t open for about another hour. We walked back east to GYM, downed a couple of unejoyably watered down beers, played some pornographic photo hunt, and left to go back to Boxers. This time the bar was open. We weren’t planning on drinking as much but, being early enough for happy hour, every place was two for one. Two Jack and Gingers ensued.

We left at around 7 pm to go back to my place and get some food from The Meatball Shop with ‘Nickle’, his friend, ‘Viquers’ and ‘Fixie’, before going to The Abbey for a nightcap. I wanted my friends to meet my friend with an accent. The bar was alright. To my knowledge, we all had a good time, and to my surprise, both ‘Jose Maria’ and ‘Fixie’ showed significant interest in ‘Geordie-Mo’. The surprise did not come from me questioning my dear Briton’s appeal, but from how funny I found their little crush to be. I believe we all left at a reasonable hour and went to our respective after hours. In my case, bed with the babe.

Friday I did show up to work, despite wanting to take another day off. It’s funny how much I used to love going to work, and ever since these new changes have happened I haven’t been as eager. Regardless, I did my full 7 hours exuding my best effort and with a grin on (I try not to smile much).

After work, I met ‘Nickle’ with two of his friends at Solas. We were supposed to meet for dinner but plans changed, as usual, so we had a couple of beers and a few rounds of shots and ended up having a slice instead. We then walked towards Ludlow in the Lower East Side for more drinks with another one of his bartender friends. I wasn’t complaining, I was actually having a really good time. My baby’s friends kept mentioning how changed he seems and how in love he seems to be with me. They pointed out they haven’t seen him like this in the 5+ years they’ve known him, and I started to feel like I was either extremely lucky, or in some sort of Truman Show. I took another shot and just went with it.

We left sometime between 9 and 10 to go back to ‘Nickle’s’ apartment and make a bag for our big weekend trip. He filled his green duffle bag with a few items of clothing (most of his favorite stuff is already permanently stored at my place), and we walked over to my apartment to drop off said bag. We then texted ‘Geordie-Mo’ who had been out and about with his 718 beau so we could confirm the plans we’d made to meet. Eleven-o-clock at Metropolitan.

On our way there, ‘Nickle’ had a severe craving for a cigarette that actually scared me in terms of whether or not I was going to be able to help him resist. Somehow we did, and instead we ended up at Yola’s Cafe for some unnecessary burrito, but I guess it’s better to be fat than cancerous. Again, he thanked me for standing my ground, and I felt reassured for doing so. Sometimes I fear he’s going to resent me one day.

We left the fast food joint and ran into ‘Geordie-Mo’ and company who were also running late. We all walked in to Metro and ordered more drinks. By this point I was so drunk that I stupidly forgot my mission at hand: 718 beau reconnaissance. We finished our beer and left the single boys to their own demise. We walked back home and cleverly thought to stop by The Abbey for the second night cap of the night.

A beer and a shot of whiskey and I was drunk and horny. We didn’t stay long. We had another round of beer and shots and shared a much watered down brew before heading home to sleep but not before having some a-bit-kinkier-than-average time, the details of which shall remain a secret, but do let your imagination run.

The past few days were emotional in a different level. It was the second time that I didn’t feel alone because ‘Nickle’ was actually having some readjusting issues. It is strange how vulnerability makes him sexy. Is it the change of power that excites us? I guess for the moment I am not able to tell… but I will say this: that night I felt closer to my babe than I had felt till that moment.

“I know it’s where you want to go this time, I see you where you are. Don’t fight, you’re about to figure out it’s fine.”


Hang With Me

“And if you do me right, I’m gonna do right by you. And if you keep it tight, I’m gonna confide in you. I know what’s on your mind there will be time for that too if you hang with me hang with me.”

I woke up Monday morning next to a very naked ‘Nickle’. ‘Fixie’ was sleeping in the living room but he left around 11 am to go to work. We ventured from the bedroom to the living room in our birthday suits and hung out smoking cigarettes and figuring out the plans for the day. I needed to stay at home and clean/write/hang out with ‘Toto’ but I also wanted to go to the movies. ‘Nickle’ had plans of meeting his best friend for one last meal before he left, but wanted to hang out with me too so we decided to go see Contagion first, and then meet up with his friend for brunch. The movie was good but almost too real. It felt more like watching CNN than an actual feature film which I suppose is nice, but not for 2 hours.

We left the theatre and headed to the west village where we picked up his friend and a slice of greasy pizza. Then we walked to Washington Square where we sat on the lawn and enjoyed the spectacle that were the south east corner natives: plenty of bums, one who got arrested for barking at people, another one who decided to jump in the fountain in his boxers, and one who delighted the park with tunes coming out of a radio recorded tape and a boom box. I was mildly tired so I rested on ‘Nickle’s’ lap for most of the evening. I was texting a friend of mine, ‘Arrogant A’, who was in town with her new beau, and making plans to meet later for dinner and/or drinks. ‘Jose Maria’ stopped by after a few hours because he wanted to meet ‘Nickle’. He kept giving me his snarky grin the whole time. I casually smiled back.

At around 6 pm we decided to go grab some dinner. I wasn’t meeting ‘Arrogant A’ till 9 pm so we stayed in the West/East Village and asked for a table at Ippudo. We left to a bar around the corner to meet some of ‘Nickle’s’ friends as we waited for our table to be ready. A beer later we rushed back to devour some of the most amazing noodles I’ve ever had. Sadly, ‘Nickle’ and ‘Jose Maria’s’ taste buds were not working that night because they didn’t seem to agree with me.

We hurried back to my place to wait for my visiting friends. They were a bit late but not too bad. ‘Arrogant A’s’ new man was stunning, and a really nice guy at first impression. As expected, she kept making infantile comments about how this guy is hotter than her ex, and other similar statements so she could feel validated. We enjoyed a couple glasses of wine at my places before heading out to The Abbey where we dropped off ‘Nickle’ but not before having a drink with him and his friends. Then I took my guests to Hotel Delmano for another round, and last but not least we went to Union Pool. She kept having verbal diarrhea and I was getting tired of finding subtle ways to disagree without making her feel stupid because to be honest, it doesn’t matter. She wouldn’t be able to understand that she sounds so immature bad mouthing others. I suggested to ‘Jose Maria’ we fake tiredness (although it wasn’t that hard as I was actually really tired) and pretend to leave so they would go home and I could go with him to Metro for some alone friends time which hadn’t happened for a while as of that moment. Luckily, they asked to leave because they too were a bit tired. I was glad to oblige. My tour of Billyburg was done for them.

Me and ‘Jose Maria’ did as planed. A drink at Metropolitan followed by another drink at The Abbey and then we went home.

Tuesday I went to a much needed session of Bikram. I got back home, took a nap, and ran some of the many errands I had to run. I am still not caught up after my California trip. I’d made plans with some friends to go to trivia night in the Upper East Side. I invited quite a few people, but in the end it was me, ‘Jose Maria’, ‘Arrogant A’ and her man, and three other friends of friends. The night was going great until we came in fourth place. Being the competitive beasts we all are, we were not satisfied… but like the host of the night said: “it’s only trivia people”. We left the restaurant defeated but with plans for a rematch the following week.

I took ‘Jose Maria’, ‘Arrogant A’, and her boyfriend to the ACE for some pre-Le Bain cocktails. Again, she continued being herself which I don’t understand. I feel like when I met her, 8 years ago, I could somewhat relate as I had just moved out, had just come to terms with my sexuality, and was way more green. Unlike her, I’ve grown a lot as a person and I really don’t think I would be friends with her if I was to meet her today. It seems like she’s stuck in the past and it’s sad because although she’s nothing but nice to me, she isn’t to others, and that’s not something that I look for or appreciate in friends. Regardless, I decided to give her a treat and take her to The Standard where, being who she is, she would feel exalted at the fact that she was going to what she’d consider a very hip, exclusive club, and she would get to bypass the line (via me of course). As soon as we crossed the door she made her customary comment: “Did you see that fat guy begging to get in? how pathetic.”

Needless to say, she loved it. We hung out on the rooftop for an hour enjoying some cocktails in the pleasant windy fall breeze that’s been grazing New York lately. After two drinks and with a bladder full of alcohol, we all went to the bathroom and I left them to go to the Boom Boom Room for a brief minute. Like I’ve said before, I’m getting too old for the crowd at Le Bain, and I certainly don’t mind paying the extra two dollars per drink for some nicer, quieter, more civilized company.

After finishing my drink I left the Boom Boom Room to go meet the others. Not to sound like an asshole, but I will get ‘Arrogant A’ into Le Bain but not into Boom Boom. She should stay with her kind. Briefly after I returned she mentioned she was ready to leave, and so was I, I had plans to meet ‘Nickle’ for a night cap. ‘Jose Maria’ stayed behind to play his games.

We shared a cab back to Brooklyn. I got off somewhat close to my place, handed them 6 dollars and left them on their way. I arrived at The Abbey to a charmingly drunk (as usual) ‘Nickle’. I was feeling a bit honest that night so I decided to come clean about DJ. He took it surprisingly well. I mentioned I wasn’t fucking around but I also wasn’t looking to rush into a relationship which he found commendable of me. He offered to take this whole thing as slowly as I needed it to go which I found commendable of him. All my raw honesty inspired him to come clean as well. His secret? Something I can’t divulge but let’s just say that, although I’m not surprised because I kind of knew, it complicates things. It is a health issue and I am a hypochondriac. No, it’s not HIV.

That night we decided to sleep in our respective beds. According to both of us, it wasn’t because of the truths we had just revealed, but because of logistics. He worked early and I needed to catch up on some sleep. I think a very small part of us was somewhat influenced by the revelations… Not necessarily because they were life changing, but because they sobered us up a bit.

Wednesday: work. The new intern was in for his second day. We spent most of the time setting up for an event we had on Thursday but also trekking around the city doing pick ups and deliveries. I got off earlier at around 6 pm and took one of the most retarded cab rides from the Upper East Side to Chelsea to meet ‘The Lady of Derbishire’ for yet another art opening at Gagosian. This time: Richard Serra.

‘Nickle’ had been wanting to see me which kind of went against the whole idea of taking things slowly. I told him I had plans because, although I do enjoy his company, I wanted to have my usual Wednesday and end up at “church” for one last one on one “confession” with DJ before he left for Greece for two weeks.

Coincidentally, after the opening I went to Momofuku for my friend’s birthday and ‘Nickle’ was at a bar around the corner. I was tempted to invite him but opted not to because that went against my original plan and I like sticking to my guns.

After a disappointing dinner, not because of the company but because of the food, me, ‘Jose Maria’, and birthday girl ‘Sassy G’ went for birthday drinks at 10 Degrees where she’d told the rest of her friends to meet for the celebrations. I wasn’t in the best of moods as I’ve been lately due to all these boys I’m juggling. I tried and mingled but eventually just retracted to a lonely stool by the counter away from the party where I reverted to a comfortable spot: talking to strangers.

I counted the minutes till a time I deemed appropriate to excuse myself and go to “church” and after finishing my last drink there I did as planned. I’d paid my dues.

There was something in the air that night because “church” didn’t feel as holy… maybe I was too drunk. Part of the birthday crew joined shortly. I can’t remember specifics but I’m quite sure the night was similar to every other Wednesday night.

I left with DJ at close time a few minutes after ‘Jose Maria’ had left alone (surprisingly). DJ was in the mood for some sexy time but I was too drunk to perform and managed to pass out before I embarrassed myself.

The next morning I rushed home because I’d promised ‘Nickle’ I’d bike to work so we could bike back together. I texted DJ apologising for my antics to which he replied it was fine and he wouldn’t have had it any other way. Sometimes the man is a sweetheart.

Work was long and stressful. As I mentioned, we had an event that night. Out of all my guests only ‘John G’ and ‘Nickle’ showed up. I left with ‘Nickle’ at around 8:30 pm to go meet a friend and see Peter, Bjorn & John perform at the Music Hall in Williamsburg. Despite the weather we biked back over the devilish bridge and into my neighbourhood. The show was better than I expected but a bit too long. I wanted it to end so I could go celebrate my heritage with a burrito and a margarita and cheer to my country’s independence. Before midnight I got one of the two.

A few minutes after midnight the encore was done and I had ‘Nickle’ following my stubborn ass all over billyburg looking for a damn burrito. After a few unsuccessful attempts we ended up at LA Burrito for a subpar experience but enough to temporarily tame my pregnant cravings. We biked back to my place and ‘Nickle’ spent the night (again!).

I was ready (again!) for a weekend without boys.

“Just don’t fall recklessly, headlessly in love with me ’cause it’s gonna be all heartbreak, wistfully painful and insanity. If we agree, oh, you can hang with me.”

The more baths I take the dirtier I feel.

I’d been meaning to have a catch up day ever since I got back from Europe. A day to thoroughly clean my apartment, unpack, and rest properly. The latter trumped the rest. It was a lazy day indeed. I did manage to go to the city and do a little shopping for stuff I needed around the house. I wasn’t feeling much like going out that night either. Sometimes, I need my alone time. However, one thing led to another and me and ‘Buck’ ended up meeting a friend for drinks. The bar du jour isn’t my favorite by any means, but at the end of the day that’s beside the point. What really matters is the company and the price of the drinks.

We imbibed a couple of standard cocktails and left to our next destination. It was empty. We walked over to Lit Lounge and Home Sweet Home. The first was somewhat happening, the latter was quite barren so we decided to try Le Bain. ‘Buck’ had been wanting to check it out and I’d been meaning to take him so although it was a Monday night and it would most likely be empty, we weren’t looking to meet people, just enjoy the amazing view and maybe have a dip in the inside hot tub/pool. Sadly, tonight we’d have to stay dry. The place was closed.

Still itching for a drink or three we walked to the opposite corner to Hogs and Heifers of Coyote Ugly fame. The bar was also empty, but the cheery bartenders made it fun regardless. We didn’t stay long. We decided to try our luck at Cielo nearby. Being this the meatpacking district, we were asked for a 15 dollar cover, to which I politely declined, and, do not quote me on this one but, I believe we went home.

Tuesday I planned on stopping by work for a second. I ran some more errands. ‘Buck’ did his sight seeing. Later we all met with his friends at a celebrity owned restaurant in the UES for some trivia night. Naturally, we kicked ass. We raffled the three iPod nano’s we’d won, but I didn’t get one. After trivia, we went to have a quick drink at 2A for my friend’s birthday. We didn’t stay long, the plan was to drink cheap and then head to Le Bain (finally).

We breezed through the front door. I’ve become quite the regular so cues are not necessary. We rode the elevator up to the penthouse, out the dark corridor, and into the sleek noir interiors we went. The night hosted a drag/gay party. Naturally, a lot of your usual New York nouveau club kids were there, which only added to the already fantastic views of the New York skylines. It is a sight to be seen. We proceeded to buy an expensive watered down drink. I do not understand why, but as a vodka connoisseur, it baffles me that they try to hide well vodka in premium bottles. Who are they trying to kid?! I guess it doesn’t matter if you’re already drunk (which is usually the case). We strolled around for a bit, enjoyed more of the view, and went upstairs for more cockys and fags (I’m talking about drinks and cigarettes). Eventually, as expected, we ended up in the hot tub prancing around in our skivvies and getting into all sorts of trouble. I think I made out with a boy.

Wednesday I worked, worked, worked. I’m not sure what my other two partners in crime did, most likely sleep most of the day and bum around as you should when on vacation. I might be getting my days confused, but I’m sure that night we went back to the East Village. I can’t recall if something happened prior to my usual Wednesday hang out Eastern Bloc or not, but we stopped there for a couple of drinks. Said hi to some familiar faces (and cocks) and spared ‘Buck’ from yet another gay soiree by going back to Le Bain per his request.

I’d never been on a Wednesday and I’d heard it wasn’t the best night, but again, as long as I have the view, a cocktail, and a friend I’m ok with it. Getting in was no problem (again), despite the fact that there were people being turned down at the door. The place was not as packed as the previous night, but still fun. My inebriated “I can do anything” persona devised a plan to get us into Boom Boom Room next door. There is no pool there but it’s definitely a place to see, especially if you’re from out of town, you need the full “if I can make it here, I can make it anywhere” New York experience. The plan worked. The Room was empty, but again, we had some cocktails and made the best of it. I left my buddies around 3am when I decided I was tired and I didn’t really care to wait for them. I sometimes get like this when I drink. All I know is I got home safe, they did so as well, but opted to stay up watching movies and eating bagels till who knows when. I had work in a few hours.

In the morning I realized I’d received a ‘booty text’ from a certain DJ I’d fooled around a while ago. More on this in a bit.

Thursday was a long day. We had an opening at my job that night so I planned and packed my usual stand out attire for the evening and wore a tank top and jeans to work. The thing I love about my job is that there’s always something different and new to do, and Thursday just happened to have a bit of everything. I showed my true Mexican self by doing some manual work, my almost genius like intellect and problem solving abilities by doing a lot of brain work, and my alluring personality by socializing like a socialite on speed. The evening turned out great. A lot of my friends came by and so did a couple of cocks who’ve been either chasing me or I’ve been chasing.

After the opening, I went with one of my coworkers to grab some food, ran into one of the cocks and told him to meet me at the after party. We walked back to a bar around the corner for some ‘work drinks’. It wasn’t the usual after party. It was more toned down, but so was the opening so I guess it was fitting. The rest of my friends and the cock showed up. I felt slightly rude to some my guests all night because I couldn’t really spend much time chit chatting. I was working like a busy bee all night, and I’ve decided that comes first. I’m refocusing on making it in different aspects of my life and I do not need distractions. Me and my boss had our usual drunken work rants that I love. If all goes well, I see my future getting brighter, but I won’t say more, I don’t want to jinx it. After being somewhat ignored, the cock went home. The rest of my friends and I went back to Le Bain.

A friendly face was working the door. We breezed right through. Again, sorry to all the ones waiting in line, I was once one of you, although honestly I don’t know what it is but I’ve always been enchanting enough to be wanted in. The crowd was horrible. The Chelsea gays decided to migrate south for the evening. I skedaddled to Boom Boom and once inside proceeded to device a way of getting my posse in. I succeeded. There has been a bit of drama between a few of the attendees of the night. I hung around for a bit and observed people getting drunker and looser. After a blurry hour or so I received a message from DJ asking me to come over. Rather than doing my usual disappearing act and going home I said my goodbyes and left my party to their own demise and cabbed it to the East Village. My knight in shinny briefs was waiting for me. I undressed, we laid in bed and kissed. We fell asleep rather quick. The next morning we kissed some more and jacked off. He came, I didn’t. We bid farewell and looking like I did 12 hours ago I went to work. My boss giggled.

I didn’t stay long, just half the day. That evening I was to meet my current crush at his adult industry job and catch a buss to Atlantic City for a weekend I’m quite sure I’ll never forget. Without knowing, one of the last bastion of my guarded self was about to crumble down.


After what one could barely called a decent nap, I woke up. I have to mention I don’t sleep much, but I’m also not as resilient as I was in my early twenties. Each time it gets progressively harder and takes progressively longer to spring back from the previous drunken night.

I went downstairs and jotted down the finishing touches to my Antwerpenian bucket list. I walked to the corner store, bought a classic backpacker’s breakfast (a pastry from the local offerings, a juice, and a bottle of water), and started walking to my destinations.

It was an eventful day. First accidental stop: Dries Van Noten, where I left my first few hundred euros and came out with an overpriced canvas and leather tote. Off I went to find a tattoo shop. The one on my list didn’t have time, but they instructed me to go around the corner to this other shop. The new shop told me to come back in two hours. I headed to MoMu (mode museum). They had a wonderful exhibition on the history of knits. At first I wasn’t as excited about it, but they did a superb job, and it turned out significantly better than I’d expected. My love for Antwerp grew.

Having 20 minutes to spare before my tattoo appointment, I went next door to a clothing store. I saw a few potential purchases, but this shopaholic is getting wiser, so I left with the intention to come back if the items were still on my mind after the tattoo. They were. Fail.

I got my tattoo. It was not executed to my steep expectations (as I assume anything permanent on your body should be), but also, I’ve learned to appreciate the slight nuances that come with getting a similar tattoo done repeatedly by different tattoo artist all over the world. Like most of my others, I’ve grown to love it.

I left the shop, shopped a bit more, and tried to find a famously good fish restaurant that, unbeknownst to me, had closed a year and a half ago. I walked back to my hostel hoping they could host me for the last night. They were completely booked. Being really exhausted and craving a place of my own where I could shit, shave, shower, sleep comfortably, and walk around with my damn balls hanging if I pleased to, I forked 150 USD for a night at a Radisson across Stadspark. Best. Fucking. Money. Spent. In. Antwerp.

I left the hostel and went to my haven. I bought a bottle of J&B and a coke, showered, grindrd, made plans to meet random strangers at random bars, made a road soda, headed out. The bar was nowhere to be found. The club sucked. My night was a fail.

The next morning, I went to MuKHA, the museum of modern art. Antwerp, I love you even more. I walked back to my hotel, picked up my bag, and stumbled to centra station. I say stumble because my bag was really heavy which hindered my walking. Off to Amsterdam I went.

Finding my way in Amsterdam was an easy task. I checked in at the hostel, and ‘climbed’ the steep stairs up to my room. No lockers again! note to self: leave iPads and Rick Owens at home next time. My roommates were friendly. I immediately started talking to a girl from Chicago and a Finnish man. “Chicago” and I went for dinner at a tapas place next door. She seemed hypnotised by my persona (which is always nice), and kept asking me about my life. It was entertaining.

Eighty euros later, we went back to the room and coerced “Finland” to join us for a beer. Grindr hadn’t proved to be too helpful this time, so we walked to a touristy spot around the corner. I drank whiskey, they drank beer. We left. They went home, I ventured to a nearby gay bar. Nothing special to report. I did, however, meet a lovely expat lesbian from New York with whom I conversed the whole night. The bar closed. I went home. I grindr’d, facebook’d, and lonely planet’d till I passed out.

The Academy Awards who?

The Metropolitan Museum’s Costume Institute Gala has often been dubbed as “the Oscars of the East Coast” because of it’s impressive and exclusive list of attendees who gallivant down the red carpet donning some of the most expensive garments (all free and borrowed of course) from past, present, and upcoming designers.

And while they differ in that one is an award show and the other is the opening to the annual Fashion exhibit at the Met, it is without a doubt that the red carpet at both is often more entertaining than the event following…  but! who are we kidding here? a motion picture award show can certainly not compete to a fashion exhibit in terms of the attire of its guests… sorry Oscars, we have this one.

Here’s my top picks for my favorite ladies of the evening (in no specific order and not necessarily for good reasons):

Photo credit:

Oh Land. Cut/Copy. LCD soundsystem.

So it’s been a crazy couple of weeks. Been very busy, been sort of ill, been sleeping little, been writing nothing… but that changes today… or at least today I decided to take a break, sleep some more, let my stomach rest, and update the blog. Tomorrow we can go back to “normal”.

Also, I’ve been thinking about the blog, and the direction I want to take with it. Let’s just say I’m making it more cohesive. But enough about this… let’s get on to the actual content.

It all started the night of March 29th, the first of 4 intimately beautiful evenings with Danish talent juggernaut couple Nana Øland Fabricius and Eske Kath during their residency at Charles Bank Gallery (or what I like to call work). The previously dark and quiet white cube was now turned into an equally dark, yet radiantly colorful pays des rêves, where industry people, as well as elated fans gathered to listen to Oh Land’s 30 minute “picnic setup” (as she dubbed it) music sets. Oh Land, accompanied by a string quartet, played 6 to 7 of her debut album’s songs, in a more toned down manner that made it feel more personal and cozy.

At first I thought of writing about a specific night, but since I figured plenty of bloggers would take that approach, I decided to take my own approach, and write about the experience as a whole. Each evening was essentially the same, but the slight differences made each night feel fresh, and equally intimate. I truly enjoyed listening to Oh Land’s captivating hymns slowed down and sang in a way that, to me, it felt one-on-one. Melodies like “White Nights” and “Rainbow” have been gleefully stuck in my head since. However, her latest single, “son of a gun”, was especially memorable, since it was the one song that was the most different from it’s original version.

The entire experience came together flawlessly. The welcoming music, along with the cheery art installations (courtesy of Kath), and Oh Land’s incredible stage persona and forward outfits, brought an all together positive feel-good feeling to my slightly ill self (the weekend prior, I had indulged myself in oysters and ended up with a severe case of unsexy food poisoning). to tommelfingre op!!

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Bill Cunningham New York – Review

Bliss! Pure bliss!

Last Wednesday I migrated my derrier to 209 West Houston (the Film Forum), to meet my lovely friend Jenny for the premiere of Richard Press’s freshman directorial debut Bill Cunningham New York about fashion photographer/maverick trailblazer Bill Cunningham of the New York Times fame.

It is one of the most inspiring, beautifully directed, exquisitely shot, complex yet easy to digest, documentary I’ve seen in a while. To be honest, I vaguely knew who the man was, and I had no idea what an amazing life he’s lived. Richard Press did a splendid job at introducing the mysterious Bill to the rest of the world who might be clueless as to who this bike ridding octogenarian in a blue coat and a 35 mm camera hanging around his neck is.

For such a simple man, Bill’s world is complex. Press captures his daily life riding his schwinn around town, snapping shots of New York fashionistas on the streets, quarreling with his NY Times peers (to ultimately get his way),  interacting with his equally camp and venerable neighbors, trekking to other fashion capitals to snap even more shots of more women’s vêtements, indulging in the least haute of cuisines, and riding his bike yet a few more miles to ultimately end back at his modest, file cabinet ridden apartment at Carnegie Hall.

The documentary keeps you engaged from beginning to end. Bill is an entertaining persona and so is his supporting cast. Interviews with fashion staples like Anna Wintour, Kim Hastreiter, and Annette de la Renta, show that the fashion world has nothing but praise for a man who, despite many unsuccessful attempts from many a suitors, has never sold out and remains true to his vision: photographing clothes and the women who wear them regardless of who they are.

Aside from Bill’s career, Press also shows other aspects of Bill’s life, like his struggle with getting evicted from his apartment where he’s lived for many years, and receiving the title of Chevaliere de l’Ordre des Arts et des Lettres by the French Ministry of Culture, an award that has Bill looking terribly charming as he gives his acceptance speech in French. The documentary captivates in many different levels the whole 84 minutes.

Press is very respectful about the way he documents Bill’s life. The pivotal point, for me, comes towards the end of the film when Press asked two very personal questions to Bill, both of which Mr. Cunningham answers in an utterly professional manner. It is at this point that I was left speechless and in awe. If one is not in love with Bill by now, this moment would be the last push needed to be so.

I left the theatre, as I’m sure the rest of us did. Inspired. Delighted. Satisfied. And with a big smile on my face. This was true documentary excellence at its best.