Life | the.applied.process.

19.06.2011

Public Displays of A(sex)tion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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10.06.2011

Britainic Suburbia.

I’m on a train on my way back to London. It’s been a nice 72 hours in Birmingham… or… I should say Soluhill. Before coming here, I was unaware I was heading to a suburban town 40 minutes away from where I’d stay a year ago. Pleasant surprise it was. Think of it as “any given suburban town”, USA, except British. People drive on the opposite side, the rows of houses resemble old cottages, people talk extremely polite, and the roads wind and make little sense to a foreigner.

I arrived at Birmingham New Street train station and I was promptly picked up by my friend ‘Capital-G’. We made a quick stop at her mum’s for some tea. Last year, this beautiful woman hosted my ass providing me with fresh squeezed juice every morning, home made Indian food every meal, and even washed my sweaty clothes. It was better than any hotel I’ve yet to stay, so it was nice to see her again. Luckily, she gave us some food she’d prepared earlier for us to enjoy back at Capital-G’s. We left quickly and stopped in the middle of the road somewhere to say hi to her siblings. Again, lovely people. Her sister tried to set me up on a blind date. By the way they were talking about the guy I was both scared and excited. At the end, the date never happened. I couldn’t be bothered to set it up.

After a short drive, we got to her house. Her husband, ‘g-minor’, was hungrily waiting for us. She heated the food and we dove right in to the delectable meal. Amidst burning lips and glasses of water, we quickly caught up on the past few weeks, they had just come to visit me in New York. Later that evening, we went to a cute little bar in the middle of the middle of nowhere, England. I had a whiskey, he had a beer, she had a juice. Other than Americans, no one will touch a drink with a ten foot pole if they have to drive. When we left, the car wouldn’t start. We asked for some help and drove back home. Had another whiskey, talked some more, and went to bed.

The next morning, they went to work, I sorted out some of my travel accommodations and transportation, and waited for g-minor to pick me up to go for lunch. He took me to a very American, think sizzler, dinner type of place. Food was good. The stares we got by the locals were even better. We stopped by a sporting goods store where he was looking for a present, and I bought a present for my boss. We met Capital-G at home and headed for afternoon tea at a nice hotel in the English countryside. After tea, we went to g-minor’s nephew’s birthday. It was a somewhat traditional Indian affair. His family was nice. I felt a bit ‘looked at’ but I behaved. I fed his nephew some cake (Indian tradition). Shortly after, we left.

We had another home cooked dinner at their’s. The food seriously is the highlight of my trip. It is superb, to say the least. We had more drinks and went to bed. I woke up at 5am and couldn’t go back to sleep. I dillydallied for a few hours till finally I fell back asleep. Woke up again at noonish. Went to see Capital-G at work. She’s a dentist. She checked my pearly off-whites, we had lunch, and then I walked to the train station. I boarded the train relaxed, satisfied, and looking forward to come back to civilization. I need the stress of a city to feel at ease.

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07.06.2011

The head of the south reigns supreme.

By now, it is certainly obvious that both my trip and my new take on this have proven to be quite fruitful to this blog. I’ve been inspired to write more and more, and I try to add an entry almost every other day.

Today, I’m doing a bit of retrospective thinking. Today, I’m talking about my last, long-lasting crush.

It all started a month after my last breakup. A few days after I last saw my ex, I was feeling irreparably crushed on my drive back from my parents, when I got a phone notification that someone was trying to add me on Facebook. He sent a message saying: “it is ridiculous how good looking you are. Just saying”. My initial response was: it’s not like I don’t hear this quite often, whatever.

As soon as I got to my friend’s apartment in San Diego, where I was to stay for the next couple nights, I looked at his profile on facebook and replied: “well if it isn’t the pot calling the kettle black” and accepted his request. And so it began, my 14 month old crush that still lingers…

At first we conversed frequently. AIM, Facebook, E-Mail (no texts because my phone seemed to hate his phone and for some bizarre reason wouldn’t receive his texts… should’ve listened to my phone, huh?). We exchanged music, sent pictures, talked for ages. From the get go, I could tell he wasn’t much of a talker. It was like pulling teeth to try and get a word out. I, on the other hand, can never shut up.

After a month of talking, I was to go to San Francisco with a friend for Bay 2 Breakers, race all through SF that really is just another reason to party and drink in public. I asked if he wanted to meet. He said he’d be busy but he’d try. The trip came, but he didn’t. No biggie. I tried to understand that, although I was making an effort to go visit, he might indeed be swamped with previous engagements, and really couldn’t find time even for coffee.

Two weeks later, I returned with another friend to the bay area. Again, nothing. He claimed he was busy. Seemed somewhat shady to me, but whatever.

Shortly after, I left for my 2.5 month stay in Europe. Throughout this whole thing, we kept in contact, not as much, but still enough to keep me lingering. I saw him flirt with others, something that bugged me a bit, as it would any other human being, but of course, I was doing the same, and I can’t claim ownership over someone I haven’t even met.

When I came back, I got convinced on going to visit (again!), and so I drove north with my dog. He seemed more attentive this time. To make the long story shorter, we met and spent 3 really nice days together. Dinner. Drinks. Grocery shopping. Trips to the vet. Pedicures. Boring, married couple shit. I loved every second of it. We only made out a couple of times. No sex.

I have to state that ever since we started talking my mind was set on moving to New York and he was aware of this. He stated he was moving back to LA (where he is from), and so the possibility of something more serious was almost nonsensical, but I really liked him and, as always, was open to suggestions.

So I moved, and we kept in touch, less and less every time. I teeter tottered between forgetting about him, and fighting my own natural instinct to give up very easily. I felt under appreciated through it all. I sent postcards, presents, cute pictures, witty texts, birthday wishes, merry xmas’, and got minimal reciprocation. It seemed as if he could read my mind and the moment I decided to give up, he’d start being sweet again. The funny thing is, thanks to Facebook and the ever so small gay world, I realized I wasn’t the only one he was doing this to, yet somehow, I felt special.

Fast forward to April this year, I went to visit him again. He invited me to stay at his place for a few days. The week prior to my arrival, he was playing his mind games again, and not really talking to me. I decided that if he didn’t contact me at least the day before, I was gonna go to SF, call my friend, and ignore him for good. Again, Mr. Psychic here messaged me two days before my flight. Hooked one more time.

I landed at SFO and called him straight away. He told me to come over. I did. We hugged. Hung out. Passed out. The next morning, we cuddled for a bit, fooled around, took a shower, went for food. There was a weird chemistry. I have a feeling we’re both shy and expecting the other to make the moves, and so it never really just ‘flows’.

After breakfast, a friend of his met us at his place. It was Easter Sunday and we were gonna go out and get drunk all day. She was a nice girl, she mentioned she’d heard a lot about me (good sign, right?). We had some mimosas and went over to his neighbor’s. Again, nice guy, said the same thing she said. We ate some weed chocolate, drank some more and headed to the bars. I met more friends of his, same thing happened. Once more, being his lovely self, he wasn’t paying much attention to me. Luckily, I’m a big boy and I had fun regardless. At the end of the night. We went back to his neighbor’s. By this point I was somewhat annoyed by him and decided to go to bed.

I woke up next to him, we cuddled a bit more, got up and showered (no fooling around). I made us breakfast, we cleaned his apartment, I hung some art up, we went to west elm. Then I went to visit a friend of mine. When I got back, he’d been smoking weed, I’d been drinking whiskey. We watched a movie and went to sleep. The next morning, we cuddle one last time, took showers, kissed goodbye, and he went to work. I stayed at his place till I had to head to the airport. I tidied up, wrote him a cute note and left.

To this day there’s been no mention of such note. We’ve still talked, but barely anything. I sent him a message a few days ago telling him I’d be in SF by the end of this month asking if he wants to hang out. Despite the fact he’s been on Facebook, no response. I don’t think I’ll get one, and I won’t even bother asking. He is noncomfrontational. I think this might be the end. I don’t want to delete him, I’d look like a psycho, but I’m definitely going to try and forget him… And just like clockwork, he’ll respond saying he does want to see me, and I might be stupid enough to agree.

My thoughts: in the words of rilo kiley – “and the talkin’ leads to touchin’, then touchin’ leads to sex, and then there is no mystery left.” after fooling around my charm dissipated. I also think timing was crucial. He was sort of my emotional rebound. Today, I might not be as easily ready to believe in someone with so many warning signs, but back then I was hurting. Why do I like him? Fuck if I know, he’s certainly not the nicest, or the brightest, but I do find him very attractive. Sorry brain, the head of the south reigns supreme.

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04.06.2011

it’s a small gay world.

So after a somewhat pleasant flight (other than the landing/takeoff/landing again incident) I’ve arrived to London. I promptly got off the plane and after a scrutinous moment with customs I was legally allowed to enter the Queen’s land (note to self: the beard is coming off soon). I rushed to the exit to smoke a fag, bought a sim card, paid for an hour of internet, contacted my friends, and boarded the train towards Holborn.

As soon as I stepped out of the station I felt the same homey familiar feeling I’m used to feeling whenever I come here. It truly does feel like home, which reiterates my desire to one day live here… possibly as soon as I need a break from New York.

I met my friend Geordie-Mo and walked a few blocks back to his place. His boyfriend (Gina-Ho) greeted me nicely with some food and a nice tub ready for me to bathe in. It felt nice. My social media addiction had me logged in to facebook, grindr, and the like… it’s always good to make new friends. We later headed out to a few pubs for a couple of beers before going out that night. All familiar places my uncanny pigeon-like sense of direction recognised. What I like about London is the ambiance of people just having a drink out in public, something you never see in the US of A.

We walked back to Geordie’s flat to meet up with his beau and his friend, downed a few drinks, smoked a few more ciggys, and headed out to a night called ‘Popstarz’. To be honest, nights like this are not usually my cup of tea. I do enjoy my Britney and my Beyonce, but the selection of meat was too tender for my taste. Regardless, I had fun. I am quite versatile (not in bed), and as long as I have a drink and a friend, I can have a great time anywhere. We ended the night at around 2:30 and returned to their abode. Gina-Ho made us some food, and we chit chatted about boys. About how every single gay man in this world seems to know each other, and how you can play ‘six degrees of separation’ with your friends from across the Atlantic, and still find a connection (sometimes in even less than 6 steps). Also, I was asked about my dating life. I’m starting to become increasingly annoyed at the fact that everyone keeps asking me if there are any boys in my life. Yes. I know. This is a very common question, but what bothers me is not the question itself… I have no qualms answering it. It’s more the fact that society feels the need to keep reminding you that having a partner, or even just some sort of lay, is the norm! What’s wrong with being single and enjoying it? I do like my singleness! I’m not in denial, and it’s not like I can’t get some if I wanted to… which brings me to my last point: the 50 blind dates.

A few months ago, I intended to start the 50 blind date project. You can read my previous entry about it, but to summarise, I planned on going on 50 blind dates and writing about them. The biggest problem I encountered is getting such dates. I thought I had the logistics down, but I obviously can’t set myself up on blind dates. It wouldn’t be technically blind because I would at least have seen a picture of the guy. My friends have mostly failed to help me on my quest. So far I’ve had one date, and while I have a couple more lined up, it’s going very slow, and I don’t think it’s looking very promising. Therefore, I’ve decided to embark on another project: the 50 grind dates. Taking advantage of today’s technology and trends, I’m planning on going on 50 dates with guys off grindr. I’m still figuring out what exactly the terms of these dates, since grindr is mostly used for sex, and I’m not about to go and fuck 50 guys… but I figure it might be interesting. So far, I believe I have one tomorrow. We’ll see how it goes, and if all flows nicely, I might actually go through with this. Let’s call tomorrow evening ‘the pilot’ to my new show. Stay tuned.

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01.06.2011

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 »

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29.05.2011

off i go.

it is exactly 5:30 a.m. and I am desperately trying to stay up. I have to leave for JFK in an hour to catch a flight to San Diego to start my month long “vacation”. Why the quotations? this time it doesn’t feel like it. I am mildly excited about the trip, however, lately I’ve been telling people who ask me about my upcoming trip how when I used to live in LA I was always glad to get out, but now that I’m in New York I almost feel like I’m missing out by leaving for a whole month. Foolish? perhaps. I really do like this city.

Today I went to work. Nothing crazy, my boss, The Cock of the North, was out all day in “meetings” or as I like to call them: watching a football match. And to be honest, he should! He works too damn hard, which is part of the reason why I love working for this man. He is one of the most devoted employers I’ve ever met. He is not afraid to get his hands dirty and sweep the floor of the gallery if need be, and that is commendable.

After work, I planned on going straight home and start packing for my trip. However, he texted asking if I’d meet him for a drink. I almost feel obligated to do so, not that it’s a pain, but he’s just such a nice guy and fun to be around that I don’t mind it. And so I did. I met him for a drink, and then went home to pack. It was a bit hectic, but that’s what I love. I’ve often said that if I have 10 things to do, I’ll do 15. If I have 1 thing to do, I will do absolutely nothing. So I packed and then met friends for dinner. I chose a Catalan place I had never been to. I’ve been craving tapas for quite a while and I was somewhat disappointed by the place I chose. Whatever… the company was great. Apres… I went to visit my friend who just recently broke his foot. We had a “bed party”. Drank a few beers and then headed back to my place. A quick stop before our final destination.

We ended up at sugarland, a warehouse in the middle of Billyburg where gay boys gather every Saturday to dance their derriers off to the latest top 40. It was fun. I drank at a steady pace making sure I wasn’t too drunk to forget say… my passport while I finished packing… but enough to keep me going. I came home at 4 a.m. Continued packing. I think I’m good. I hope I’m good. It is the first time I pack this light. Slightly nervous, yet at the same time I think I’ve learned my lesson… I often overpack and don’t even wear half the shit I bring with me… not to mention, I end up shipping myself stuff home because I end up buying stuff I have no room for, and I’m still too paranoid to check my bag when I fly.

I am about to finish the remains of a bottle of Montepulciano that’s been sitting on my kitchen counter since Wednesday. I am smoking a cigarette. Once both are done I will take a shower, get dressed, call a car, and head off. I am somewhat looking forward to spending a few days in Mexico at my mom’s doing ABSOLUTELY nothing. I love New York but it can be quite exhausting. Even when you don’t want to do a single thing other than staying at home with your dog and watching TV, somehow you end up having another long night.

Anyway… I must part. New York – San Diego – Tijuana – Los Angeles – London – Birmingham – London – Antwerp – Amsterdam – Paris – Stockholm – London – San Francisco – Los Angeles – Tijuana – San Diego – New York await.

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26.05.2011

I was told I mellowed out.

For a couple of days I’ve been thinking about this blog. About its original intention. About what I’ve done with it. About what I want to do with it. I guess I’ve strayed from my purpose. Yes, I do write about fashion, but not as much as I should. I enjoy reviewing movies, events, shows, and the like… but I’ve been told I’m not completely myself when I do so.

I did not want it to be just another plain, purposeless blog… however, I’m not completely satisfied with the outcome. While I do wish on one day being a professional writer/reviewer, I’ve come to realize that at the moment, I’m not busy enough attending events to update the blog constantly. I do, however, have a very fun, and entertaining life… hence I’ve decided to write about that. My writing style will still come through and the blog will hopefully be more exciting that what it is now.

Have I mellowed out? I think not. Although I did hear others say that… I think I’ve matured, and that’s good. I welcome maturity, I embrace growth. I have a trip to Europe coming up, and I’m sure I’ll be getting into some trouble… so stay tuned. Exciting things will certainly be recorded here.

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Category: Life