Nightlife | the.applied.process.

20.07.2011

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 Being this the meatpacking district, we were asked for a 15 dollar cover, to which I politely declined, and, do not quote me on this one but, I believe we went home.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.

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19.07.2011

Fags, stags, and drags.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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08.07.2011

NY NY NY NY NY NY NY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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05.07.2011

LA LA LA I’m off to New York.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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29.06.2011

A Big Gay Weekend!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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24.06.2011

Fish tacos, excrushes, and sing alongs.

“Welcome home” is what the customs official behind gate #28 (obviously I specifically picked this gate) said to me after I showed him my documents. It certainly felt that way. I was back, and this time, perhaps due to my lack of massive facial hair, I was allowed back home with very minimal effort, and big open arms.

The luggage inspection lady wasn’t as friendly, but still way better than usual. She handed me over to another really nice official who I made small talk about Mexican food and in-n-out (the only things on my mind) with as he was going through my bag. He let me go with another “welcome home”.

I texted my good friend ‘Reindeer’, who I was to stay with, as soon as I had a cigarette in my mouth. First things first. He was hanging out with his lovely female friend, and so I told him not to rush, and just let me know where and when I could meet him. I went back inside, charged my phone, texted my Mexican crush (‘Latin T’), googled the closest rubio’s, and wasted about an hour on Facebook and grindr. I then took the BART to embarcadero and indulged in a fish taco, a shrimp taco, a beer, and some beans and chips. The (lesbian) lady at rubio’s was also nice. I truly felt welcomed.

I heard back from ‘Reindeer’ and hailed a cab to his place. It drove me right past ‘SF boy’s’ old place. It feels weird to be here and not contact him, but I’m sure he knows I’m here, and he could do the same if he wanted (which he won’t), and its time to get completely over him. After all, I’m fairly certain that, if anything good, was to come out of him, it’d be after plenty a headaches, and my head is already aching enough from my hang over and jet lag. Also, the constant back and forth texting with ‘Latin T’ had me concentrating my time on more potentially fruitful investments.

The cab ride took no time. I beat ‘Raindeer’ to his place, but only by a couple minutes. He had a brown paper bag with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. I’m not surprised we’re friend’s. We promptly poured a whiskey coke and started catching up. Cigarettes. Whiskey. Rinse and repeat.

That night, we went to a karaoke bar. It was ridiculously fun. There were some familiar faces from college there. More whiskey. Some somewhat cute hipster sang “What’s My Age Again?”. I briefly fell in love. Cigarettes. One of the girls I knew from college did a stellar performance of “I Just Had Sex”. More whiskey. We left the bar and headed to the next stop.

Whiskey. Cigarettes. A game of pool. A crazy, old, horny woman who was mad at ‘Raindeer’ for having a girlfriend. We didn’t stay long.

On the way home, we stopped for some late night Mexican. Tomorrow I want in-n-out and more rubio’s.

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23.06.2011

Last stop, then ‘frisco.

I had talked to ‘The Kid’ about potentially staying with him. He’d said most likely i could but we’d see once I got there. Not a clue what that meant… I also didn’t want to bother Geordie-Mo since I knew he’d be at work by the time I arrived. I had an early flight. I was at the Victoria station by 10:30 a.m. So I decided to book a hostel for the night. Usually I’m quite complacent and I always go far beyond what I should to make sure people feel at home, but I also hate being a nuisance, even if it’s very minimal, so a hostel sounded like a sensible solution. Whether I used the room or not didn’t matter. If anything I was paying for an expensive locker in central London.

I texted both Brits and waited for their response. ‘The Kid’ suggested I just come over and drop my stuff. I did so. It was nice to see him again. Always the good host he offered me water, a cigarette, a shower, and explained that the reason why he’d said we’d see if I could stay was because last time we were a bit too loud for his roommate. Understandable.

I left promptly to do a little shopping. I ended up spending more than I should, but the damn sales had me hooked! Rick Owens for 60-70% off? Yes please! Balmain and Burberry Prorsum for half the price? Why the hell not. I also found some weird aphrodisiac pearl dust that I bought because I thought it’d be a fun novelty to drink with champagne (as the instructions read).

Deciding it was probably not a good idea to continue spending money and being a bit scared that one of my cards got blocked at some point, I headed back towards Shoreditch. Me and ‘The Kid’ had said we’d meet back at his by 1930h. I was a bit early so I went to a small coffee shop/pub with free wifi on the corner of his street and logged on to the usual. He called me to tell me he was near. I saw him walking outside then pub and went after him. We went back to his place and popped open the bottle. We skype’d with our mutual friend. It was nice to see his face, but it would’ve been nicer to actually have a drink in person. I showed ‘The Kid’ the blog, per his request, and at first I felt he was a bit weirded out by the fact that I had written about him. I wasn’t bad, but I’m sure it’s a bit weird. He said it didn’t matter. I fought my own paranoia and chose to believe him. We were supposed to meet his friends for an event at 8 p.m. We lost track of time and showed up closer to 10.

We had a coupe drinks at a really cute, kitschy bar, but left promptly. The staff was being incredibly rude. We all went to Hoxton Bar & Kitchen. I really enjoyed hanging out with all of them, but ‘The Kid’ wanted to go somewhere else, and to be honest, I kind of did to. We devised a strategy, the moment he wanted to leave he’d say the code word ‘rabbit’ and we’d pretend I was tired and I had to leave to get a good night sleep and catch my early flight.

He took me to a bar I’d been with him last time. We drank more and more. Got in stupid arguments with stupid drunks. We drank some more. He kissed me. I kissed back. Had one last drink and walked back to his place for the inevitable.

Just like last time, the details are a bit blurry but there was more kissing, and touching, and cuddling. I don’t think either of us remembers when we passed out. I woke at 6ish in the morning and we kissed and fooled around some more. We went back to sleep and I woke up when my alarm clock went off. It was a bit later than I wanted. We kissed and cuddled more. I briefly packed taking quick breaks to give him another peck. Soft. He suggested I miss my flight. While tempted, it’s also a bitch to miss flights, I should know. I left his apartment slightly hoping I would miss it but not on purpose.

I got to Heathrow, upgraded my seat, and now I’m typing this entry. I’m a bit sad and nostalgic. I still do love Europe, especially London, and I’m sure I’ll end up living there at some point, but I’m far from done in New York. We’re about an hour and a half away from San Francisco. Not sure what to expect. I already had a brief anxiety attack. I hate it, but I hate it even more when it happens on a plane. I’m about to take one last nap. I’m craving a cigarette like nymphomaniac craves a lay. All I really want to think of in terms of San Francisco is: should I get in-n-out or rubio’s first?

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23.06.2011

Blind Date #2: Little Tokyo.

It took a ridiculously long time for my next blind date to happen, but on the evening of June 21st, 2011 it finally did! I’m starting to see a correlation here, since this one was set up by a friend of an artist we represent at work, and the previous one was set by the brother of an artist we represent as well. My friends, on the other hand, have proved to be as helpful as a guide dog who’s blind and missing a leg.

I was in Stockholm staying with said artist, and we had just shaved my head and beard. I shaved because I did not want to deal with customs at the US airport stereotyping me for my facial hair. It’s dumb but if I had a krona for every time it’s happened, I’d be a Swedish millionaire. The artist and his friend kept fucking with me about the date. Like I stated, I want to know as little as possible about my suitors. All I knew was his name. Let’s call him… ‘Little Tokyo’. They kept telling me to be careful, not to stare too much when I first see him, and if I was comfortable enough to push him around in his wheel chair. I soon discovered these were all lies.

I walked to the train station we decided we’d meet at. He was running late. I waited. Then I got a text saying he was around the corner. I nervously looked left and right. All of a sudden, a tiny Asian (later I found out Japanese) man with a denim ensemble and a very sad excuse for a ‘stache waved at me. I was relieved. We said hi and walked to a bar close by. It was an upstairs terrace, and when we were going up the stairs, ‘Little Tokyo’ said hi to two Swedish girls. We grabbed a beer, which he paid for, and upon realizing there were no available seats, we ended up sitting with his friends, who I found out worked with him.

It was a bit awkward at first. I had no clue about anything about this man, and his friends being there didn’t really promote a very ‘getting to know you’ environment. However, being the social papillon I am, I quickly had the girls asking one question after the next about my life, which I used to reciprocate and try subtly to find things about this man’s life. I found out he worked in fashion as a men’s wear designer for a not too interesting Swedish brand that’s easily available in America. He was twenty-eight. He had lived in Australia where he met Sweds who enticed him to move to Stockholm. He was soon quitting his job. Overall, he was a nice guy. I am probably more attracted to kitchen knives than I was to him, but as a blind date, he was adequate.

We left the terrace after one drink because they wouldn’t serve us more. We walked downstairs to the bathroom where we said goodbye to his coworkers, and crossed the street to another bar. It was a small, kitchy dive with interesting people that could fit in any given international city I’ve been to. He knew people there as well. We sat with them, but this time we actually talked to each other. We talked about Japan, and I managed to pull out all my Japanese katanas to show off my slight, yet unusual, knowledge of Japanese culture.

As planned, I’d been texting with ‘Titi’ to cue her to come save me if need be. I obviously didn’t feel threatened, but I wouldn’t mind them around, after all, it wasn’t an intimate affair, nor did I want it to turn into one. We finished out drink and went outside to smoke. They met us there and we all walked to another bar. The bar was closed so we went to another one around the corner. I drank at twice the speed they did. The date never really fulfilled itself as a date in an sense. We left after about an hour. I said bye, he asked if I had to go sleep at ‘Mr. A.G.’s’, I said yes. Not sure if this was him asking me to come over, but not in a million years would that happen. Never say never, I know, but this time I’m pretty confident saying so.

Me and the Swedes walked to the train station.’Titi’ took the train home, we walked. We had another drink, and I finished the bottle of champagne I had purchased earlier. We talked a bit about work, I set up my alarm, we went to bed. As expected, I didn’t wake up on time. ‘Mr. A.G.’ woke me up when the cab was outside. Fortunately I was already packed. I thanked him for everything and made it to the airport fine. Off to London. I was tired and ready for one last night in a city that feels like home, and with proper company. Me and ‘The Kid’ had plans.

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23.06.2011

Stockholm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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22.06.2011

Back home?

J’ai arrivée à Paris. Amsterdam was nice. I was pleasantly surprised by it and glad I didn’t flake off on my trip. Paris feels like coming back home. I hadn’t been here since last year when I lived here. I didn’t have a place to stay. My friend who I was supposed to stay bailed on me. So did the girl I met in Amsterdam. I called my mother and asked for her help finding me a room. I didn’t care how much it was, I just needed a place to shower and drop my compactly packed overweight bag. She proved minimal help. I got frustrated and told her I’d figure it out. I took the train to repulique. Tried checking into the crown plaza, a place I’d been before. It was full. Walked to a couple more places around the corner and finally found a shit place. I didn’t care. I needed that shower.

They offered free wifi so of course I logged on to Facebook and grindr. I spoke to my friend and made plans to meet in a bit. I showered and headed off to see him. I knew my bearing around the area. I’d lived here before. It was a nice feeling.

I saw him outside a bar/cafe on rue de turenne like the ones you normally see all around Paris. We hugged, said hello, and enjoyed a demi. He was with some friends from work. They were nice tho I didn’t really talk much to them. We all parted our separate ways. Me and ‘Dansk J’ headed to some other bar. On the way there we met some of his other friends at a place called le progres off rue de bretagne. They were an Asian girl I’d read about before on Facebook, a German girl with a similar job as mine, and her landlord, a gay Parisian who’d spent enough time in America to have dropped the accent and the anti-American french attitude. They were all nice. As usual, I connected with them right away.

We left said bar and headed l’egoiste, my Parisian neighbourhood bar. Last year when I lived here I was a regular. More drinks. More words. We all slowly started heading out our separate ways. Dansk J had to work the next morning. The gay Parisian invited me to stick around. We did few more bars, and at about 3am I headed home. There wasn’t much action on grindr.

The next morning I met Dansk J for lunch. We went to a sample sale. I bought some unnecessary accessories. He went back to work, I window shopped around the Marais. Then I went to centre pompideu and spent a few hours looking at neon art and an Indian exhibit. I went back to the hotel and waited for D.J. to get off work. We met up at this penthouse apartment he was staying at behind Galleries Lafayette. We had a couple beers and headed off to hotel costes. We met up with his roommate, a McDonald loving snobby Parisian. We drank and expensive (23€) drink and parted ways. ‘Big Mac’ went home, we went to the outskirts of Paris to see Breakbot. The soiree was alright. Good music. Shit people.

The next day I decided not to stay with the girl from Chicago and fork out a pretty penny for my own abode. I found a room near Opera, and dragged my heavy duffle bag to said place. For the day, I planned on going to Colette, Grand Palais, Musee d’Orsay, and Rick Owens, in that order. Instead I did Colette, Rick Owens, Grand Palais, chez moi. I didn’t shop much, I just got a documentary. I called ‘Chicago’ and met her for an awful dinner at pizza pino. A thing I hate about traveling is meeting up with true tourists who avoid eating nice because they think eating nice means spending money, and thus they fall for these tourist traps where they end up spending the same amount of money and end up getting edible shit. We went to l’egoiste after and I texted D.J. It was ‘Dansk J’s’ last night in Paris. He met up with us. His friend showed up a few minutes later. We all headed to another place to meet more people. I felt weird for ‘Chicago’. She stood out like a sore thumb amidst the noir clad clan we were. Thankfully, one of the guys in the crowd brought his sister, a lovely danish girl, yet equally misfit biologist. They connected. I ate nice food and stared at the beautiful waiter.

Après, we went to a bar around the block. It wasn’t much exciting. We left promptly and waited for hours for a cab. Finally, I had the brilliant idea of heading back to my hotel lobby a few blocks away and have the concierge fetch us transport. It worked like a charm. The group dismantled. Me, D.J., the other Dane, his sister, and ‘Gong girl’ headed to a club rives gauche. ‘Chicago’ understood her place and went home.

The club was decent. It was your usual Parisian snobbyness. We didn’t stay long. We left to Le Baron. The Dansk siblings went home.

I’d been wanting to go to Le Baron. I hadn’t been since my last year incident when I got kicked out for drunkenly thinking I could get away with stealing a bottle off a desolate table. I got in without a problem. I felt validated. We met some drunk woman with a shaved head who was nice and offered us the remainder of her champagne bottle. Her beau wasn’t too pleased. At about 5 am and after spending more than I should we left. Me and D.J. took a cab to Opera and without knowing it’d be the last time I’d see him in a while, we said goodbye. I got home and logged on to grindr. I had a few message. One of them said “are you Jorge from Griffin?”. What a small gay world.

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Category: Nightlife