the.applied.process.

wit. honesty. everyday ramblings.

Tag: gay

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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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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13.04.2011

Blind date #1: Double-dipper.

And we’re off. Wednesday April 6th, 2011 was my first official blind date of the “process”, and in fact, ever.

It was set up by a friend of mine from work. A week prior to the date, at about 5 in the morning, I had just woken up for some reason, and I headed to the toilet, sat, and logged on to facebook. He IM’d me saying he had a date for me, and in my half sleep mental state I said: “yes! send him my way”. I went back to bed.

The next day I checked my inbox and I had a name and a number. That was basically all I knew about this guy, and all I would know until I met him. I replied asking what I was supposed to do, surely I wasn’t just going to text a complete stranger and say: “hey! you don’t know me, but wanna go on a blind date?” My friend then asked for my schedule and set the date up.

On that fateful Wednesday, I woke up, met a friend to get our nails done, walked around soho for a bit, and then headed to work. I was at the gallery obsessive-compulsively hanging some art work when I realized the time, I was running late! I rushed to the bathroom, changed into my carefully predetermined outfit (black pants, black Sperry’s, a black Neil Barrett sleeveless tee, and a grey Band of Outsiders blazer), downed a mini bottle of liquid balls (a.k.a. J & B) I had purchased earlier, opened my umbrella (to bring in the good luck), and with the blessing of my peers, headed out the door. Then I received a text from my date saying he was running a bit late. No biggie. I arrived at the spot we agreed on, a somewhat cute thai restaurant in soho with a witty name, and waited outside. Another text came. He was running even more late.

I went inside and sat at the bar. The bartender, a beautiful, model-esque (like most people who work at restaurants in trendy New York neighborhoods), black girl with a sultry accent, and an alluring personality, asked me what I wanted. I asked for her suggestion. I ended up with a tamarind martini. As I sipped on the deliciously tangy concoction, we made small talk. I was slightly nervous for my date to arrive and introduce himself in a cliche: “Hi are you my (insert my name here)?” manner. I didn’t want her to know I was on a blind date. Sure enough, he walked through the door and did as I had prophesied.

First impression: if there was a romantic comedy where two guys meet for a blind date, he would’ve been exactly what I’d expect to see in such film. A couple inches taller than me, blond hair, blue (maybe green) eyes, wearing brown shoes, dark jeans, a Ralph Lauren sweater over a polo shirt, and a puff jacket, all in “safe” colors (navy, green, brown). I’d say he was moderately handsome, yes. Read the rest of this entry »

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05.04.2011

The 50 Blind Dates Process

I’ve decided to embark on a journey of self discovery and inspirational writing. A few weeks ago, a friend of mine asked me if I’d want to go on a blind date because his friend was trying to set up her gay friend. At first I immediately thought: “no! pointless! I don’t even want to date as it is, much less a bunch of failed blind dates!”

But then I stepped back and thought: “hey! this might be a great idea!” And for some reason, at that precise moment, I randomly (or… I suppose in my case it’s not that random anymore, since my brain comes across too many random thoughts to the point where they’ve become predictable) thought about that Adam Sandler movie 50 First Dates.

Again, this is how my brain works: blind date + Adam Sandler movie + new blog + lots of potentially terrible scenarios that will definitely fuel my writing = jackpot!

And thus, the “50 Blind Dates Process” was born.

The premise is simple. I plan on going on 50 blind dates with men regardless of their age, race, profession, economical status, mental status, “gay stereotype”, penis size, preferred sexual role, health, political views, religion, ethics code, dress style, family background, long term goals, short term goals, IQ, diet, and love or hate for dogs, among other things.

After each date, of course an entry into this blog will register the experience.

I am going at this with no expectations whatsoever and open to anything and everything. I’m not looking for love, but if I find it, so be it. I’m not looking for sex, but if I’m hard and drunk enough, then maybe. I’m not looking for friends, but if one of them ends up being my best man when/if I get married, then I guess I’ll consider myself very lucky man.

Finally, I will definitely need help, so if you have any single (or not) gay friends, enemies, family members, acquaintances, neighbors, classmates, coworkers, or whatever, send em my way. I promise I’ll be nice, but honest. I will never reveal their name. At the end of the day, we’ll all have something good to read about.

Cheers, and bring on the whiskey shots (which I’ll probably be taking prior to meeting the first few eager souls).

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29.03.2011

Mala Noche – Review

Last night, after having a nice home cooked spinach fettuccine with faux meat sauce and a bottle of wine, I headed to bed in a serene buzzed bliss. As usual, I woke up about 5 hours later when the effects of my self induced coma wore off. I laid in bed restless, tossing and turning, wrestling the sheets, and constantly repositioning Nigel. After about 40 minutes of unsuccessfully trying to doze back off, I got up and went on facebook. Nothing exciting happens at 6:30 a.m.

I listened to music on youtube. Heaven’s “Another Night”. Amazing song. Amazing song writer. I googled Matt Skiba (of Alkaline Trio fame), and came across a really good interview in which he was talking about watching Lars Von Trier’s “Antichrist”.

Side note – This is how my brain works: another night – matt skiba – antichrist – netflix – gus van sant’s 1985 directorial debut “mala noche”. Why? makes as much sense to me, as being awake at 6:30 in the morning.

As usual, I went on rotten tomatoes and looked at the reviews for the movie: 94%. Not bad. I streamed it, laid the laptop next to me, and laid in bed watching. I have to admit, it was a strange choice. It is black and white, the shots are hard to follow, and if it wasn’t because I spoke Spanish, there would also be the language factor/subtitles. However, it kept me engaged for a good 45 minutes. Then I passed out. *Disclaimer: it wasn’t Mr. Van Sant’s fault, it was my own body refusing to stay up as the sun comes out*

I woke up at noon and finished watching the film.

I quite liked it. Shot entirely in Portland, where Van Sant lives, it is based on the autobiographical novel of the same name by Oregon based poet Walt Curtis. It tells the story of Walt (Tim Streeter), a gay store attendant, who befriends two illegal Mexican teenageres, Johnny (Doug Cooeyate) and Pepper (Ray Monge), who end up being the object of his lust. Him and his friend Betty (Nyla McCarthy) decide to invite the boys over for dinner. The boys have to leave early to meet up with a friend. During the car ride back Walt tries to pursue Johnny to sleep with him for $15. Johnny refuses, and runs to out to meet his friend. Pepper and Walt are left locked outside, so Pepper ends up spending the night at Walt’s and having sex with him. The rest of the movie delves into the complications of the relationship between Walt, and the boys. Language barriers, difference in age, social status, and race further fuel the complexity of the bonds formed.

The characters are all together likeable and somewhat relatable, as well as quite complex. From the “Mexican  dealing with machismo/homophobia issues, yet I’m having sex with a man for ‘money’ but at the end of the day I like it”, to the “suburban American male dealing with his own issues towards his sexuality and looking for ‘love’ in the wrong places only to end up getting emotionally and physically abused time and time again”, Van Sant explored the many subtle layers each one of them has.  The movie seems quite “real” and Van Sant’s way of shooting it is successful at setting the very odd/dirty mood that makes you want to stop watching, but keeps you glued to the screen.

Overall, the perfect movie to watch whenever insomnia strikes. And if you’re as lucky as I am, that happens rather often. No complaints. Glad to have subject matter to write about.

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23.03.2011

The Black Party

Slightly intrigued and wanting to check something else off my imaginary bucket list, I decided to look into attending the legendary Black Party, a yearly gathering of NYC’s gay men at the Roseland Ballroom for a night of techno music, dark rooms, and little to no clothes.

I talked to a friend about it, and he was equally, if not more excited than I was. We convinced two more to venture on our adventure. We had our minds set. Come the night of Saturday, March 19th, 2011 we would march our way to West 52nd Street and see what the whole hoopla was about. As the day approached, I heard and read more and more about the event. It was as if I kept getting turned off and on simultaneously. “anonymous sex everywhere”, “people peeing on people”, “ecstasy”, “aggressive groping”, where they for real? I had to check it out.

As soon as I left work, and with the blessing of my coworkers, I rushed home to figure what I was going to wear. Originally, we had planned on wearing nice tuxedos and masks, but with the possibility of getting peed on in the horizon, I decided to ditch the tuxedo and go for something perhaps more “appropriate”. I pointlessly packed a bunch of clothes in my duffle bag, since I already resolved what I was going to wear, and headed to my friend’s apartment.

Earlier that night, I had decided I wasn’t going to get terribly drunk. Instead I would opt for beer here and there and keep it chill. I wanted to both remember the night, and have a fair judgment.

Upon arriving at my friend’s. I had a drink and we got dressed. I wore faux leather pants (as a side note, I had bought these pants a while ago in Paris, and had never worn them but I knew they would come in handy), combat boots, and black suspenders. As a final touch, I chose to wear a white t-shirt with a Robert Mapplethorpe-esque image of a bullwhip. Always better to overdress than underdress right?

At about midnight we headed to the venue. It was only a few blocks away. There was a long line of significantly older men lots of who were dressed in leather gear. I have to admit, I’m a sucker for a mature guy who’s rough around the edges. My eye wondered. The line moved steadily and quickly. We were inside in about 15 minutes. We were instructed to drop off our cellphones, and go downstairs if we needed to check in our garments. Indeed I was overdressed. A leather harness and a jockstrap would’ve sufficed.

We headed straight to the bar, picked up a beer each, and proceeded to explore. It was not very crowded. I had heard the party didn’t really get going till about 2 a.m. There was some contortionist show on one stage, then some slightly unimpressive aerial acrobats, and hideous techno music, which I’m sure I would’ve enjoyed had I not been sober unlike the rest of the attendees.

Earlier that day I had talked to a friend who mentioned he was going to DJ a side room. Since I was getting antsy and needed to pee, I went to relief my bladder and try and find him. Indeed it was a side room, right next to the dark room, through which I had to walk to get to where he was. I said hi, chit chatted for a bit, and told him I’d go find my friends and come back. He was playing way better music anyway.

I journeyed back through the dark room, which was getting more crowded, and loud with moans and grunts, and into the main room. One of my friends decided to leave. The rest of us walked back to where my friend was djing.

From there on, we pretty much stayed in that room, taking quick trips to buy more beer or water. I danced for about 4 hours. Saw men having sex with men having sex with men, porn stars, familiar faces, drugs (both legal and illegal), more sex, buckets and buckets of condoms and lube, even more sex, a light show, people into all kinds of fetishes, and even a room where you could get tested for STDs (because if we’re going to fuck senselessly we have to be responsible, right?).

Towards 4:30 a.m. I was getting tired. I hadn’t slept much the night before, and again, I wasn’t on drugs, or drunk for that matter, and I hadn’t nor was planning on participating in any of the “activities” there. Another one of my friends had already left, and the two of us who were still there decided that maybe it was time for bed. We stayed for about another hour, and then proceeded to pick up our jackets and cellphones. We were asked if we wanted a wristband to come back, as the event kept going till, and I quote the flyer, “Sunday afternoon”. No thank you. I need a few hours of sleep, and maybe some yoga to feel clean again.

I left the place with mixed feelings. Warm yet bitter, much like the alleged urine I was promised to have splashed on my pant leg. Will I be back? It’s not something that I’ll be waiting for next year, but if there are ulterior motives or a specific incentive, why not?

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