the.applied.process.

wit. honesty. everyday ramblings.

Tag: ‘Geordie-Mo’

25.11.2011

We Can Never Break Up.

“We can never break up, we can never not show, we can never go home, no, we can never elope. We’ve only got one choice, so let’s keep making it, and making it. Making it and making it.”

Back to reality. The weekend was over and the city, for the first time ever, felt slightly foreign to me. I was glad to be back, but I could’ve also stayed away a few days longer. This was definitely a first for me.

The rest of my night was pretty packed so I barely had any time to think about how I was feeling about coming back. We dropped off our bags at my apartment and, after taking half hour to chill out, feed ‘Toto’, and catch a breath, we left to go meet ‘Geordie-Mo’ with his 718 beau and ‘Jose Maria’ at Mesa Coyoacan for my dear Briton’s farewell dinner. This time, I was to accomplish the task I’d been given before but was too drunk to perform: cross examine the future ex boyfriend. The verdict? I am not so sure about this one, but whatever my friend wants, I will support.

We left dinner and headed to Metropolitan for a few more rounds of drinks. Me and ‘Nickle’ were not really feeling too much in the mood to be out, I think we were train lagged so we didn’t stay for long and instead opted to go to bed but not before the mandatory night cap pit stop at The Abbey, of course. Again, that didn’t last long either. We were home soon after.

Tuesday is beginning to be one of my favorite week days. Yes, it’s the beginning of my work week, but my work is technically closed, so while I still have to go in, it is way more relaxed than the days when we’re open. That morning, after ‘Geordie-Mo’ showed up from his crazy night of wild fun, we took the train to the city. I stopped by my job for a bit, he went to grab a drink with a friend, and then he came back a couple of hours later to snatch me up and have one last lunch. I excused myself saying I had lots of errands to run, and left for about 3 hours. We met up with ‘Jose Maria’ and ‘Nickle’ for a quick bite at Bread in Tribeca.

After lunch, I continued “running errands” and walked over to Astor Place to go shopping for stuff for the office. At around 4 pm I returned to work. The next three hours went by pretty fast. I was looking forward to getting out because I had gotten me and the boy tickets to War Horse the week before when I though I wasn’t going to be drinking. Regardless, it was a play I’d been wanting to see and I was glad to do so with my babe. They were the best $250 I’ve spent going to the theatre. During the play I got a few anxiety attacks here and there. Nothing new, it’s just exhausting.

We left Lincoln Center and walked around looking for food. We ended up at Blue Ribbon right by the Time Warner Center eating some overpriced sushi. Yes, it was good fish and the place had lots of variety, but I’ve had better. I drank some beer and sake to subdue the anxiety but it didn’t really help.

Before heading home, ‘Nickle’ suggested we stop by Town Hall, a gay bar in the Upper West Side who’s clientele includes older gentlemen and the twenty something hustlers who fancy them (or their money). I’d heard about this establishment for a while now and I’d been wanting to go check it out so I agreed to it, however, I was not in the right mindset for the evening. My scattered brain was going everywhere and what would’ve been a funny experience turned into something odd that just left a sour taste in my mouth. We left after one drink and caught a cab to Williamsburg via the Queensborough bridge.

The ride back was filled with even more anxiety that ‘Nickle’ kept trying to calm down, but was somewhat unsuccessful. To be honest, I don’t remember much, I’ve been having black outs when the attacks get really bad. Somehow we went to bed.

Wednesday morning my day started with some sexy shower time. I think my favorite part of the day is when I wake up next to ‘Nickle’ and we hit snooze like eight times before finally getting up and going. It doesn’t hurt when aside from that we have some cute little intimate moments. I left my apartment with a smile on my face only to slowly turn it into a grin because ‘BoGo’, my boss, is useless. Checking back on my notes (I keep brief phrases that remind me what I did each day), I’m not sure why I wrote that but I’m sure I had my valid reasons. Maybe it’s a sign from above telling me not to bitch about bitches, maybe it’s a sign from above showing me that I, too, am incompetent for not remembering what prompted me to write so or not being more thorough in covering all my bases.

At around 5 pm, ‘Jose Maria’ showed up since he was meeting one of his boys around the corner. I told him to wait for me as I finished so I could walk out with him. I left at around 5:15 pm and headed over to ‘Nickle’s’ work. That night we were going to go to the World Trade Center memorial. I stopped by his office and got showed off like a proud catch. It always feels nice to be given this treatment.

We walked over to the memorial. I had told work I had a doctor’s appointment, and I stupidly checked in as soon as I got to the site. The clever ‘Jose Maria’ called me to make me aware of my mistake, but I really didn’t care. I took more pictures of the massive fountains and the names in light, and posted them on Facebook. After we left, I looked for the closest doctor’s office listed on Facebook and I checked in to that as well.

I’d been talking to ‘Nickle’ about our drinking habits, and I was still a bit tender from the previous night’s anxiety monsoon. He suggested we grab some food and a beer with his friend ‘Judy’ at an Irish pub around the corner and so we did. The anxiety was still there but I was putting my best face forward. I refuse to give in to these mood swings and let them control the outcomes of my day.

Sometime during dinner, they also suggested we go to The Abbey before heading home. Because of the anxiety I felt weird about this but did not speak up. I was drifting away to wherever it is I go when I get the attacks. One thing led to the next and we actually just went home. During the subway ride, ‘Nickle’ asked me if I was ok, to which I admitted not feeling well so we just stayed in.

At my apartment, we had a somewhat significant tiff. We started talking yet again about our going out habits. I explained that I don’t mind them, except I don’t want “grabbing drinks at a bar” to be the default activity when we have no other things planned. I understand it’s very easy to go there and I usually think the same way but, like I mentioned, when I’m dating someone, I want other things. I want chill nights in to happen naturally, not to be planned.

The argument continued for a while. We didn’t go to The Abbey despite me suggesting we could. I really just wanted to go home for a second, change shoes since mine were soaked from the shit weather outside, and then I was fine with having a nightcap. At the same time, I didn’t mind staying in. Nothing beats cuddle time.

We went to bed earlyish.

Thursday morning started with more talking. I didn’t mind it because we needed to yet, at the same time, it set the mood for the day a bit off. I went to work for half the day and then I had to do an install at British Airways. I was there for longer than expected. The plan was for ‘Nickle’ to come home (to mine) after work, make some dinner for us, and be waiting for me with a hot plate ready. Of course we were both busier than expected since we had a lot to accomplish before we left midweek for the holidays and that didn’t happen.

Instead, we both got off at around 9 or 10 pm and we met for dinner at Republic right by Union Square. I knew from the moment I kissed him hello that something was still off. He knew I knew. We didn’t address the weird aura and just ate our noodles while making small talk.

We were both really tired so we headed home right after. I am not sure exactly when or how it started, I think we had two or three beers before bed, but he began talking about how he wants to go home sometimes. I hadn’t been ok for the past few days and this kind of set me off again. We talked and talked about our relationship and where it’s going. We talked about me freaking out about our drinking. We talked about living together. We talked about how much time we spend with each other. We talked about everything and anything and nothing at all. It was all very repetitive and somewhat stressful. I didn’t take it well, and consequentially, neither did he. He went into frustration mode, which I’ve only experienced once before, and scared me even more when I could tell he was thinking of leaving that night. I somehow came back from my drift and talked some sense into our tiff. We stopped and fooled around and I swallowed for the first time ever. My anxiety levels were still off the charts, but somehow we managed to fall asleep and stop the bickering.

In retrospect, the argument we had that night was weird. I see his point about wanting some time alone. I agree, it’s just that at the point when he said it, I wasn’t ready to hear it. I’ve  thought from the beginning of this relationship that things were going too fast. He was going too fast. Yet I decided to not over think it and just go with it. I also thought a lot about the day when one of us would be the one to put the brakes, I wasn’t sure who was going to be the first, but I was terrified he was going to beat me to the punch. All in all, I just had too many mixed feelings and that, along with the higher than usual anxiety levels I’d been having, had me in a very delicate place.

Friday morning we talked a bit more. I didn’t feel reassured. He left for work and I was left with even more anxiety. I randomly skyped with a friend from abroad who I hadn’t seen in a while. I mentioned I might be coming to Europe in February, to which he asked if there’d be any sexy time between us (we fooled around once). I told him that was out of the question, obviously, because of ‘Nickle’. It felt good to say that. It was a bit comforting to know that I am with someone that I love so much that I have no eyes for anyone else. I took a shower and went into an even deeper anxiety hole. As I’m typing right now and reading my notes, they don’t make much sense but the word “fuck” is written quite a few times.

Luckily, I mustered enough sanity to decide to bike to work. The exercise would probably help me get out of the funk I was in, and so I did. I put on my music and rode over the bridge and up to the British Airways headquarters in Midtown. I still had a lot of work to do.

To say that I was a complete mess all that day is an understatement. I was nowhere near fine and, judging by ‘Nickle’s Facebook updates, neither was my boyfriend. He had made plans for drinks with friends after work and invited me. I replied saying that I might not be able to meet up as I felt nowhere near sane enough to be around people. After a few texts back and forth we decided to spend the night together. I told him I was fine with drinks, I certainly needed one, but I wanted to see him before for dinner so we could talk a bit more before we had any alcohol in our blood stream.

I rushed the install at British Airways and left at around 6 pm. We met on the corner of 2nd and 9th in the East Village and walked over to Plum for some pizza. We talked and talked and talked till he made us stop at the right moment. His eyes were teary and he screamed ‘I love you’ in the middle of the restaurant. That was exactly what I needed. We finished eating and met the rest of the crowd  at Sola’s for happy hour.

The remainder of the night was significantly better. I was out of my A-hole, and I was ready to relax and have some fun. We got drunk and ended up at The Abbey before going home to sleep.

For as much as I bitch about our drinking, it felt great to have some normalcy. I wish I could explain why I think the way I think or where it is I go sometimes, and it’s terrifying not being able to do so. I am constantly at fear of losing my man because of how insane I get and, although he’s constantly told me he doesn’t mind my insanity, I can’t help but worry. I will say, tho, that till I find a way to control the anxiety, I’m willing to fight the good fight every day, one day at a time.

“You’re like a test I can’t fuck up. You’re like a song in my head, like a la la la la la like a dream. Don’t wake me up and if I never see the light again. Well I guess they put me in the ground with this smile on my head, my love. My love”

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17.11.2011

Belong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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08.10.2011

Home

“Well, hot & heavy, pumpkin pie, chocolate candy, Jesus Christ! There ain’t nothin’ please me more than you”

On my first day as a coupled man, I was beaming and happy and somehow got to work in time. It was gonna be a long day and I was anxious (in a good way) to get it done or at least get it started. Upon arriving at the office, I told ‘The Cock of the North’ I now had a boyfriend. His first response was asking me “who?” and “why?” since I’ve been so adamant about staying single. After I mentioned it was ‘Nickle’, who he’s met, he said: “Congratulations!”. It felt good to hear he approved. I also called ‘Jose Maria’ who gave me an “I know”.

Wednesday night my friend ‘Geordie-Mo’ was coming to town from London and staying with me. Sadly, I also had the work anniversary dinner to attend and I was leaving to film a documentary in Texas the next morning, so I wasn’t going to spend much time with him, but I told him after dinner I’d meet for drinks at “the church” and also introduce him to my new man, who I wanted him to meet, but also I was just looking for excuses to see ‘Nickle’ again.

And thus the plans happened as planned. The coworkers and I met at the office, toasted to some champagne, and headed to dinner at Norwood Club. It was a nice soiree. It went on for slightly longer that I would’ve wanted to, but only because I had other engagements to attend. ‘Nickle’ kept texting me constantly, I believe he was a bit drunk, and at some point he texted me the three little words a lot of people dread: “I Love You”. I excused myself from the dinner table, went to have a cigarette and called him. I told him not to say such things.

*side note: here’s my thing about the “I love you”. I do not mind it at all. I believe that especially in America, it has a stronger meaning than what it should have which was my main reason why I wanted to talk to ‘Nickle’. I have said “I love you” pretty early in a relationship, and although we’ve only been officially dating for a day, we’ve been hanging out for 7 weeks now, so I can understand why he could potentially go there but, like I said, I just want him to be sure he’s saying it because he does, and not because he’s idolizing me or something of the sort, after all, I do have my flaws. The way I see it, I do reciprocate, but the fact that I love him does not mean “I LOVE HIM” in the sense most people tend to think. I love him and I will continue to do so and that love will continue to grow, which I feel is healthier than a loaded “I love you” which has been held back for a while for fear of releasing the meaning we’ve attached to it.*

Back to the story. So yes, I told him not to say that, but I told him I wanted to see him in person later to talk about it. I went back downstairs, had another drink, split the bill with my coworkers, and cabbed it to “the church” where ‘Jose Maria’ and ‘Geordie-Mo’ were waiting. I greeted my brit with a huge hug and a kiss. We hung out and caught up over about three drinks, and a few more cigarettes. Even though he was here, the night was pretty standard. We left because I mentioned I wanted to go see ‘Nickle’ so he could meet ‘Geordie-Mo’.

We cabbed it to, where else, The Abbey, where I also greeted my new boyfriend with a huge hug and a wetter kiss. I introduced the respective parties and continued drinking. Anxiety decided to knock on my right temporal lobe’s door. I went into panic mode over the fact that I was now dating someone. I won’t delve into this right now, I want to write an entry about it, but at some point ‘Nickle’ mentioned he could see I was really scared, and I think I shed a couple of tears. We all went home. I went to bed with my man (it feels good to say that), and ‘Jose Maria’ and ‘Geordie-Mo’ slept together on the couch.

Thursday my handsome boyfriend left early for work. ‘Jose Maria’ left shortly after. I woke up, finished packing, and headed to Union Square to drop off my dog at a pet hotel and then grabbed a bite at Fatty Snack, the Fatty Crab owned food stand on Madison Square Park. We then walked over to ‘The Lady of Derbyshire’s’ apartment to catch a cab to the airport and head to Marfa, Texas. God was I not ready for this.

The Marfa experience was a cluster fuck of desolate West Texas ghost towns, constant fear of desert critters, interesting (and I cannot stress that enough) insane characters, no first world commodities,  run-ins with the border patrol, and one of the most amazing experiences ever all rolled up into one with a scary Texas Chainsaw Massacre-esque vibe.

Let me begin by mentioning how excited I was about this. ‘The Lady of Derbyshire’ had mentioned she had a documentary to film as part of her graduating project and had asked if I wanted to join. The subject would be Dragset and Elmgreen’s Prada Marfa installation in the Chihuahua desert, as well as a story on the site representative and artist, Boyd Elder. I’d been obsessed with said installation for a few years now and, realizing it was in the middle of nowhere, figured I wouldn’t make the trip solely to see it unless an opportunity like this presented itself, so I agreed. We’d planned the trip for a while and that Thursday we started the 12 hour long journey that turned into 15 because of all the flight delays.

We got to El Paso quite late. We quickly headed to Walmart, picked up a few indispensable items (wine and cigarettes in my case, food in hers), and started the 3 hour drive to Marfa. It was scary. I’m talking about driving in the middle of a two lane highway with no lights other than the car’s with the occasional eerie sighting of things you can’t quite seem to describe what they are.

Sometime after driving for 2 and a bit hours we saw it. RIght there, in the middle of the road, a bright chartreuse rectangular beacon illuminating the barren landscape. We passed it and stopped, then reversed towards it. It was magical. My first impression tho, I was expecting something bigger, but there’s definitely no denying its striking presence. Obviously, we took a few pictures until we got approached by border patrol (for the second time so far) who asked for our ID’s and after proving our legal right to be in this country, wished us luck on our project.

We drove for another half hour to the town of Marfa where we were to spend the night. The apartment we rented was nice, except for its name and what it entailed: the yellow door. It was aptly decorated by hues of the aforementioned. I hate the color yellow. I drank a bottle of wine and dozed off.

Friday we woke up early and drove to the sight to begin shooting. I was in charge of the more “creative” shots. I had never handled a semi-professional video camera in my life, but somehow, I was surprised how natural it felt. Then I remembered how nifty I am and the surprise fade away. After about an hour of filming, Boyd Elder, the man of the hour, joined us with his mother. First impression: the guy looked insane but right off the bat I liked him. He was very nice and quite the character. His mother, a 90+ year old woman, was the same: incredibly nice and keen, yet she looked scarily aged. He invited us over to their place in the town of Valentine just a couple miles south of Prada Marfa. Again, his house was just like a set of a slasher movie: old, run down, and in the middle of nowhere. I have to make it clear that I am not trying to be demeaning here, to say they were incredibly hospitable is an understatement. I’m just pointing out the shock I experienced due to the contrast of what I’m used to.

We talked for a bit as he gave us a tour of his property. His studio was insane, but the stories were even crazier. This man has had such an amazing life, and the list of names he mentioned as close friends are enough to make any dumb big city socialite stick their head in the ground. The Eagles, Joni Mitchel, Ed Ruscha, Donald Judd, Razorlight, you name it. Old and new. Music and art. Hollywood. New York. Europe. He has it covered, and yet you’d never expect it from looking at him. Never judge a book by its cover has never been more true.

After a few hours we headed back to Marfa to get ready for an art opening at Ballroom Marfa, the nonprofit local art space. One of the things that struck me the most about this town was how even with its population of two thousand, it feels very international. People from all over fly to either of the two closest airports and drive for a couple hours to come to the different events that happen throughout the year. I met a lot of people from New York, and the east coast. I saw a few more that dressed the part so I assumed were also from out of town. We stayed till close and went back to our apartment. Boyd called us and invited us to the after party. We obliged and walked to Capri Lounge, another great old adobe building converted into a spectacular space that marries traditional with modern so seamlessly it almost feels indigenous.

We mingled a bit more, met a few key pieces of the Marfa community, and watched an all girl mariachi band perform. Still tired from the trip we called it an early night. I drank another bottle, ‘The Lady of Derbyshire’ conversed with the pillow. I briefly talked to ‘Nickle’ who’d been texting me like crazy all day. He’d been professing all these things to me that to be honest made me more anxious. I don’t know where he’s getting all these strong emotions from, but they’re scary. It feels nice, but almost too nice to where I want to run away. I had anxiety all day, but somehow, the thought of that nightcap made me somewhat hold it together. I talked to ‘Jose Maria’ as well and passed out.

Saturday we had plans for more shooting and at some point in the evening head 2 hours south west to some hot springs. I am not the biggest nature fan, and after hearing from the locals that these hot springs had no phone reception at all, I was a bit more apprehensive about going. Nevertheless, I always give things a shot. We spent the day with Boyd at his studio taking some more video, and driving around his town to other parts of this decaying community of less than 50 people. He took us to an abandoned theatre he plans on restoring and making his new studio. Again, it was very different from what I’m used to so I gladly welcomed the experience. At around 4 pm and after receiving lots of food from his garden, we took off and headed back to Marfa. We interviewed some of the people behind the Ballroom who sponsored the Prada Marfa project. Their house, again, was an amazing restored army barrack who’s original structure was left intact, and was just restored to rival any fancy apartment in New York. It was stunning.

The interview went on for a bit longer than expected, but by around 6:30 pm we were on our way south to Chinati to disconnect from the world even more.

The trip was a pain in the ass. The sun was slowly but surely setting, and we had limited amount of time to get there before we were left again in the dark, except this time it was off road. Unfortunately, the sun beat us and we ended up driving in a very scary dark dirt road for about 45 minutes till we finally found our destination. Naturally, we didn’t go in the hot springs. It was already dark, we were terrified of desert creatures, and there were lots of children around. We just drank wine, chatted a bit and passed out. I tried contacting ‘Nickle’ who was being a bit crazy (by my weird bias I have) but not as much, but was quite unsuccessful because of the lack of signal.

The next morning we woke up and went to the springs for 45 minutes. We had an interview to shoot at around 1pm so we left the “resort” and headed back home. Another run-in with border patrol.

We got back to the apartment and freshened up and headed back out to record the ex-mayor of Marfa talk about the piece. The man was also very nice. It seems like everybody who’s there is there because they truly love the town, and they all seem quite happy. I’m baffled because I think I’d go crazy… then again, they all are significantly older than me.

After the interview he took us to another house he owned that was, just like the house we’d seen the night before, amazingly restored and enviable. I’m beginning to notice a trend here, and maybe a reason why these people love this little shit town so much. Funny thing: you will find a yarn store, but a decent place to eat food in the morning or night? No sir, no way.

We went to the neighbor town of Alpine to buy some DVD’s to burn and dump some of the vast files we’ve amounted, and after doing so, we headed back to Prada. This time we planned on actually interviewing Boyd, but despite being an angel, the man is not the easiest person to work with. That, on top of the fact that we weren’t properly prepared with charged batteries or free memory cards, prevented the interview from actually happening. Instead, we went to the installation site and filmed a time lapse of the sunset. It turned out nice.

At around 8:30 pm, we drove back to Marfa in the pitch of darkness. We cooked the food we planned on grilling the night before at the springs, I drank another bottle of wine, and talked to both ‘Jose Maria’ and ‘Nickle’. The former helped me relax a bit, the latter wasn’t being as crazy, which I attribute to him not being as drunk as he sometimes is. I feel like I should talk to him about it, and I probably will. I’m just not sure when because I feel it’d be hypocritical, but I do worry sometimes. Regardless, always happy to talk to him, and despite the massive anxiety I’m getting about him and the trip, I wouldn’t change it. I went to bed with yet another smiley face.

Monday was a long day. We woke up early and, as promised to ‘The Lady of Derbyshire’, I made a soyrizo scramble for breakfast. It wasn’t as good as usual, but still better than most the food we’ve been having. We started the day by interviewing the architect of the installation, and then the head of the local newspaper. Nothing really stood out about either, except for maybe the kindness of the first, the nervousness of the second, and the trio of turkeys crossing the road in between both interviews.

As expected, we rushed back to Valentine and the Prada Marfa site. We met up with Boyd and finally got some kind of interview. We then went with him to the theatre he’s restoring to meet with a group of Architecture students from some University in the north of Texas who were doing a project helping restore the site. Me and ‘The Lady of Derbyshire’ started joking about deciphering the boys’ sexuality. We headed back to Prada, did some more sunset shots, and another interview with Boyd, and then drove him back to where the students were camping. We had a delicious dinner with them. Probably the best food I had the whole time I was in Texas, which is disappointing considering I was expecting gaining a few pounds of amazing Tex-Mex morsels. We drank a couple of beers, saw a baby tarantula, and drove back home. Another bottle of wine, a few episodes of TV shows I’ve been meaning to catch up on, another lovely call to my boyfriend who was sober and going to bed surprisingly early, and I called it a night.

Tuesday all I could think of was going home! Like I said, I had my ups and my downs, definitely an experience I was glad to have had, but not sure it’s necessarily my cup of tea for more than 3 days. This city mouse is ready to leave the country vermin to their own environment and head back to rummaging the New York City Subway tunnels. We did a couple of last minute shots in the morning, one of Boyd’s art at some rich lady’s expectedly beautiful house, and another one of the Chinati foundation and Donald Judd’s sculptures. We stopped by a gift shop, bought a couple of souvenirs, and headed to Valentine to bid adieu to our West Texas friends.

It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. No waterworks despite the fact that I got surprisingly attached to some of the characters in the documentary.

We drove back to El Paso, had lunch at some awful pseudo-Mexican restaurant, and boarded a flight back to Dallas, and then New York. I am typing this on the latter. It’s almost time to land and I cannot be more excited. I get to see my boyfriend. I get to see my dog. I get to see a decent bar. But above all, I get to come to my own personal haven. I believe that the recent changes in my relationship status have a lot to do with how bad my anxiety has been, but also, the trip drained me. I love traveling and I enjoy my friends but every now and then I like to know I can just go and lock myself in my room if I need a moment to breath. Again, where were my ruby slippers?

“Ahh, Home! Let me come Home! Home is wherever I’m with you.”

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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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21.06.2011

Grind Date No. 4: Twentyeight.

On my last day in Amsterdam, I woke up somewhat early. I had lots of things to accomplish that day. The previous days I had partied, rested, and dilly dallied and not really gotten anything done that should be done when you first visit a city. I fought my usual hang over the same way I usually do: juice, water, pastry.

The day consisted of the Anne Frank house, Stedelijk Museum (contemporary and modern art), the Van Gogh museum, Rijskmuseum  (Dutch history and heritage), a bike ride through the park, and eating some raw herring. I accomplished 66% of my goal. Anne Frank’s house was emotional. Stedelijk Museum was closed for renovation… or so I thought… Later I found the actual museum, not the annex, and it was quite nice. Van Gogh was overpriced, but a must when visiting Amsterdam. Rijskmuseum was educational. Back to the hostel I went. There was no bike ride or raw herring.

I logged onto grindr and started talking to a few boys. I ended up making plans with one who worked really close to my place: ‘Twentyeight’. He suggested I go eat at a place not too far away from where he lived. He said he’d meet me for a drink after I ate and after he got off work.  I googled the place and it sounded decent: a nice little vegetarian Indian place.

After my decent dinner (I’d been eating home made Indian food in Birmingham, this place stood no chance), we decided on meeting across the street at a place called ‘mustache bar’. ‘Twentyeight’ arrived promptly. First impression: he’s different and cute. He spoke really good English, unlike my previous encounter. We ordered a few rounds and had a very nice conversation.

After, he suggested we went to a karaoke place since we both didn’t feel like going out raging all night. We walked for about ten minutes to his place of choice. He’d warn me it was quite unique and with a very mixed crowd. This man spoke the truth. Unique is an understatement. Upon entering the bar I spotted two very grungy drag queens behind the bar, a few older drunk straight men, a couple of fags with their respective hags, and some average looking people. The karaoke was hilarious. We ordered drinks and chatted a bit more. It turns out his birthday is the day after mine, and his favorite number is 28. What are the fucking odds! I was starting to like this guy… not in the way that “I want to marry you”, but in the way that “yes, maybe I’ll come home with you”. After a few more rounds, I did.

He’d told me his friend signed him up for one of those “home makeover” shows, so I was intrigued to see the final result. His place was a bit messy. I didn’t mind. It was nice for being my second Dutch apartment I’d ever seen. We listened to music, drank some more wine, and started kissing. The kissing continued downstairs in his bedroom. As i was kissing him I felt bumps on his back. I was a bit concerned, but also a bit drunk and horny. The clothes came off. Another nice (although bent), big Dutch dick. Either I’m lucky or Dutch men are packing. We discussed “gay roles”. Turns out we’re both tops. ‘Twentyeight’ asked if I’d ever done poppers. I said yes. He offered. We sniffed. Smart move. Not. Fooled around some more. Oral sex. This time I did suck. He wanted me to fuck him, he claimed poppers turned him into a bottom, but to be honest, those bumps had my usual paranoia augmented. We ended up just jacking off. He bit my nipple very hard, and then came on my chest. I came on my chest as well. He rubbed my nipple after with the cum. Crazy old me started thinking the worst case scenario: he bit my nipple, I must have a minuscule cut, he rubbed semen on it, I will get HIV. He laid on my chest for a second. He asked if I’d spend the night but both my paranoia and the fact that I was leaving next morning convinced me to leave. I got dressed. We said goodbye and I started walking back.

On my way home, I texted Geordie-mo. He managed to calm me down superbly. To quote him: “unsafe sex is like fear of flying – when I get scared on the plane I just think of the trolly dollies who do it everyday”. I didn’t have unsafe sex, but the thought was comforting. I dozed off with minimal thoughts about the evening and a nice, post orgasm smile on my face.

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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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06.06.2011

Grind Date No. 1: Road Head.

In my never ending quest for equal opportunity and the unique, I started my new project. Dating shenanigans indeed.

I arrived to London last Friday evening, and as soon as I got wifi I logged into every gay man’s best friend: grindr. Soon enough, after sifting through all the headless torsos, I saw a picture of a guy who looked very British and very… east London I suppose. He had a catchy headline. I sent him a message and moved on. Later that evening he bit the bait. We started chatting. At this point, I didn’t have an agenda. I wasn’t aware that I would embark of this mission, so I just elusively talked expecting nothing.

*a bit of a side note here… for all of you who have no idea what grindr is, I should explain. It is an app that shows you all the gay men around your area (granted they’re logged on as well), with distance, a picture, some stats, and a short tagline. It is mostly used for sex, but I’ve met a few friends through it.*

After a day of conversation, he told me he was in a wheel chair, and asked if that was a problem. Are you kidding me? It’s a bit odd, but it’s also writer’s jackpot, and like I said, I like to be very equal opportunity. Especially since I don’t think I’ll marry most of these guys. A few more messages and we decided to meet. I was to come to his flat on Sunday evening, we would have some wine and food (except I said I was vegetarian so the food got nixed out of the equation), and see where things went. Again, elusive little me was not thinking about sex or anything of the sort, maybe just a snog.

Yesterday evening, I arrived at my rendez vous, a 15 minute walk east of Geordi-Mo’s. First impression? Very British. Very East London. He had a beautiful black little pug named Vivian (or Viv for short) who I started playing with right away. Anyone who knows me knows that dogs come first, second, and last in my life, and will promptly hypnotise me into ignoring the world and scratching their belly.

The conversation went smooth. He got a bit touchy feely and I giggled my way out of his grasp. His p.a. (personal assistant) came out, cooked some food, and opened up a pack of smokes. I asked her for one, and ‘road head’ insisted I smoked by the window instead of going downstair with her. I obliged.

After a few more sips of my wine, I felt somewhat comfortable with this man. We kissed. He tasted a bit odd, but nothing unfamiliar. I have this theory that meat eaters have a certain ‘taste’. He suggested I smoke by the window as he smoked me. I was slightly hesitant, but again, I obliged. It was definitely a first, to have my dick sucked as I was smoking on a balcony, in plain view of the outside world. Kind of a turn on.

We went back inside and he said he wanted me to fuck him, but stated he usually doesn’t do that (normally I call this bullshit but, for some reason, my intuitive persona didn’t feel he was lying). He suggested we get in his bed and see how things go. I offered a hand, he said he wasn’t comfortable, so he asked his p.a. to help him get into bed and then she summoned me into his room. We got in the bed. Kissed. He asked me to rim him. I obliged. He was a bit reluctant to me touching him in certain areas which I assume is understandable for someone with disabilities. He rimmed me (we agreed this is probably the best part of gay sex), and asked if I could cum in his mouth. Again, I was somewhat reluctant, as I have a somewhat strict ‘no swallowing’ policy, even if I’m not the one doing the swallowing, but I felt ok doing so. I came. He swallowed. We kissed a bit more, passed out for a second, woke up, and I took off. He had a dinner with a girl, I had to get back not too late as I am staying with friends who work the next morning.

As soon as I left I received a text. He cursed his dinner and said he enjoyed the company. I got home and found a similar message on grindr. I told my story to my hosts, and went to bed. I woke up a few hours later and started writing this entry. I feel a bit odd, but to be honest, maybe it’s just a case of PCT (post coitum tristesse) and if anything, this little endeavour I’ve taken will assist with managing that. Today I’m off to Birmingham.

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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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