the.applied.process.

wit. honesty. everyday ramblings.

Tag: San Francisco

11.09.2011

I Love New York

“I don’t like cities. But I like New York. Other places make me feel like a dork. Los Angeles is for people who sleep.”

On the day of my usual bimonthly trip back to the west coast I decided to hit the Barney’s warehouse sale with ‘Freckles’. It was disappointingly bad.

Not having tamed our insatiable need to swipe some plastic and purchase unnecessary garb, we headed uptown to the flagship so we could pay full price and feel somewhat accomplished. I had a flight later that evening and I didn’t have much time to browse properly so after a somewhat unsuccessful shopping experience at Barney’s, and still with a lingering desire for more overpriced goods, we ventured into Bergdorf’s. Jackpot. I left with two Thom Browne shirts and a slight boner. The sales associate, a B-list actor in a few of Van Sant’s movies, was cute and flirty.

We took the train back home, I finished packing, grabbed my dog, and to JFK I went sans cellphone (which I’d lost the night before). The flight was standard.

I landed at SFO at around 10:30 pm. I messaged my friends through facebook because I had managed to find a replacement phone but had no one’s numbers. They contacted me and I took a cab to the Mission to my friend ‘Chogi’s’ place. She had just moved back to the west coast from Ohio, of all places. Upon arrival, three quarters of the party (the ones with vagina and a vast knowledge of fashion) greeted me with open arms and big screams, the other quarter (the one with a dick and the palate of a chef) was already in an alcohol induced coma. Then slowly, one by one started laying down and giving in to the same fate. I was getting a bit annoyed as I had just flown in and was expecting to make the best of the briefs number of nights we would get to spend together. Somehow, someway, and with the help of ‘Reindeer’ who showed up a bit after I got there, we got them up and ready to leave the apartment at the almost useless hour of 1 am (bars in California close at 2).

We took a cab to a place called The End Up. I had never been nor heard of it, and I’ve been in San Francisco many times, but I got quick good feedback as soon as I posted my plans for the night on facebook. Upon arrival, the place was annoyingly crowded by the wrong kind of crowd. That on top of the few minutes we had left to party, and the annoyingly overpriced cover, forced us to make the executive decision to walk back, pick up some booze at the store before they stop selling (2 am… again… ridiculous), and head back to ‘Chogi’s’ so I could catch up and they could kill their second wind. Being a New Yorker (yes, sometimes I do grant myself the right to claim that title), I was fine with walking the mile and a half journey. My fellow west coasters weren’t and, although they put up a good effort, after about two thirds of the way we ran into a limo parked at a gas station and, due to the lack of cabs, I asked the driver how much he’d charge us to take us home 7 blocks away. I was ready to pay whatever as long as the complaining stopped. Luckily, he said he’d take us for whatever we wanted to give him. We hopped on the stretched white car, opened our super classy bud light + clamato cans, and poured them in wine glasses.

The ride was ridiculously short. When it dawned on us that we could pop our head out the sunroof, we were already home. Despite the car being parked, we did so anyway. One by one we all passed out. I don’t recall in which order, all I remember is ‘Reindeer’ left and, sadly, that was all I saw of him that trip.

Saturday morning we had plans to go to Napa for some wine tasting good times. Surprisingly enough we were all up and ready by elevenish. Me, ‘Chogi’, ‘Dandayamana Janushirasana’, ‘Chet’, ‘Honey’, and ‘Toto’ rode the Volvo for an hour to wine country. First thing on the list was In-N-Out so me and ‘Chogi’ could indulge in the much missed West Coast fast food smorgasbord. We stayed at ‘Honey’s’s friends’ place, the same lezzy couple who’s wedding I’d crash back in July. The locals had another wedding to attend so the rest of us out of towners just drank and hung out around their apartment as they attended their previously scheduled festivities. After a few lazy hours we decided to explore the town. We called for a cab which proved out to be ridiculously inconvenient. Apparently, you have to wait anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour for a taxi. Eventually, we managed to get to the ghost town that was downtown Napa.

We walked and walked amidst closed businesses until we found a place we’d yelped about that had great reviews. We asked for a table and went across the street to have a drink as we waited for the estimated 45 minutes till our table was ready. In reality, it turned out to be more like an hour and a half. The food was good but not great, the service sub par but it got a bit better towards the end. With our bellies full and with hopes to party like only me and my Californians know, we tried walking back until we either found a cab, or a bar, but preferably both, neither of which were miles to be seen. Napa sucks.

Since all of our brilliant minds were together, we devised a plan to go to the grocery store, buy bottles of our favorite flavored drink (in my case ginger ale), and a bottle of vodka, make some road sodas and walk the 2.1 miles back to ‘Honey’s’ friends’ chateau. At first the Californians argued with me, God forbid they walk anywhere, but eventually they realized, like most of us New Yorkers do, that we don’t need no car or public transportation when we have a healthy pair of legs. Despite a couple detours and getting lost for a second, the walk home was fun.

That night I was really tired and somewhat drunk. I believe most of them stayed up chatting and drinking. I grabbed my cuddle buddy ‘Toto’ and dozed off on the couch.

Early Sunday morning I woke up and skyped with ‘Twentyeight’, one of my 50 Grind Dates. I’ve been keeping in touch with him because I want seconds, and because I find him very attractive. He definitely left a lasting impression. Then I skyped with ‘Jose Maria’ who was still in Greece on holiday but was about to come back to New York. Everybody started waking up. I said bye to my skypees and planned the rest of the day with my non virtual buddies. We went to Whole Foods to grab some pre-made goodies to eat and some vodka and 5 different kinds of olives to make our own bloody marys. Brunch at its best.

After showers and more laying around my best friend, appropriately nicknamed ‘The Wife’, showed up. Her parents, who live in the bay area, dropped her off very Middle School style. We all eventually left for Hess winery. Being one of the most sober ones (if not the most), I drove one car and ‘Honey’ drove the other one. The winery had an amazing art collection. I am not the biggest Rauschenberg fan, but there was one very colorful and very flat piece of him that I loved. Sadly, our day had started late so we only had half hour to walk around the gallery, and half hour to wine taste. Regardless, it was fun and relaxing, as I’d expect it to be.

We drove back home and finally agreed on what tattoo we’d all get. We’d been toying around with the idea to permanently mark our “friendship” on our bodies. The first thought was to get the word “Love” tattooed. I of course almost threw up. The idea evolved from “Love” to “Phylia” to “Love” in Braille. The efficient ‘Chogi’ found and contacted half of the only two studios that were open and available in that ghost town, and we walked right over. Coincidentally, it was a couple blocks away from the restaurant were we’d dined the night before. The “artist” wasn’t ready, so we went a couple of blocks more east to have a beer and some Mexican food. An hour later we returned. The first time under the needled gun was ‘The Wife’ who, in her very usual fashion, decided to fuck any plans we had and scribbled down the word “Love” with her own handwriting and got it tattooed near her wrist bone. After we all saw how pretty it looked we decided to get branded by her design. I, of course, still reluctant to have such word forever ingrained in my epidermis, came up with the brilliant idea of getting it etched on my ass. I figured it’d be funny and ironic. The rest of the tattooees got it either in the same spot as ‘The Wife’, or in the case of ‘Chogi’ and ‘Honey’, they reverted to the original Braille idea. All in all a fun experience. The tattooist, although a bit sketchy, was a really nice guy, who had now become part of the “pact” we had all partaken in.

We left the tattoo shop at around 11:30 pm, packed our bags back at the lezzys’ and drove home at midnight. It was a bitch of a ride. I drank some energy shot and drove for the first half of the trip with ‘Dandayamana Janushirasana’ keeping me company. We woke up ‘Chet’ and ‘Honey’ to pass the baton. She fell asleep, he drove the rest of the way down, I kept waking up every so often worried he might doze off and we might all end up sleeping with the fish (or in this case, since most of California is milk farms, cows).

Finally, after an exhausting seven hour drive, the sun had come up and we were back in LA. We all passed out almost instantaneously.

A few hours later, ‘Dandayamana Janushirasana’ woke up and went to work. Me and ‘Chet’ lingered around for a bit. He finally agreed to cater to most my needs and drove me to pick up ‘Talent Waster’ so we could all eat some delicious fish tacos at Rubio’s, one of the only reasons I really miss California. We then drove to buy some much needed and much cheaper cigarettes. We showed off our tattoos to ‘Talent Waster’ and she implored we get one with her as well. Despite the fact that I wanted to go to LACMA to see the Tim Burton exhibit, I gave in to my addiction and agreed to get inked for the 23rd time right before I had a dinner date with ‘T Rex’, an old teacher of mine who I briefly dated after I finished college. We googled and yelped our fingers away trying to find a spot that was both reputable and had a very low minimum because we didn’t want to pay 80+ bucks for such tiny tattoos. Our search ended when we discovered a place not too far from ‘Chet’s’ place. Being LA, we drove the less than a mile walk.

The place was empty, as expected on a Tuesday afternoon, but the staff seemed really nice and welcoming. I was the first to go. This time, the marking in question was the word “black” in Braille. I am not sure what the whole obsession with Braille is, but I liked how it looked. I got it injected on my chest. Up next ‘Talent Waster’ got “Love” in Braille on her arm, and ‘Chet’ got the same right under the handwritten version he’d just gotten done the day before. We dropped ‘Talent Waster’ off at her place and I said good bye for the last time in a while. My lovely friend had decided to leave everything behind and head to the land down under in search of new experiences. Although I’m a bit pissed at her for doing so instead of coming to New York, this is one of the reasons why I adore her and I wish her the best. Besides, I’m sure she’ll come around to her senses and move to the city I love.

On the way back, ‘Chet’ dropped me off at a random intersection where I met up with ‘T Rex’. He looked different. A bit more haggered, a bit more heavy, still somewhat attractive. I think that New York has raised my standard and given me a new appreciation of beauty because I used to find this man absolutely stunning. We went to dinner at a Mexican spot next to the bar we used to go to all the time. It was incredibly pleasant to see him and catch up. I could tell he still had a thing for me. In our usual manner, we drank and drank and drank. An hour and a half later, we went for one last round at the aforementioned bar, and then we walked back towards his car and ‘Chet’s’. I had to catch a plane in a couple of hours. On the corner where we logically had to part ways, we said goodbye, I gave him a peck, and walked buzzed back to my friends’.

My last few minutes in California outside LAX were sappy. The people I’ve met there are probably the hardest thing to leave every time I go back. Despite the fact we see each other regularly, it never gets old. I packed my bags, grabbed my dog, said good byes, and got driven by ‘Honey’ to the airport. I got there at the right time, unfortunately, my plane didn’t. My flight was delayed an hour and a half, and that was just the beginning of my 12 hour long return back home… completely worth it but so annoying that I don’t even want to write about it.

“Other cities always make me mad, other places always make me sad. No other city ever made me glad except New York. I love New York”

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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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07.06.2011

The head of the south reigns supreme.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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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