Going To Pieces

Tuesday nights at "Pieces" is bar none the best gay karaoke night in New York City. The song selection is amazing, the boys are cuties, the drinks are reasonable and the stage is welcoming. It's also where I met "B" last week.

He'd been talking to Jackie, and I'd glanced at him a few times, but he was wrapped up in conversation. As my last drink started to hit me I mustered the courage to chat him up as Jackie went to "powder her nose." We were only talking for about 2 minutes when he told me "You are so cute."

I looked behind me to see who he could have possibly been talkng to.

"Me?" I asked coyly.

"Oh don't tell me you're one of those guys with low self esteem are you?" He asked, sounding genuinely dissapointed.

"Uh ... me? Low self esteem!? Pissshaw!"

Whew! Good save Kevin!

"B" and I chatted for the rest of the night, and he cheered me on when I got up to sing a song. Our first kiss was on the pooltable by the stage ... we both noted the fine kissing skills of the other, and then decided to continue the activity for a few more minutes.

Afterwards he came with Jackie, Jamie and I to go get some pizza at my favorite pizza place in all of New York City, which just happened to be right around the corner.

We chatted some more over a slice, and then I walked him to the subway, where we made out some more before he got on the train and headed uptown.

We hung out the next night at the Duplex, my favorite piano bar. Afterwards we grabbed a bite at a diner and then made out in front of the subway again. It was becoming a habit.

He had plans the next few days, and wasn't great about returning calls ... I found myself for the first time since I'd gotten back to New York actually waiting for a boy to call. And to make matters worse, he wasn't actually calling.

Friday we talked online... I told him I was looking forward to seeing him again. It made me smile. That night at work, as I'm standing at the bar waiting for a drink, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around and it's him.

"I can't stay, I just wanted to stop in and say hi real fast. Call me when you get out of work."

He smiled at me, turned and left.

I smiled for the rest of the night and called him when I was getting ready to leave.

No answer.

He called that night around 3 inthe morning to tell me he was out, and he didn't hear his phone ring. (Mine has a vibrate feature, but who knows...maybe his doesn't!) <--- Sarcasm alert!

We chatted for a few minutes and he got on the subway. Saturday night I text messaged him to ask if he'd finally got caught up on his sleep. He responded that he had. I then text messaged him asking what his plans were for gay pride, and if he wanted to hang with Jackie and Jamie and I at some point. No response.

The next time I heard anything from "B" was last night as I was getting dressed to go to Pieces. I'd been thinking that since he's a regular I'd run into him there, but when I saw him sign online at 11, as I was preparing to walk out the door, that seemed less likely.

He IM'd me and said "Hi!"

My responses were short. I said I had to go but maybe we could hang out sometime. He said "I'd rather that be sooner then later."

I wanted to say "Well then maybe you should reply to messages." I wanted to. But I didn't.

He said he wasn't going out, so I decided to just be honest. I told him I'd felt slighted and I knew it was silly, so I just wanted to be honest about it, but that if he wanted to call me I'd definitely be down for hanging out again.

No response for 2 minutes. Then he signed off.

Have I mentioned lately that boys SUCK!?!?

Jamie and I forged ahead to Pieces anyway ... It was a night of blasts from the past. Nic, an aquaintance from my Florida days, who now lives in New York City was there and sang MY karaoke song... but it was good to see him again. Then a really cute boy came up to me and asked me if I was Kevin. (This is becoming a regular event since my return.)

"Yeah, I'm Kevin..." I replied, trying not to look as clueless as I was.

"I'm Todd. We knew each other years ago."

It took a minute, but then he said his screen name and it flooded back. (Natch!) We were friends for quite a few years, and I'd always had a small crush on him. In those days, I wasn't at my cutest. Last night I was wearing a hottie outfit, had good hair, and was looking fierce. I enjoyed running into people from my past, looking much better in the present.

Todd stuck with Jamie and I for the night... and I secretly harbored some hope that "B" would decide to pop in and surprise me ... to make me smile. He didn't.

Afterwards it was back to my favorite pizza place for pizza with Jamie and Todd. This time I splurged and had TWO slices. (I hadn't eaten all day, in anticipation of the two slices I knew I'd want after a night of drinking.)

After saying goodnight to Todd, Jamie and I chatted about the night as we walked home. I told him about the sense of loneliness that's been so a part of me lately. He talked about the relationship he just got out of, and how it's still affecting him. We laughed. We cried. (It was better then Cats.)

As I drifted off to sleep, I started to think about how similar my night was with last Tuesday. Pieces. Karaoke. Drinking. Pizza.

Last Tuesday I went to bed giddy and excited over the new boy I'd met. And a week later, I went to sleep wondering if I'd even hear from him again.

How quickly things can just go to pieces.

Summer Of Dubachery

The Gay Pride Parade and the street festival that followed was an enjoyable, if not somewhat predictable affair. Jamie and I perched ourselves early on a corner at the end of the Parade route, and got to see the marchers and floats as they arrived at the finish line. The highlight for me was when one of the first group of marchers arrived all carrying Hillary Clinton signs.

“Oh my God! It’s her!” Jamie gasped as I mopped sweat from my head.

Sure enough, Hillary Clinton was standing not 20 feet away from us, waving and shaking hands, having just marched in the Gay Pride Parade. And she did the whole event with hair teased out like a drag queens. As I watched her greeting her homo supporters, who all went crazy for her I was overcome by the idea that in front of me is a woman who is one day going to make history. When she finally does the inevitable and decides to go for the big job, I suspect it’ll be the first time I’ll actually feel compelled to get politically active, and do whatever I can to help with her campaign. There’s something about this woman … and I’d love to see her to be the first woman elected President … and I’d love to see her have that same big draq queen hair at her god-damn inauguration.

Later, after Jamie went to bed, I stood outside the hotel and watched the fireworks and the gay boys and girls around me, holding hands and enjoying the moment in each others arms. I realized that as cynical as I was about the day’s events, I had actually been harboring some secret hope that I’d have one of those great stories about how I met the boy of my dreams at gay pride. As everyone around me celebrated their common bond, I felt a deep loneliness wash over me. I guess for all of my past relationship horrors, at the core of me I still believe there is a “him” out there for me somewhere. The “him” that I, and many of my gay (and straight for that matter) brother and sisters wait to meet one day, and live “gaily ever after…” with. As explosions of light and color filled the sky, I watched and wondered if “he” was watching them too.

Now my life has proven to me that whether or not there’s a God, there is an evil bitch called “Fate” who for whatever reason, has decided that I’m one of her favorite targets for gaining entertainment. The bitch likes to mess with me!

Monday night was rainy and so it was just me and Jose waiting tables at work. The night wasn’t completely dead, and we kept busy through most of it. One of my tables was a guy I dated when I lived here years ago. For the life of me I can’t remember his name, or very much about him, but know I had pictures of him in the photo albums that I lost in Florida. It was all the drugs I did in Florida that probably wiped my memory clean of more details about him, but now he comes in to drink at my restaurant sometimes, and for the first time Monday I waited on him. We always exchange pleasantries, and I get the sense that he probably is nearly as fuzzy on the details as I am. If memory serves, I think at the end he turned a little “stalkerish” … but I couldn’t swear to it.

Sometimes it’s flattering to be “stalked.” Not in the Glenn Close, Fatal Attraction way… but a nice healthy obsession can certainly do wonders for one’s ago.

A few weeks ago I waited on a rather buff, young guy of an ethnicity that I couldn’t quite pinpoint but who tipped me $40 on a $60 check. He was accompanied by an asian girl, who I thought sure he was trying to impress with his big spending.

In the coming weeks I saw him in a few times, and he was always polite and nodded and smiled at me, even if I wasn’t waiting on him. I knew he was straight, and not even my usual type at all. I don’t like men with too many muscles! (10 points if you can accurately name the movie that quote is from.)

Well last night he was in again, with a blue collar looking guy with scruffy facial hair and torn jeans. I hooked him up with lots of drinks, and we chatted when I’d come to the table. (I’d put 5 large margaritas in me over the last two hours of the night, so I was quite the chatty cathy.)

As it turns out he’s a publicist (whose biggest client is a well known B-list Hollywood actor) and also a bit of a party boy. Our discussion turned to drugs at one point, and he made it clear that he was a fan.

“This is my summer of debauchery.” He told me.

Inside I noted and gave him points for his use of one of my favorite words. He asked me if I wanted to go out for a drink, and said he could get us into a few different exclusive hot spots. He’d also hinted a few times that he if I ever decided to get back into “the business” again, he could introduce me to some people who could help me out.

After the fourth of fifth instance of such behavior, I opened my big fat mouth and told him that I was an independent boy, and I thought he was cool but didn’t need to try so hard.

He and his friend waited as I cashed out, and at one point he came back in the restaurant and handed me a rolled up piece of toilet paper. I snuck in the bathroom, unrolled it and found inside a bag of coke and a straw.

“Cheers!” I said as I made myself a line on the sink in the bathroom of my work.

I left with them, and we walked to a nearby apartment building where “Buff Boy” (Which I’ve designated his blog name) lived. His girlfriend, who he is apparently supposed to be marrying was in the apartment, so in stairway the three of us did a few lines, and then proceeded to smoke a little opium he had tucked away in his pocket.

This guy was just a good tipping customer a few hours earlier, and here I was hangin with him and his boy doing drugs in the apartment building of a nice midtown apartment building.

I decided to allow them to think I was straight, and kept my mannerisms on the more butch side. (They naturally see-saw back and forth a bit.) His friend left after about 15 minutes, and I’d already begun wondering if this straight boy was corruptible. I decided to open the possibility by revealing to him I was “bisexual.” The idea was that I could open up about the liking dick part of myself, but he’d not find me as threatening since he’d think I liked the punani also.

He handled it better then cool … he actually thought it was cool.

We ended up getting in a cab and heading back down to my hotel residence, where Jamie was sleeping. We decided to do some more coke, and ramble about whatever came into our heads. As conversation went on, it became clear that I wasn’t actually hanging out with a straight boy. He liked the dick too, and eventually made a stunning revelation.

“You know I come in to your restaurant to see YOU. I think you are so fucking hot.”

I had absolutely no idea how to react. After taking a moment or two to process his statement I reacted in the only appropriate way I could think of. I snorted a line and passed it to him.

We traded stories of our dubaucherous experiences with guys, and he commented at one point that it was almost hotter when he thought I was straight. He said that, but still appeared interested in me as we sat and talked. He even repeated a few times (after pausing to look at me for a moment) that he thought I was extremely attractive.

He then revealed that he walks by our restaurant all the time to see if I’m working. (We have a huge outdoor seating area, so someone sitting in the plaza could easily watch us work and never the watchee would never be the wiser.

I couldn’t imagine what he’d have to gain from paying me disingenuine compliments. I’d already made it clear he could get lucky if he wanted to, which in the end he decided not to, but said he wanted to do the next night. I couldn’t get a read on this buff, possibly engaged, frat boyish, party boy publicist who was sitting in front of me shirtless.

At 3:30 he decided he had to leave, and as I walked him out he gave me his card, asked me if I wanted to hang out the next night, and then as he was leaving leaned in and kissed me.

And at the beginning of this night, I had no idea that he was anything other then a hot straight boy. Wow! A lot can change in a night.

It’s now the next night, and I’ve left a message for him to call me if he wanted to hang out. As of yet, he hasn’t.

Maybe he will … maybe he won’t. Maybe I’ll end up with some “dubaucherous” stories to tell about my adventures with “Buff Boy” … or maybe he’ll just not call, and stop coming in to my restaurant for margaritas.

Either way, it was a great night of dubachery, that might actually lead me to something other than loneliness. Or maybe just a summer of dubachery.

Pride & Predjudgement ...

I have made a decision.

The only way to punish myself for going a whole week without blogging about some pretty interesting stories is to force myself to sit down and write one about a random NYC night, while it's still going on around me.

To that end I have found myself sitting at Jackie’s apartment in Washington Heights stoned and have pulled out Jamie’s laptop to retrace the steps that brought me here so that I can finally continue with my evening, feeling “blogguilt” free. For those of us who have fallen off the writing wagon lately, it’s time to take a big old drink and let the dialogue flow.

There have been many unwritten stories in the past week that I’ll write all about later. There’s a boy who I met at karaoke … there’s an upcoming audition for Millionaire… there’s a tawdry story about a night of sex, drugs and a little more rock then roll … Many things have gone on in the past week or so since I’ve written in my blog. But those stories are for another entry.. This entry is about tonight..

But tonight… tonight started with today. And today started for me at 8:45 in the morning when I woke up on my own, having to pee. As I walked back to my room from the bathroom in the hallway of my hotel, I realized I still had another hour to go back sleep before I needed to wake up for work the next time. All in all, I woke up 3 times thanks to the miracles of snooze, and finally got into the shower at quarter past ten; forty five minutes before I had to be at work. I walked into work only about 2 minutes after 11, which on a Saturday morning is perfectly acceptable. It started off as a low key, but hot as fuck afternoon, that eventually picked up into quite a profitable lunch shift, with the only downside being the heat. I was scheduled to bartend at night, but not wait on tables. I knew I’d spend the night working behind the bar for a quarter of what I usually make waiting tables on a Saturday night, my favorite night with my favorite people at work. But I decided halfway through the afternoon that I would not be working the entire night. I’d be concocting a brilliant but shameful scheme to get myself out early and for securing Sunday off so I could attend the NYC gay pride festivities, that I haven’t in so many years.

This isn’t to say that I’m especially a big fan of gay pride events. Those of you who read my old blog and saw last years gay pride edition from Portland, ME (http://floridalibraboy.blogspot.com/2004_06_01_floridalibraboy_archive.html) you’d know that I don’t nescesarily hold it as something near and dear to my heart. We put drag queens and porn stars up on floats, and take them from the trendy 5’th Avenue, downtown to gayland in the Village, and wonder why straight people thing we’re freaks?!

But that said, there is fun to be had, at even the most gawdy of affairs. I’m always a fan of public mockery.

So I passed off a terrible and horrible act of deception on my co-workers and got out of work after my afternoon waiting shift was over.

Back to the hotel where Jamie and I had to pack up our things for the night so that we could check out for a few hours, and recheck in around 7am tomorrow. If this sounds silly, it’s not just you. But there is method to the madness. The hotel makes guest check out every 21 days, if only officially, so that they can’t claim residence there after 30 days, when NYC Landlord/Tennant Law kindly gives it to them.

Jackie and her friend Simone headed down to the hotel to meet us as we got ready, cleaned the room and checked our bags downstairs for the night. They had brought with them a mildly attractive carbon copy of a particular brand of fag that we’ve all known in whatever city we live in. The kind that stresses all night about wearing the wrong sneakers, and wears a pair of knock off Versace Sunglasses. Add to this that he’s black, and tries to maintain just the slightest bit of “playa” and you can probably come up with the name of the version of this person in your life.

This particular one is named Jamal, and along with Jamie and Jackie (Simone headed off to a lesbian bar to get her some pussy) went uptown to Washington Heights, first to stop at Jackie’s dealers for some weed, and the next at Jackie’s house, where we packed a bowl, and Jackie mixed some of the finest improvised Margaritas I’d ever tasted, with the help of some Mango nectar, compliments of my ingenuity. (Gotta give credit where credit is due.) This whole trip was accompanied by a crazy subway ride complete with homeless crazy men, and Jackie and I belting out showtunes.

So we smoke and drink and watch Jackie shave her armpits in front of us and I realize this girl is FIERCE with a mother-fucking capital F. She went on to talk about the commercialization of our society, and how peoples need to be slaves to fashion and trends. I seemed to be the only one in the room who noticed that such a slave to fashion and trend was indeed hanging out with our group.

I watched as Jackie mixed the second round of drinks with skilled precision, but listened to the conversation going on to my left between Jamie and Jamal. To try to remember the entire thing while I’m stoned and drunk is probably near impossible, but here are some of the highlights of Jamal’s Great Lines of the evening. All of these are to Jamie, whose reaction I wasn’t sure if was amusement or attraction.

“It’s true that short skinny guys have really big dicks. It’s true. Let’s just say I know for a fact.” - Jamal, A short and skinny 20 year old queen from Virginia.

“I promised myself I’d have sex with one white guy this year… .cause I never have before.” Said while giving Jamie a trashy look that Jamie was actually eating up and completely finding hot.

Jackie and I had previously discussed this happening, but after spending the night with Jamal the discussion was a little more disgusting. Jamal had all night made clear his intentions to go downtown and whore it up, though after he had decided he was going to kick game with Jamie he denied, even after shoving a fistful of condoms into his pocket. (I found at least reassuring that the trashy one was not out there being completely reckless.)

After walking out the door and popping back in again for a second almost 17 times (I was counting meticulously) he finally didn’t return in 10 seconds, and I knew he’d indeed left the apartment.

In my head I remember my reaction as standing, dancing around and singing “Ding Dong The Witch Is Gone,” but I think in reality I just started talking about why I found him so damn irritating. Still, I prefer the Wizard Of Oz moment so that’s how I’m going to chose to record and remember it.

But, as I accurately predicted, he returned a few minutes later saying the subway was closed. (Any faggot in town for gay pride knows that the subway doesn’t close at night. Well – clearly not EVERY faggot, but most of the ones who’ve graduated high school know it.)

And yes, he returned and I started hurling cleverly hidden slams at him, while taking pleasure in his obliviousness to my mockery. (Yeah, I’ve got issues, but this was one annoying boy.)

As I sit here and write, I hear the conversation between the three of them that is going on beside me. I notice every time the topic changes, Jamal finds a way to bring it back towards sex somehow and marveling at how once again gay society disappoints me.

I just stopped typing for a moment to address the group.

“Why is it,” I asked. “That it’s impossible for a group containing two or more gay men to have a conversation that is not somehow related to sex. It crosses every different gay social group. Faggots. Dykes. Trashy 20 somethings, or 30 something mid-life crisis havin queers … up to the leather daddies in their 50’s, with their salt and pepper chest hair. They just can’t sit around and talk about anything other then sex. Don’t we have anything else to say? Apparently not in our conversations OR our parades.

Tomorrow I’ll go and see a parade of ridiculousness (perhaps potpuried with a few truly enjoyable moments, I acknowledge) of queens and butches making spectacles of themselves in the street, in an effort to be considered “normal” to the rest of the world.

Tonight while walking to Jackie’s Washington Heights apartment to hang, while most of the rest of Gay New York was probably at one club or another, looking for a parade hookup boy, I saw a much more fascinating and surprisingly touching display on the street.

In front of their apartment buildings in the urban jungle of Manhattan were clusters of people, in lawn chairs, on the sidewalk, listening to boom boxes or car stereos, some with grills cooking some fabulous eats. They were having a night of family and friends, on a hot New York City Summer evening. A few drinking a corona, while others played cards, or chatted. A hottie 18(ish) year old boy drove up and down the streets on his little moped. They were mostly decent people, enjoying a mildly rowdy, but still somehow family friendly evening of summer, in the concrete world they lived in. As I walked by and saw these people having a good time, being themselves, I couldn’t help but wonder… Why couldn’t we celebrate gay pride this way? That’s a street affair I’d be completely proud to celebrate.

And now, as I catch up with the present, and Jackie and Jamie seem ready for a cigarette and a walk to the store for some munchies I prepare to finish out the night and get up early.

I’m a bit sad because “B” (the boy I’ve just started hanging out with) seems to have no interest in seeing me over pride weekend, but yet will predictably pop back in with a sweet gesture when the weekend is over. I’m a bit mopey, thinking of that and realize it’s probably the catalyst for some of my obvious gay pride cynicism this year. That said, I’m looking forward to tomorrow probably more then I’m willing to admit. Because though I tend to see the worst in everything, somehow I usually manage to see the best too.

I haven’t been to a NYC gay pride event in many years. I’m taking Jamie to his first. I’ll probably run into people I know. I’ll laugh at some foolish people and probably check out my share of cuties too. I may hoot and holler a little bit, cause it’s what you do when you’re happy. I might not have a great sense of pride in the choices or actions of my particular “minority group” (AS IF!), but I’ll say one thing for us … we sure can put on one hell of a show.

Happy Gay Pride from NYC!

Hot Time: Summer In The City

Disciplining myself to write daily posts on my online journal is the bane of my existence (Well that and Paris Hilton) but something I swear I'm going to get better at. Then a few weeks go by, and I'm so busy or scatterbrained that I just don't find the time, and I end up having to write a novel in order to chronicle the events since my last post.

It's been a hectic couple of weeks, that's for sure. Good, bad ... and of course always a little bit of ugly.

After months of indecision, my best friend Jamie finally arrived in the city last week and is now my roomie. It's so good to finally live in the same city again. We go through spurts where we live in different states, and then eventually meet up again to raise hell in yet another town. Jamie's dreamed of living in NYC since he was a child (we attempted once for a few weeks, years back but we don't really count that) and so now he's finally living out that dream.

We stayed at Doug's apartment for the first week, but the sublet ended rather abrubtly one night when the owner of the apartment came back, expecting it to be empty. This was made more awkward by the fact that it happened at 3 am.

Jamie and I had just come back from a night of drinking, and had our buzz on and there was a purse, a rose and a cellphone in the kitchen. Knowing that it didn't belong to any of us I deduced that it was probably the owner, but she was nowhere to be found.

As Jamie and I wandered around the apartment deciding what to do, she suddenly appeared in the living room, having entered from the back door. A shocked look on her face accompanied mutual exclamations of "Who are you?" from all parties. She had a cute gay boy in tow, and they also both had their buzz on. What followed next was an explanation of who we were, and then the realization that she and I were from the same hometown, knew people in common and had many other weird connections that made it even odder that we appeared out of the blue in her apartment.

We sat down, talked and laughed for a bit then decided we would talk the next day about what to do about the apartment situation. In the end, Jamie and I moved out Sunday and moved back into a hotel that we're paying for weekly until we find a more permanent situation.

It's good to have my buddy back to be able to share this wonderful city with. I was doing well even before he got here, but him moving here is definitely the icing on the cake.

I've made a couple of new friends also ... Jaqueline a fabulous, outspoken, saucy, tall and beautiful black woman who Jamie and I have both been chilling with. I think she's definitely a keeper.

Work has been going well and I just got a great review from a mystery shop that I had last week. Some of the people at work still treat me like an idiot because I don't speak spanish and am not mexican, but I've just stopped caring about it. They laughed at me the other day because they were speaking spanish and I didn't understand what they were saying. I barked back "I speak the language of the country I live in, why are YOU laughing at ME?" They didn't understand what I said, so I laughed at THEM and walked away feeling satisfied.

Summer has arrived, and the heat with it. Temperatures have gone up into the 90's and I'm cursing the people who were complaining about the chilly weather just a week ago. I told them they should enjoy it while it lasts. Morons! I decided that the heat was going to be too much with the long hair I've been growing out forever, and so this morning I finally went and had it all chopped off... it actually looks really good and is nothing but my natural color. That will change tonight though, when I get out of work. Bleached blonde for the summer, and then probably reddish brown when winter arrives. I'm gay, so I have to have seasonal colors. It's the law.

But ... summer in New York is still summer in New York ... and I'm looking forward to seeing what (other than the heat) it holds in store for me. Hopefully, I'll find the time to sit down and write about it.