The History Of The Month: The Final Chapter!

Only a true procrastinator such as myself would actually take a month to write and post the story of the events that had transpired the month before. Now to be fair, the month that I’ve been trying to slowly chronicle here was a busy one to say the least. My hurried relationship ended, I was a passenger in a stolen vehicle, and then I took a weekend trip back to Maine and caught up with some friends I hadn’t seen in months. But that was just the first half of the month.

Upon returning back to New York, and work at Blockheads life slowly began to return to normal. The trip to Maine had done me a world of good, and I was ready to face life again.

I decided to journey out that Tuesday, for a night of karaoke at Pieces....

Rewind.

A few weeks earlier, while Shane and I were "happy" together, we’d met a boy out at Pieces named Casper. Casper and I sparked, and both of us seemed to know it, but I was in a relationship that I was happy in, and determined to make work. Casper and I kept in touch, and had hung out once after "Shane" had left. We’d kissed that night, but my wounds were still fresh and I ended up making a drunken ass out of myself.

Well on this particular Tuesday, I’d persuaded a reluctant Casper to join me for a little karaoke. I got there, and we stood and talked for a bit. We headed outside to smoke a butt, and began chatting. While we were chatting, someone else joined us. Apparently, Casper had made plans to meet someone else out that night, and it appeared was just killing time hanging out with me until they got there. They started talking, and I sensed that there was an interest between the two of them, so I immediately seperated myself from the conversation, and smoked my cigarette a few feet away. I ignored them as they walked back inside, and was left to decide whether or not I wanted to leave, and just let the wretchedness of the day end there, or go inside, get totally wasted and see if I couldn’t top the days miserable events.

It doesn’t take a college graduate (or even a high school one for that matter) to figure out what choice I made.

As I stood outside, debating, a cute boy also smoking a cigarette caught my eye. He had observed the events that transpired with Casper and gave me a sweet "Hey." when we made eye contact.

"I think I’m about to go inside and get wasted off my ass!" I resolved aloud. "It’s just been that kind of day."

The boy introduced himself as Sean, and I invited him to come back in and bear witness to the heavy drinking I was about to engage in. He accepted, and we spent the next few hours sitting at the bar, sharing life stories, laughing (a bit) and drinking (a lot). He had beautiful eyes. Kind eyes. Warm eyes. And we were definitely flirting, and connecting.

As the night drew to a close, I proposed a trip to a diner around the corner where we could continue talking some more. Sean accepted and off we went.

Another hour of conversation followed at the diner, and though I wasn’t as wasted as I’d planned (I was having such a good time talking to Sean, that I didn’t concentrate fully on my drinking, and ended up only mildly drunk.) I was still drunk enough to take the next step and invite Sean to come home with me. He accepted, and we talked some more as we walked back to my golden palace.

Halfway there, we stopped randomly on the side of the street and shared a kiss. It was a good kiss. Gentle. Delicate. But nice.

"I need to tell you something before we get back to your place." Sean said in a whisper.

In the distance I could almost hear "Fate" (that bitch!) gearing up for yet another one of her cruel jokes on me.

"Those are never good words to hear." I said, trying to sound light and fun.

"Well, if we end up getting naked, I’m afraid you might be disappointed with what I’ve got."

I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Jesus, is that all?" I almost laughed. "I’m far from a size queen."

And I kissed him again.

When the kiss ended I saw the look in his eyes. The look that said I wasn’t quite getting the point.

"OK," Sean said. "Maybe I should just show you."

He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and handed me his drivers license.

It was as bad a drivers license picture as I’d ever seen. He certainly wasn’t winning any hottie contests with that picture. But having a bad drivers license is far to common to be a source of insecurity.

I glanced at the age on the license. It coincided with the age he’d told me.

I didn’t understand...

...until I saw the name. "Stacy"

"I’m on hormones, and in the next few years, I will be a man. But right now ... I’m still biologically a woman."

My jaw dropped to the ground.

"Excuse me," I said, pulling out my phone. "I need to call my best friend. Can you excuse me just a moment?"

Jamie didn’t answer. And I didn’t know how to react. I liked this boy... he’d saved my night. But HE was really a SHE. Taped down breasts, and a vagina inside those jeans.

I KISSED A GIRL!

I didn’t think about what I was going to say, I just allowed myself to speak my mind.

"I’m not really sure how to react to this. I’ve NEVER had anything like this happen before." I said, in could have been the understatement of the year. "But, I’ve had a great time with you tonight. I invited you to come back and hang out with me, and that invitation still stands. I’m not sure that I’m capable of more... certainly not without really processing this. But, I’d still like to hang out more."

We walked the rest of the way back to my place, and I proceeded to ask tons of questions on the way.

Once back in my room, and laying on my bed, we switched on the television and laid together.

"I had a really good time tonight, and I’m glad we met." I said as I looked into Sean’s eyes. I moved in close, put my hand on his (her?) face, and we kissed again. Then I closed my eyes, and fell asleep.

Sean was gone the next morning, but I was left with the story of perhaps the most insane thing that has ever happened to me.

Oi vey!

Now, that story warranted a detailed telling, but I’m going to just give the broad strokes of the next few weeks, so I can catch my blog up to present, and finally start making a daily effort to write about my ever-changing, and constantly insane life.

A week after my night with Sean, I went into Blockheads on my night off to cover a shift for a co-worker who had other plans. I might not have gotten out of bed, and gone in to peddle $3 frozen margaritas that night if I’d known it would be the night I got fired.

The details aren’t really important. My manager was looking for an excuse to get rid of the white boy, and I did something stupid that gave him just the reason he needed.

I spent the next few days depressed and trying to figure out what to do next. The idea of looking for a new job was daunting enough, but the idea of learning and getting comfortable at a new restaurant seemed like more then I had the energy for.

I went home to PA for Labor Day weekend, and spent a little quality time with my family. We had a cookout, did a movie night, and I got my birthday presents. One was the laptop that I now write all my blog entries on (sometimes while sitting in cute coffee shops!) And the other was a DVD. A very special DVD.

Through most of my childhood, my father had taken home movies on an old fashioned movie camera he owned. Every family event was captured on film, that was boxed and kept in his den for many years.

Apparently, the motivation had struck him to put together a DVD of the first 6 years of my life. My parents presented me with the 90 minute DVD and sat with me as I watched it for the first time. I never thought something like that would touch me the way that it did. I found myself almost crying at various points in the movie. As a kid who always thought his father was rather unemotional, and never felt overtly close to, I was amazed to see just how clear it was that my father loved me while watching the DVD. The Christmas presents I got as a child, the first sleigh ride he took me on, our bike trips to feed the ducks, the toys he MADE for me that I enjoyed for many years.

In many ways we weren’t the closest Father and Son, but I realized, perhaps for the first time, while watching the movie, just how much my father really did love me.

I also observed that as a child (and still as an adult actually) I was rather doplic, and seemed to fall... A LOT. Over and over and over throughout the 90 minutes, I would be seen falling on my ass. It struck me as I watched myself fall again and again, that I would always pick myself right back up.

I get knocked down... But I get up again! :)

I returned to New York, with more ambition to "get up again", find a new waitering job, and get my stability back. My parents helped me out financially, for the first time in years, for weeks while I looked.

Finally last Monday, I decided that it was time to start being realistic. Weeks had gone by and I hadn’t found a job. Depression was setting in, which made looking even harder. I made the decision to give it until the end of the week, and if I hadn’t found a job, then I was going to have to return to Maine, and Friendly’s for a few months, so I could put aside some more money. It wasn’t fair to my parents for this to continue indefinitely and my depression was getting worse by the day.

That afternoon, I applied at a hot new restaurant in a popular Manhattan neighborhood. The interview went well, and the restaurant was just opening and looking to staff. I felt good about it, but I’d felt good about other jobs in the past few weeks, so I decided not to allow my hopes to get up

"I’ll call you in the next few days and let you know," Nathan, the hottie who interviewed me, told me, as I left.

I’d given a really great interview... if nothing else I could say I’d given it my all.

An hour later "The Hottie" called to tell me I had the job, and I started Thursday.

As much as Fate loves to fuck with me, she made it very clear that I was not meant to leave New York again. I did it once, and spent 5 years fighting to come back. Finally, a break had come my way.

This brings us up to almost the present. I’ve spent the past few days training, and am extremely excited about the new restaurant. In the end, I think it will be a good move for me, and perhaps everything (at least in this case) really did happen for a reason.

Even with things looking up, depression has managed to keep a hold on me the past few days. I don’t really know the source of it, which makes it a bit difficult to fight, but I keep telling myself that my life is going better, so eventually my brain will get the message, and start registering "Happy" ...

One source of my depression might stem from what tomorrow holds for me. Tonight at midnight to be more exact. At the stroke of 12 this evening, I’ll turn 29 years old.

It brings up a world of thoughts about the life that I’ve led up until now... the life I’m living now ... and the life I want for myself. 29 is also a hard year because it’s the last birthday in my 20's. Next year comes the big 30 ... and though I don’t feel my age, even slightly, it’s still a very daunting number.

I don’t feel my age. I don’t feel 28. And tomorrow I won’t feel 29.

Some days I feel 18 ... some days I feel 58.

Some days I feel the reason I don’t feel my age, is because I’m not sure how my age is supposed to feel. They say another year older, another year wiser.

Maybe that wisdom will come to me tomorrow along with that extra fucking year!

My 29'th birthday is almost here. The first of many, if I have my way!

The History Of The Month, Part Three!

I arrived in Portland, Maine at 3 o’clock that Saturday afternoon. My friend Jon (aka "Pizza Delivery Boy") picked me up at the bus station and we drove around Portland and smoked a bowl. It was weird because instantly after arriving in Portland, I felt almost immediately at home. Part of the reason I left Portland in the first place was because I was so comfortable there. I knew it was a place I’d become complacent in ... most people might use the word "happy" ... but complacent seems to fit me more. (Plus I think it’s become my "word of the week.")

After driving and smoking, and shooting the shit with Jon (all while listening to his CD compilations of Mary Wilson, and En Vogue) he dropped me off at Friendly’s. I was excited to pop in and surprise my old co-workers and friends.

I’m not sure why I was surprised that so many faces had changed. It was Friendly’s ... we usually had a revolving door of staff members. It was good to see that no matter how things changed, they still stayed the same.

I’d made arrangements to hang out with some of my friends at Margaritas that night. Margaritas was always my meeting place for eating and drinking and talking with friends during my time in Portland, so it made sense that’s where I’d want to gather them all for a night of hangin’ out.

I’d left countless messages for my friend Mindy (or "Super Mindy" as she’s known to us) but she’d not called me back all day. Now you have to understand that Mindy is one of the sweetest, kindest girls you’d ever meet ... and the bitch wasn’t calling me back.

Finally at 6, after I’d been sitting in Friendly’s for almost an hour, my phone rings. "MINDY" says the caller ID.

I answer, "Oh my god! I was so worried about you!"

The sweet childlike voice responds, "How does it feel when people don’t return your phone calls!"

"You SKANK WHORE!" I yell into the phone.

Girl made her point, oh yes she did! Maybe I should get a little better at calling people back sooner.

I went to Blackstones (the local troll bar) and had a few beers (OK, a few pitchers) while waiting for my friends to meet up for Margaritas. Finally about 9:30, Adam picked me up at Blackstones and he and I went to meet Mindy and April for drinks and some chips & salsa.

Mmmmmmmmm.... chips and salsa.

Afterwards we headed to Styxx, the local gay club. As I was walking in (looking fierce in Pink I might add) I saw one of the tired faggots from the "Portland Crowd" ...

"What happened?" He crowed. "New York chew you up and spit you out?"

"No, I thought it might just be nice to come back and visit some people." I snapped back. "You aren’t on the list."

And with that I headed into the club with my friends. Inside I ran into a few people I know, smiled, acknowledged their presences but maintained the "I’m a New Yorker again, and I have no time for your skank asses" air about me. With few exceptions, most of the Portland fags deserve this sort of attitude.

While taking a pee break (in the bathroom, I’m not a savage!) I encountered someone who was wearing my exact same pink shirt. As I had bought it in NYC at a store that doesn’t have that many non-NYC locations, I found it rather coincidental. I found it even more so when the boy turned to me and I realized it was a former fling. I demanded he take the shirt off right there. He demanded the same. We compromised by randomly making out in front of everyone for a few minutes, until finally my friends grabbed me by the ear and announced we were going to the straight club down the street.

There I ran into an old co-worker, Andrea. Andrea was known for being a fairly devout Christian, and so it was funny that when I saw her she was dancing on a guys lap, looking fairly intoxicated. We hugged and chatted for a few minutes and she went back to her lapdance.
It occurred to me (around 1:30 in the morning) that I hadn’t yet gotten a hold of my old roommates, and therefore was uncertain about where I’d stay that night. One person I’d also wanted to see that night was my ex-boyfriend Jason, so I thought perhaps I’d kill two birds with one stone.

Jason, Jason, Jason. An absolutely wonderful human being, with a heart of gold. But equally as mentally ill as he is kind. One of the things I always admired about Jason though, was that he was going to school to study to be a social worker or some similar position helping people with problems similar to his own. He not only had a desire to understand and control his own problems, but to help other people who were similarly afflicted. But... our relationship didn’t work out. In part it was because it started just as I was moving back to NYC, and also in part because there were some fundamental differences that I didn’t think we’d ever be able to resolve.

But nonetheless Jason was someone I had a deep love for and always wished the best for. So ... I headed to his house that night, and we sat up and talked for hours. It was just like the late night chats we used to have. I’d show up at his house later then planned, and he’d be pissy for a few minutes. Then he’d give in to being happy to see me, and we’d smoke a cigarette and play with his snakes. (Literally, he has two very large ball-pythons) Then we’d adjourn to the kitchen, where he’d fix us a bowl of cereal.

While chatting he mentioned a boyfriend. I asked questions, but was stonewalled, so I decided not to push it. After hanging out for a bit, we went to bed. Cuddling with Jason was always one of the most relaxing and peaceful things to me. There was something about the way that our bodies just fit together while we laid in bed. The way we’d hold each other like we meant it, not like two people who were just going through the motions. His bedroom also provided a peaceful atmosphere, and he’d usually sprinkle jasmine on the bed to provide a peaceful air that lent itself to sleep and pleasant dreams.

The next morning we woke up and my time with Jason came full circle. The last time I’d seen Jason, before leaving for NY, we’d gone for a walk through the woods, to the local community garden, where Jason loved to grow things. When we’d visited it last, winter was just ending, and there was little to see. This time Jason’s plants and flowers were in full bloom and thriving. It’s something that Jason spent a lot of time, energy and love on, and it was nice to see it doing well. I got the feeling that Jason wasn’t doing as well. I noticed that he seemed more focused on the "evils of man" then he used to be. More submerged into the thoughts of his snakes, and mice and plants then into the thoughts of the people around him. It’s in part because people have disappointed him so much I suppose... But in a larger part due to the mental illness which I fear has a stronger grip on him then before. I hope I’m wrong about this ... I truly want the best for this boy.

My old partner-in-crime from Denny’s, Kimmy, picked me up at Jason’s. Now when Kimmy and I work together at Denny’s we had nicknames for each other. I was "Goldfish" because, as Kimmy put it, my memory was like the memory of one. They apparently can retain things in their brain for about 5 seconds, and often times the same can be said of me. I, in turn, took to calling her the first thing that came into my head: "Seacow." (Kimmy’s a knockout even at a young 17, so no personal harm was meant, though I admit to taking some joy in the fact that she was never quite sure of that.) I also used to tease Kimmy that she really "put the ho in hostess" ... Good comedy indeed.

Kimmy and I drove around debating what to do for a while, and then finally picked up our mutual friend Eric. Through the years that Eric and I knew each other, we’d gone through many stages. At first I had a crush on him. Then we became friends. Then he did something that hurt me terribly and I was just catty to him from that point on. A few months ago that also came full circle, when he did something that in my mind put to rest forever the issue that had kept us from being closer friends. Eric’s truly a good guy, beneath many layers of drunken, foolish and obnoxious behavior. (Hmm...sound like anyone we know?!)

Eric was WASTED when we picked him up, and an amusing evening at the Olive Garden followed. Following that was a drive around Maine, catching up with Kimmy while Eric went in and out of consciousness in the backseat. Afterwards we headed to Styxx for karaoke, with Adam, Jon and a rather annoying friend of Eric’s who I just find reprehensible. (Anybody think that perhaps I didn’t tell him so?! Oh no, I DID!)

After the bar I stopped at my old house. Jack, my favorite of my old roommates came out and sat on the front steps with me. We shot the shit and smoked a joint ... and I flashed back to the life I had there in Portland... and how happy I really was there. New York was an adventure. New York was where I needed to be to be alive and to thrive... but Portland, more so then anywhere else I ever lived felt like a second home. Somewhere I’d like to visit a lot, and keep strong ties for myself.

I spent the night at Eric’s that night. I slept in bed next to him and briefly pondered the idea of initiating something... You see, I could see that in some alternate universe where Eric and I had both gotten past some of our issues and grown up a bit, that we might actually not be all that incompatible. When I spend time with Eric, I tend to realize that a bit. (Though I’d never in a million years show it!) But I thought better of it. I decided that friends are something that last a lot longer... and Eric and I hadn’t even really perfected "friendship" yet ... so probably best to leave well enough alone. I fell asleep, having had a wonderful weekend and feeling completely rejuvenated from the sadness of the weeks past. I didn’t see everyone that I wanted to see or do everything that I wanted to do ... but I had found the peace I was looking for to go back and fight the good fight in New York once again.

I didn’t know then what the next week had in store for me ... and how good it was that I’d taken the trip when I did, because I was going to need all the positive energy I could muster when I got back to life in the Big Apple....

But, more about that in The History Of The Month, Part Four! :)

The History Of The Month, Part Two!

As I sit down to write the next half of the "Saga Of August", I’m writing my blog entry for the first time in a completely new way.

As an early birthday present this year, my parents decided to get me perhaps the greatest and most useful present I’ve ever gotten. They bought me a brand new laptop. (And yes... Dude, I got a DELL!)

So I find myself, for the first time, sitting by the water, in a beautiful park along the westside highway, watching the people walk by, and the sun shine down on the water as I take a little toke and continue my story ...

When last we left our stupid homosexual (that’d be me) he was in the back of a stolen car, headed to Long Island.

The details of the trip were made clear to me as the journey progressed. Apparently the plan was to meet up with a man named "Shug" (Natch, what else would his name be?!) in Long Island, who was apparently supposed to take possession of the car we were delivering, and provide Major with goodies for us to return to the City with.

Not quite what I signed on for when I left the hotel and left Tara and "Shane" waiting for me. I was drunk, and I was rapidly becoming freaked out. So trying to hover quietly in the backseat of the SUV I started texting for help. I didn’t know what kind of help, or who was going to provide it, but I was convinced I’d either end up in jail or dead if I didn’t do something.

In the end, it was truly just luck that I didn’t end up either... I very well could have. The meeting with "Shug" didn’t pan out, and eventually I ended up being the voice of reason that persuaded the dynamic duo to head back to Manhattan, and drop me off safely at the hotel.It was 9:30 in the morning when I returned. "Shane" and Tara had fell asleep in the bed. I’d messaged Tara several times about my predicament, but ultimately there was nothing anyone could do to help me. I laid on the floor for a while, and watched the two of them sleeping peacefully. I knew they’d been worried sick. Shane deserved it, but it still made me ache a little. And Tara had done nothing but try to be a good friend to me.

They woke up, and Tara had to run off to work. "Shane" and I were left to talk ... he went on to tell me how worried sick he’d been ... he hugged me and kissed me ... and told me everything was going to be alright. I needed that after the night I had ...

I napped for a while and got ready for work. That night I came home again and waited. Waited for him. Waited to have a conversation. Waited to see if the relationship really was something we should be fighting for.

I waited till 9 the next morning when he came home. Thursday night he was only out till 4, but again I waited. And again I ignored him when he finally did come home. Friday I decided to be proactive about it. I told him before I went to work that I wanted us to talk when I got out. That I was going to wait for him, and expected him to be there.

He called me a little bit after midnight that night, with a ridiculously concocted story about having to go to Boston, to meet some famous producer’s wife. I’d been listening to these ridiculous stories all week as explanations for him being out all night. I’d seen him come home with a suitcase of clothes that fit him perfectly, with no real explanation about where they’d come from. I’d seen him growing apart and more distant. I knew there was someone else, but anytime we’d try to talk about it, I’d sense dishonesty and I’d just shut him down.

That Sunday I got home from work, and again he wasn’t there. I decided I was in the mood for the Duplex, so I left a note (in case he wandered home) telling him that I’d be there and to come join me.

As it turned out he did. I’d just struck up a nice conversation with a math teacher from Jersey, who was flirting with me and making me feel wanted again. It was nice. I hadn’t actually expected that "Shane" would show up... but he did. He did and we almost immediately started fighting. He’d claimed to have been so excited when he saw my note, inviting him to meet me at "our place" ... but I was not in a complacent mood. I wanted honesty from him if there was to be any great "Reconnection At The Duplex" ... I wanted honesty, but he again skirted the issue. Admitting that there was someone else, but denying that anything had ever happened with that person.

We fell asleep that night, arguing over honesty. In one breath, he’d tell me that he was being honest, and in the next he’d admit that perhaps there was something to what I was seeing. It was frustrating. I lied there next to him, holding him in my arms, wanting so much for the connection that I was clinging on to, to just be a little bit stronger.

The next day we were to stay at Tara and Michelle’s house, due to a temporary relocation of our room in the palace that we called home. He called me at midnight to let me know he’d be done with what he was doing around 2, and that he’d be over then. I finally fell asleep around 5 that morning ... having finally decided to disconnect once and for all.

He showed up at my work the next night, demanding I take some time to leave with him and go to collect his bags from our palace. He’d procured a plane ticket and was leaving for Italy that night. 3am. I made it clear I wouldn’t be able to do anything till I got out of work at 11... and he said he would return then.

Not surprisingly another phone call came around 12, after I’d already left work and decided he was now to be on my time schedule. He was "wrong" ... the flight was at 3pm the next day. He said he’d come by and get his bags the following morning.

I went out drinking that night and was probably still drunk when he knocked on my door to collect his bags at 11 the next morning.

"I’ll call you from Italy." he said.

I thought perhaps it just sounded like what he should say, so he did. I looked up and grunted and he closed the door behind him.

I still wear the ring he gave me, but not on the "wedding finger hand" anymore. I’m bad with separation. I’m bad with goodbyes. I’m bad with a lot of things I guess.

That day I spent mourning the loss of a relationship I thought had so much promise.

Today, almost a month later, right before sitting down to write this, I answered an "Unknown Number" on my cell phone, and it was "Shane." We talked for a while as I walked along the river and searched for a place to sit down and blog. He asked me if I hated him.

I said no. I don’t.

He asked me how I feel about him.

I said I didn’t know. I don’t.

I don’t feel like he’s "the one" anymore... That seems naive. I don’t feel that he’s an inherently bad person either. That seems simple.

I guess it’s just one of those things that happens in life. One of those stories you tell when sitting around with your friends talking about bad relationships. That’s what so many of them get reduced to in the filing cabinet of the brain. But I did have some really nice, really special times with "Shane" ... and I guess I’d like to try to remember those stories, just as much as the ones I’ve written here today.

That’s now.

But then... then, I was sad. Then I was feeling lonely, depressed, miserable ... And then something completely unusual happened. I looked at the schedule at work one day, and realized I had a Saturday and Sunday off. Back to back. An entire weekend.

I could get away. I could escape life for a few days...

Maine. I had friends back there who call and email often. Friends who missed me... and it would be great to go back and see them, and enjoy a fun carefree weekend in Maine.

So I decided on a Friday night at midnight that I was going to take a trip to Maine. I started leavng messages for my friends that night, and Saturday morning at 8am, I was on a bus...

Of course, I’ll write all about that, in The History Of The Month, Part Three!...