Irony & Trailer Parks: The PA Trip

It’s ironic, that in my staunch effort to not end up looking like someone who lives in a trailer, I actually ended up IN a trailer.

Huh?

Rewind.

Broken tooth.

So my accident two weeks ago, left me with a broken front tooth. It wasn’t one of the two front, front teeth, but the tooth right next to those. And it was a decent enough sized chunk that I looked like a white trash hillbilly. My friend Skylar’s reaction upon being the first to see it was a scream of "Oh my GOD! You look like trailer trash!"

That was it. Enough said. I was on a bus a few days later to PA to go see my father’s dentist and get rid of the white trash look.

I arrived on a Saturday evening, and ran around with my dad to run some errands. My dad’s been taking an interest in helping his friend Mike, with his local touring musical productions where they use some karaoke equipment. Last time I was home he’d mentioned going to a karaoke night with me (I always go when I’m home.. .or anywhere really.)

At 9:30 Saturday night, after smoking a bowl and drinking a bottle of wine, I grabbed my Dad and off to karaoke we went. I’d left a few messages for different friends to come out and join the fun, and Scott, a friend of mine from Junior High School, who I hadn’t seen in probably 15 years came by.

I paid the door cover, and bought our first pitcher of beer. This was a big deal. I’ve never gone out with my father before. And it was to karaoke - my favorite passtime.

Scott showed up after my Dad and I had been hanging out for about 30 minutes, and I’d finally put my first song in. Shortly after that, Steve, an ex-flame of mine from Lancaster called to find out where I was. It was his birthday, he was out with friends and they were going to stop by. It’d been about 5 or 6 years since the last time I’d seen Steve, and we were both amazed at the improvement in appearance we’d both undergone. I glossed over the introduction to my father as "This is an old friend of mine Steve... you’ve met a thousand times."

In truth, my fathers first time meeting Steve, was when he looked out his living room picture window early one morning years ago, and saw him wrestling around and making out with his son in the front yard. It was a mixture of passion in the moment, and my attempt to show some acknowledgement that I was gay and that it wasn’t likely to change.

Thankfully Steve looked very little like he used to and it had been enough years, so my father wasn’t placing him. "What would I remember him from?" he asked me, as Steve and I smirked across the table at each other.

"I forget dad, that was a lifetime ago."

The evening continued with a drunk (and rather robust) friend of Steve’s giving me a lapdance in front of my father, and then moving next towards his lap. I immediately shot her a look and said "Don’t even think about it!"

My father stayed long enough to see me sing Mississippi Squirrel Revival first, and my old standard (Sweet Transvestite) ... It felt good to let my Dad see me do something (albeit as silly a thing as it is) that’s something I do so much in my life. I found it amusing when he told me later, that while telling a friend about the evening, he was surprised to discover that they had never heard of the Squirrel song, but knew what Sweet Transvestite was from immediately. My father’s exact words were "A Rocky Horror movie of some kind?"

After my Dad left, Steve and I played footsie under the table, kissed once or twice and flirted a bit before saying goodnight. I told him I’d love to see him again while I was home, he said that’d be great. I left, pretty wasted, and with the feeling I’d probably not see Steve again during my visit.

I didn’t.

Sunday was a lazy day ... I spent much of it in bed, and woke up in time for a home grilled steak dinner. Back to sleep for a bit.

Monday was another lazy day. A call to the family dentist got me a 3:30 appointment on Tuesday. I decided that was enough energy for a Monday and decided it was entertainment time. I have a new TV obsession - Nip/Tuck. I downloaded the first episode a few weeks ago and have been hooked ever since. Monday I finished Season One, and started Season Two. I HIGHLY reccomend this to anyone whose looking for a new show to catch up on. AMAZING.
Tuesday it was time to be productive. I was running out of the little bit of weed I had with me, and PA isn’t nearly as bearable

I had been up most of Monday night, so I decided to make breakfast for my Dad around 6:30. He retired over a year ago, but his job keeps asking him back for a few months at a time, since they still haven’t replaced him. So I decided he should start his day off with some French Toast.
I walked the mile to the local H&R Block around noon to go and file my taxes I ended up leaving with a check that day, and another one a few days later.

That afternoon it was time to go to the dentist and get the tooth looked at. Nobody was really sure without seeing it what course of action was going to be necessary to fix it, with as little time and pain as possible.

Fortunately there was enough of the tooth left to apply a bond, which although was painful sincde the tooth was still numb, fixed the aesthetic problem perfectly. Let’s face it, I ran to the dentist because of how it LOOKED, and we got that fixed. He warned me not to chew any apples anytime soon... like forever. He mumbled something about being careful with bread too, but I’m told myself that one was a joke.

I got home that night, tired from my long day, and with a prescription of tylenol with codine. (Mmmmm, codine!) :) I was determined to spend some of my tax money and have a good time though. I called Jenny Penny, who agreed to come out to karaoke if I found a ride, and if we went to ‘The Lodge’. (The Tally Ho, the local gay bar was also having karaoke that night, but I really didn’t care about the venue, I just wanted to sing.)

Scott picked me up, and after a brief stop at his coffee shop (he runs it with his family) we headed to meet Jenny Penny

She was waiting for us in the parking lot and the three of us headed inside, where we outnumbered the rest of the patrons who’d come out to sing that night. Jenn and I have pretty much the same view on this type of situation.

More time for us to sing.

And sing we did. The karaoke book was great so the three of us put in song after song after song. The karaoke DJ for the night was a hottie ... and a drunk hottie no less. He kept dancing up on me while I was up at the mic, and gave me MUCH LOVE when I sang my ‘one-hit-wonder’ song. (If you don’t know what it is by now, then you probably have never been out with me.) :)

Jenn decided to call it a night at midnight, and Scott and I decided to head over to the Tally Ho and see if it was any more lively there.

Lively it was. The place was packed with both young hotties and old scaries. Almost immediately after entering the bar I ran into David, a friend of mine from my PA visits over the years who had recently moved to NYC and gotten gayer then gay. (When we met he was 16 and I was 22 ... He was a punk rockin homo back then, now a few years later it was interesting to see what kind of queer he’d grown into.)

I kept swigging back beer after beer and eventually came to the stumbling realization that I was quickly on my way to getting shitfaced.

It’s important to know that this was one of the first nights in months where I actually FELT like my social self again. I was enjoying being out, looking cute, and making eyes at my hometown gay boys. I was beginning to feel like my old self again. And my old self did love to drink.

As it was nearing the end of the night, I decided to accompany my karaoke slip (my usual) with a $10 and asked that the DJ try to squeeze me in.

I sang next.

I was on my cell with Jamie when they called me up to sing, and I decided that he was going to be a part of the performance.

I rocked the fuckin house at the Tally Ho that night. When it came to the part of the song where I usually grab a nearby hottie to use as a prop, I found a cute blonde standing on the dance floor, and did my usual schtick with him.

"I’ve been makin’ a man ... with blonde hair and a tan ... and he’s good for relieving my..."

Not-so-subtle push of the boy down to my crotch area.

"...tension."

The crowd cheered a bit, and I finished strong. It was a good song.

It’s at this point where the night begins to get hazy. I felt great after singing, and I started walking around chatting, while Scott talked up some girl he ran into that he knew.

I remember that I met a boy.

I think it was in the bathroom.

I know we made out in the bar. I remember the kisses. They were good. I remember he was cute. Close to my height I think. But no specifics. Hair or eye color? Couldn’t tell ya. His name?

Not a fucking clue. Just the kisses.

The bar did last call and Scott and his friend decided they wanted to go to a diner. I remember persuading my faceless kisser to join us. I remember getting in his car and making out some more. The drive to the diner is hazy. I remember sitting out in the parking lot, making out some more. I’m told Scott called my cell phone and I told them we’d be right in.

And that’s all I remember of the night.

I’m told I spent an hour in the parking lot, then came into the diner crying and alone.

I woke up the next morning in pain. Hungover and tooth aching. Thankfully the doctor had perscribed some good pain killers for me. I took some and went back to sleep till that evening.
It was a lazy TV night again both of the next two nights. I hung around my family home, chatted online and and made a discovery.

For a long time now, I’ve been annoyed by one question that almost everyone seems to ask me.

"Are you on myspace?"

UGH!

"No, I’m on Friendster!" I would always say. "They’re just a ripoff and a stupid one at that."
Let it be known I’m now a bit of a MySpace junkie. (http://www.myspace.com/eclecticlibra)

The transformation came about when my best friend told me that an old friend of his from his high school days had tracked him down on MySpace. I think often about people from my past who I don’t speak with anymore. People I’d like to see again. Talk to again. Have things I’d like to say to.

So I started searching away. I found bunches of people right away, and received replies from a few of them over the next few days.

It wasn’t until Thursday night when the real old connections started happening though. And they happened online, though not on MySpace.

Ray and "Lucky". Two people from my past I thought I’d never speak to again. Ray I hadn’t seen in 6 years. Lucky closer to 8.

I’ll tell the Ray story first, as it’s one of those stories from my life I really feel should end up in my memoirs one day.

Flash back about 6 years ago (maybe 7, they all run together after a while) and I was living in New York City, but had gone home to PA to spend a few months with my family. My Dad had gotten sick and my Mom needed a little help around the house.

I’d met a few local guys around my age online, and Ray was one of them. Another of them was Chad who had actually grown up in the next neighborhood and who I used to pick on as a child (he was one of the only ones around easier to make fun of then me - and I took my opportunities where I could find them)

Chad had grown up and become a little raver boy queer, and we’d begun hanging out. The memory on this is a bit hazy, but Ray and I were friends, and we’d fool around occasionally. I was interested, but not sure what was going to come of it.

The specifics are hazy too, but I remember that it was a summer Friday afternoon, and that for some reason Chad and Ray and I were arriving at my house. Chad and Ray were making up an excuse to ditch me, saying they were going their separate ways, but my intuition told me that something else was going on.

A few minutes later I called Ray’s cell phone, and he assured me this was not the case. Ray was sweet. A liar but sweet. Chad was not sweet, he was a troublemaker. So he took the phone from Ray and proceeded to gloat then hang up on me.

Not really an especically memorable moment, you might think. It was though. I’d been emotionally fragile during this time. My Dad being sick, my career was just beginning to go down the toilet, and I’d just gotten cheated on by my last boyfriend. I was sick of people telling me things that I wasn’t sure I could trust. And I was angry at the people who caused this distrust.

These feelings swirled around inside of me, and sitting in my childhood bedroom, crying, I had my first panic attack.

It felt like a ton of bricks had been dropped on my chest. Try as I might I couldn’t catch my breathe.

As I sucked for air, I reached for the phone.

"Joy" (I’ll blog-name her) was a very dear friend of mine, who was a few years older.

Joy was an actress also. At the time of this particular breakdown Joy was out in LA shooting her recurring role on 90210. I was known to call Joy’s 800-voice-mail-pager thingy at crazy hours of the night, drunk and sobbing about my cheating boyfriend, or the next boy who’d hurt me, or any one of a number of things that would have me drunk and crying in the middle of the night. (It wasn’t so pretty back then!) :) This certainly was an important enough excuse to disturb her
I thought as I speed dialed her.

The phone rang two minutes later.

"Hello?" I choked out.

"OK, you’re having a panic attack." She got right into it. "I’ve had a million of them ... it’s your body reacting to emotional stress, and you can control it. Are you home alone?"

"No...my...my dad’s here."

"Kevin, put your dad on the phone."

Bear in mind, this girl was probably about to walk out and shoot a scene with Tori Spelling, but God love her she was there on the phone to help me through a tough time. (In the end, it was my dependence on that, that caused the seperation in our friendship.) I look back and hope I returned that to her in her times of need. I wasn’t her number one call, but I was on the list.

This was an amazing girl who helped me through so much, and I wish I knew her today.
Joy and my Dad talked for a few minutes. My father returned with the phone, and a pill that he handed to me.

"Hello?’... I said, still breathing hysterically.

"OK, I LOVE that your father has Xanax in the house." Joy said, not missing a beat.

She proceeded to talk me through my first panic attack ever, and I never spoke to Ray again.

Till this Thursday night in PA when I emailed a hottie I saw on Manhunt. (I was just looking!!! :)
I get a return email from the hottie and we trade AIM screen names.

IS THIS KEVIN? The IM read.

IRONY 1: The Manhunt hottie was Ray.
IRONY 2: He was also the boy I used as my karaoke prop at the Tally Ho a few nights earlier.

It really is like rain...

...on your wedding day.

While talking to Ray, an IM comes up from Manhunt, which I still had opened. I start typing while waiting for the picture to come up.

As I’m typing the picture comes up on my screen.

"LUCKY!" HOLY FUCK!

I’d met Lucky the Christmas before meeting Ray when I was home for the holidays. He was 16 at the time, and I was in my very early twenties. (I can’t actually remember and math isn’t my strong suit.) From the very first moment I saw him, I was captivated by his mischievious smile. He was a smart ass, crude and more then a little cocky sometimes. But he was clever, charming and had a real heart that I got to know a bit during our friendship. Lucky's always been good people.

I’m pretty sure he always knew I had a crush on him ... but nothing ever came of it. There was the age difference. I was pretty damn chunky at the time. I had little to no idea who I was then. And at that point, neither one of us had really lived a lot of life.

Weird, the things that youo remember. I remember the last time I saw him was in my kitchen. He was wearing my silver shirt, and black pleather jacket and getting ready to leave to move to Michigan. For many years I had a picture of him that we’d taken that day... and I’d look at it often and think of him. Many good memories.

So ... there I am on Manhunt. It’s early Friday morning (daylight was just starting to happen) and I’m talking to two people that I haven’t talked to or thought about in a very long time.
Lucky and I start reminiscing and talking about the good old days. During conversation I mention that I ran out of weed days ago, and haven’t been able to find any in PA.

Apparently, if you want to find weed in PA, you talk to Lucky.

After talking on and off all day, he picked me up at my house at 10 that night and delivered me the first ounce of weed I’ve ever bought. (My ex, Cameron, used to buy by the ounce, and I’ve bought FOR him before... so maybe that counts... )

But this was my first and I was excited. He pulled in the driveway, and got out... I was wearing an outfit to show off how much weight I’d lost since last I saw him.

Everywhere I go I get comments about how much weight I have lost ... and asking what kind of crack I’m smoking. "None...anymore." I always say with a smile. "Why, you got some?"

I made sure to be on the phone when he got there, being a lame ass poser that I am sometimes. As he got out of the car, I noticed he looked exactly the same as he always did. There was a bit
more confidence with him (he was never insecure, it just seems more solid now) that comes with age... but everything else about him was the same. Including his smile. A lot about our friendship flooded back that night as he reminded me of story after story ... I’d forgotten he came to NYC to visit me... that I’d taken him to a cheesy theme restaurant (Mars 2112) which he still says is his favorite restaurant. He reminded me of all these stories, which I hadn’t thought about in years. And with every story, I remembered how big the crush I had on him was. And as he’d tell every story with that playfulness he always possessed, I realized he was just one of those people. Hopefully this reconnection will stick, and we’ll be friends for years to come. But I think he’ll always be that friend for me... that friend that a part of you will always have deeper feelings for... but that never becomes anything other then friendship. I think many of us have those in our lives... I have before. I’ve been that before. Ha. I liked being it better... but not much.

"So, what are we doing tonight?" I ask. "Staying in, or going out?"

"Wanna go out?" he asked.

"You know I do!"

I changed quickly (I just needed a different shirt) and slipped past my growling Dad (he chose that night to get weird about my friends... maybe he remembered Lucky).

We drove around Lancaster hotboxing his car, and eventually ended up at the Tally Ho, where we strutted our stuff, and continued to catch up over drinks.

We jetted, and as we left I was thinking how easily we’d kind of slipped into each others groove. At this point in the evening, I was remembering my crush on him, and wondering what his thoughts were on the me I’d become.

"Wanna come spend the night at my house?" He asked.

Now let me point out, whether the chance had been there or not, I wouldn’t have slept with him that night. That’s the thing about having friends like that... you never sleep with them - unless you’re sure.

On the 30 minute drive to his place, I told him about the tooth injury that had brought me home and how I couldn’t walk around NYC looking like someone out of a trailer.

"I live in a trailer! Shut up!" he snapped back.

I started giggling uncontrollably, and he clearly was amused by my amusement. It was a funny moment. We ended up at the trailer, where I met his roommate. She was a groovy chick and I loved her instantly. We smoked a bunch and I began to feel like a retard... (I hate when I get stupid stoned when I wanna be witty stoned)

After smoking we had the munchies, so it was off to a truck stop. Yeah, I said a truckstop. It was hillarious. The three of us walking in sitting down with all these big burly truckers, stoned off our asses. Good times.

I ate. A lot. What, is now a blur. But it was yummy.

We went back and smoked some more. Talked some more. Laughed some more.

"Do you want me to sleep out here and you take my bed, or do you want to sleep out here?" He asked me as we all sat there stoned.

That was it then. He was letting me know we weren’t sleeping in the same bed. Egotistical fuck.
(Only with him, could that statement be made with affection.)

Oddly, I was relieved. I like having a crush on him. We’re not compatible to date. And he’s a friend I’d like to have around for a while. I’ll be the one who goes out and fucks up the bitches who break his heart... Well on my butch days anyway.

I laid there on the couch trying to fall asleep, thinking about the night, and realizing that I’d had a great night and I could feel the depression just washing away. Maybe it was the visits to the past... or seeing what relevance those from the past have in the present. I was stoned. I was happy. And I was in a trailer.

It’s like 10 thousand spoons, when all ya need is a knife...