September 7, 2000September 7, 2000Things really don’t calm down for me, do they? One word for the week-end – wedding. My brother, Lawrence and his fiance got married on Saturday, September 2, 2000. But festivities actually began on Thursday with the wedding rehearsal, which really made no difference in the final analysis. Everyone from the groom to the flower girls were winging it during the whole ceremony since we had the absent-minded wedding coordinator from hell who, although was free of charge from the church, really should have left things to me. I mean, with my extensive knowledge on snobbery (which is the watchword of weddings) it would have been fabulous. But I’m ahead of myself.
Thursday, my dearest cousins from Virginia were in. The two younger ones (20 and 22) hadn’t changed a bit. They were still neo-hippies to the bone. Herbert still had long hair and was still wearing sandals. Albert would love this, I thought. Hannah had lost some weight and looked so pretty, her soul shined through. My beautiful cousins, I thought. Overly excited, I was out of breath at trying to talk so much, the realization that they only had 2 days in town looming in the back of my head.
Following the wedding rehearsal where I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to do my cat walk down the center aisle and throw some seriously fierce looks to my cousins (much to their amusement and delight), we went to the nicest hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant that made my studio sardine can look exactly as the Jasmine Villas erroneously bills it as - “spacious.” The food was fantastic and my cousins and I were creating a scene what with our imitations of our Tita who we had discovered had posted “cheesecake” ;) photos of herself on her boudoir table mirror and my re-enacting “Superstar” scenes (“These are my breasts…they’re soo BIG”). But realizing I had to work (it) that night with Albert, I discreetly made an exit, feeling like a rat for not rescheduling in lieu of family visiting.
We did the West Hollywood run and the final tally was one man between the two of us. Marcel didn’t recognize Albert and me, but we had met him through Felipe and once Albert broached the subject Marcel seemed embarrassed, but not so much that he didn’t invite Albert and me to meet him at the Motherlode. He bid us hurry, he may not stay there long and we should get some while supplies last. Coincidentally, he informed us that he worked for a community service agency as an Executive Director. I was impressed. Albert, not so, even though Marcel clearly had it in for my Puerto Rican dreamboat of a friend. The night ended uneventfully, what with me dizzily doing a balance beam routine on a wall for the distracted audience of two, while they talked lazily in Marcel’s car.
Friday, I couldn’t have hated life more. Tired and grumpy I did my best to gather some sort of group for a hotel party. My cousins were to stay at the Radisson in Baldwin Park, sans parents, so I took it upon myself to get a few of my friends together to re-enact the hotel party for my dearest friend Cheryl on her wedding day the year before. My mother confirmed that a room was reserved and all I’d have to do was get the key at the reception desk. Surprisingly, I made it through the day, confident that there would be somebody at the hotel for me to entertain or at least become a lush with, but not before rushing about to buy my brother’s wedding gift and rush back to my parents house. Imagine my discontent when no one was home, save my grandmother who happily watched T.V. in the living room.
Infuriated that no one had left me the hotel number or their whereabouts, I immediately lambasted my other brother Oliver for stealing my cousins from my well-laid plans for the night. After yelling at him over the phone which continually broke off the connection to his cell phone, I gave up and plopped down next to my grandmother and engaged her in small talk, which at the best of times is comedic, since I can barely speak Tagalog. “Anong ginawa mo today?” That was the best I was to muster and reminding myself that I was good enough, smart enough and that gosh darnit, people liked me, I stared blankly at the television which broadcasted Filipino news I neither cared about or wanted to hear.
My cousins made it back shortly with my wayward brother. I literallly pushed them from the house to make it to the hotel, whereupon, hotel staff told me the room had already been checked out. No key, sorry. The admittance slip showed my mother’s signature. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I ranted and raved about how “smart” that was of my mother to take the key with her and not leave it with any of the people who would actually need it to get into the room. I created a scene and thankfully, the check-in man offered to give me a key, since I was her son. I knew he just wanted me to shut up, but I got my way, didn’t I?
The hotel party went great what with most of the crowd being from high school in addition to my sisters Albert and his friend Raul, Jose, Mike, and their friend David. My cousins and I got drunk and made it to Denny’s later that night for an early morning breakfast to save time in the morning when we’d have to get up for the wedding two hours later.
I’m truncating my brother’s wedding. You can see the details on a separate link. So we’ll fast forward to the morning after.
Finally some sleep. Four hours to be exact. Waking up, I felt that inevitable melancholy knowing my cousins were soon to be gone once again. In a daze Oliver, father, and cousins drove in two separate cars. We were running late and by the time my aunt had made it to the gate, the stewardess behind the ticketing counter rudely said, “You have less than four minutes to board the plane,” and incessantly demanded my babies to board immediately. I told her, “There are two other ladies coming,” to which she retorted, “They need to get here now, they’re late.” Really, I thought as I shot back angrily once again, “There are two more women coming,” before running to the ladies room to fetch my grandmother and aunt. I hugged them good-bye and wondered if I’d see my grandmother ever again. She’s 76. She’s my last grandparent.
“Could you be anymore rude?” I said aloud, only to receive a small laugh from my dad.
My oldest cousin was leaving in an hour – he’d taken a different flight, so we shared coffee with my father until we ushered him to his gate.
Following church, I anticipated my date that was not to be with the doctor, Todd Jonas. Truth I needed the sleep that I got from noon to 5pm and I was too tired to be too horribly depressed at what would be my first real disappointment in a long time. I awoke to an empty house and opted to return for the last time on a Sunday, to my apartment.
Albert and I quickly made plans to go to OZZ – my farewell Sunday night to OZZ. However it was not to be even though we arrived at five after nine. For 45 wasted minutes we waited until the frustration got the better of us. I’d also noted that the fact that Raul, Albert’s friend had not noticed us as he walked to the front of the line and supposedly gotten in without answering Albert’s calls to his cell phone he was making from our place in line. I didn’t want to broach this one. We went to West Hollywood to be consoled by Poppa.
That night was pleasant. We hooked up with two gorgeous dancers. Ironically Albert hooked up with Tyce, whom I had engaged in conversation on the porch of Rage with the intent of getting his friend in the black muscle shirt to talk to Albert, whom Albert had noticed first. Tyce turned out to be Italian/Greek (though I thought he was Habibi) and John, the guy in the muscle shirt, was Mexican. Tyce had appeared more approachable, even downright bored as he sat on the planter outside, holding his jacket, a disinterested look on his face. He was non-descript, except for his beautiful face. John looked to be on the hunt, so when they mentioned that they danced professionally, I barely could let out a whimper of protest when they suggested we dance. By this time, Albert had enthralled Tyce and it looked like John, a tall, dark haired, nicely built man of 24 (Tyce was 30) would have to suffer my company.
Well, he didn’t have to suffer much after we got a little freaky on the dance floor. He didn’t seem to mind too much dancing behind me to receive my very insistent backward pelvic thrusts to his crotch. Looked like Albert had gotten in good with his dancer too.
The club closed, and we were left to where we were to go afterward. My suggestion of IHOP received an eye-roll from Tyce and immediately I felt ghetto. “But I LIKE IHOP” I protested. Conveniently, per John’s suggestion, Albert would ride with Tyce and John would go with me to this restaurant on Sunset that John frequents. After taking a circuitous route around West Hollywood (was he really lost or just buying time?) that allowed John to suck my thumbs, urge me to stay the night at his apartment and attack my pierced nipple which he had roughly done on the dance floor to the point that it ached, we made it to the restaurant and were seated outside. Walking to the door, Albert and I compared notes as our catches for the night trailed conveniently behind us to no doubt do the same. Albert would later tell me that Tyce, also a native New Yorker, was the male lead in a few of Janet Jackson’s videos and her Velvet Rope Tour. I challenged back, relating the fact that John had danced in Ricky Martin’s “La Vida Loca” video. Seemed like this must have been the after restaurant for the stars. Inside, we spotted Dave Navarro from the Red Hot Chili Peppers.
So for one night Albert and I felt like a couple of starstruck groupies. We squealed with delight on the drive home, silently acknowledging that since we refused to go home with the couple, we had forfeited our one and only chances with them. Oh well, Sherman Oaks, is too far for either Albert or me. But it was a great night.
September 11, 2000Work blurs into playtime this past week. As the Program Analyst for our contract with Center I visited their main facilities this week which amounted to most of my Tuesday being spent schmoozing, ooohing, and ahhhing at the state of the art care they provide under our contract. I was kindly taken out to lunch at the French Market in West Hollywood and later shown around the place top meet about a few dozen people whose names I forgot almost immediately.
My contact, Mat, we’ll call him, treated me to lunch where we spoke freely about work related issues, his outside political issues (he’s Pakistani but advocates for all Asians?) and ideas and the cloud of interest that appears to surround me ever since I joined the program. Since I work with many agencies that employ gay persons, it’s only natural that the campiness of my gay brethren bleeds in to the professional workplace. It is not looked down on, but rather admired as a perk of working in the AIDS social service sector.
Well, to say the least AIDS Service Organizations (ASOs) will inevitably be linked with gay people, particularly gay men. So during the tour of their facilities I met more than a few cute guys whom I was introduced to. Ironically, I didn’t think to give them my business card. Maybe it would have been good to “accidentally” give them a card with my pager number on the back. Funny to think I freely give out business cards when I go out to work (it) but couldn’t fathom giving my card out on a business meeting with the same guys I probably see or will see out at Rage or Revolver. The afternoon ended with an invitation to a movie screening at the Center – I would be Mat’s special guest. Tired and worn out, I accepted.
The morning after however, I was apprehensive about the possibility that Mat may have been trying to ask me out. After all, at lunch the day before, he discreetly asked if I was gay or not. Of course I confirmed at which point he divulged that I’d been the talk amongst the gay men at the ASOs we work with. Trusting my instinct, I invited to pay for my brother to join us in the evening for the movie, hoping he would stick around for dinner. I needn’t have worried, though since Mat had others from his Gay Asian advocacy group board members along for the film. Nicely enough, the movie sucked so bad – those damn Japanese independent films are so weird, even Bjork would do a double take – and we opted to cut out on the movie and have dinner. Unfortunately, my brother had to leave (“Mikey’s waiting,” Oliver said - for christ’s sake, I thought) and I was stuck with this Asian group. We had Thai food which had to be rationed since there were four of us eating from only four moderately sized dishes (family style). The restaurant was near “Ming’s”, a gay Asian bar in Silver Lake that my that my friend, Mike, used to bartend at before his Ecstasy drug bust.
Albert and I were obligated to visit Poppa on Thursday. It was an uneventful Thursday that Albert and I have resolved to make up for this weekend. “I have to find a cute guy this week,” was Albert’s declaration that I seconded. However, we did meet up with Chris, one of Albert’s El Paso Posse (he had his partying days in Texas before he came here to L.A. in 1997). Of course I was concerned that Chris wouldn’t take to our hang outs since few involved the older roughnecks of the Motherlode or the Men’s Room (think “urine”), but all in all he did appreciate our buying him drinks all night. Chris entertained us with his previous night’s action wherein he vividly described gouging his date’s eyes before having his way with him. To emphasize how much fun he had, Chris beat his chest and at one point reiterated this point by beating my chest (“Yikes, Tony likes it!”).
Friday I happily made plans to do OZZ. Nostalgic, I made sure I’d be inebriated before going. I had shots with Peter who joined Albert and me. His stated goal: “I want to get laid tonight.” A worthy goal, I thought, and resolved to join him in his noble crusade. At OZZ we met up again with our favorite German porn star. His name escapes me (whose doesn’t) but he had his eye on Peter from the start. I wouldn’t see much of Peter that night, to say the least. Albert occupied himself with catching up with friends and I occupied myself by working drinks from my friend Anthony, who was more than happy to oblige.
Sometime during the night a nice boy approached Albert. Manny had a friend whom Albert and I were more interested in, Mike. As inebriated as I was, we ended going with them to Denny’s after-hours party and found out that these little babies were only 19. More, I even offered to pay the $30 bill.
So ended my Buena Park stint and no longer could I use the line, “I live only two blocks away,” as Albert was happy to remind me.
The following morning was move-out day. I had awoken groggy, a repeat of last week where I had only 4 hours sleep in the last 2 days. Hurriedly I cleaned out the refrigerator, throwing out the old bottle of strawberry margarita mix that I had never finished since my first party at the apartment the year before. Goodbye, old friend, I thought. Goodbye shredded chicken for the enchiladas I had never made. Goodbye potatoes that had never been mashed. It was on a trip to the trash dumpster when I saw Peter makin ghi sway to my apartment. He had left his overnight bag and jacket at my apartment. Not surprisingly, he looked refreshed. His night, I will discreetly omit, but I’ll definitely admit, after hearing of his night, I felt jealous, hence, “This week-end I’ve got to find a cute guy.” It was amusing to see the look on my mother’s face when she came to the door to see Peter brushing his teeth, as if he’d spent the night. Thank God I had my pants on, or we would’ve been talking ‘coronary.’
My parents assisted in the move out and I was allowed to commune with my apartment after clearing it out. As my parents waited outside in the U-Haul truck, I went one last time to the apartment. Emptied now, I could hear the splashing echo as I took one last leak into the toilet, just as I had done the first time I had seen the apartment on a lunch break last year. So much had changed in one year’s time. So much growing out of, and growing into, and also loss. But no regrets, I resolved. Taking one last look around the apartment, I stood at the door and took one final look. I closed my eyes. In my mind’s eye, I restored the apartment to how I wanted to remember it. I saw all the furniture in it once more, the smell of enchiladas in the oven, and the laughter of friends visiting on one of my quarterly get-togethers. Music played on the CD player and Absolutely Fabulous was playing on the T.V. I opened my eyes and shut the door to my first apartment one last time.
Resting Saturday despite Albert’s urging to go to Dragstrip 66 (he called twice, the second time to ask, “Are you SURE you’re just going to stay home?” – I defended myself, “Have I ever refused to go out?” This was serious fatigue), I was well on my way to staying home on Sunday night when I received a page. Mike and Jose were at Ray’s house in Baldwin Park for his barbecue. Ray is a friend from high school who showed me the ins and outs when coming out. Later, he showed me how to party, most notably at Escandolo which used to be my Wednesday hangout in college a few years back. I hadn’t thought of him, although lately I’d seen him at the various Pride festivals all over Southern California. I decided to call Ray himself, to see what was the deal, and also to see if I was really invited. I hesitated. After all, our relationship had drifted over the years. But the thought of meeting some of Ray’s cute friends brought me back to reality. I dressed quickly.
It was his birthday and I decided to show good face. I brought a greeting card and a nice bottle of Chianti which hearks back to sophomore year in college when I had my fiction writing class over for drinks. It was one of the last times I’d gotten so drunk as to have a hang over the next morning. At any rate, I hoped it wasn’t tacky. Pulling up to the house, I swooned, remembering high school afternoons spent talking to Ray and hanging out with my then boyfriend, Domingo. The old house looked like home.
Ray’s mother had greeted me inside and brought me out to where the men were. The large backyard was set up for a dinner barbecue. There were men abound. Mike and Jose had just gotten out of the above-ground pool. Strutting over to them I was satisfied at the looks I got and more satisfied that my friends weren’t seated at the ugly-person table. Seated with us were Flavio, Howard and his straight brother Albert, and Gerardo. We would end up hanging out with our table-mates for the night.
Talk circled around school, which I was surprised to find out that most of them were still in, and somehow the conversation rolled over onto demographics at colleges and the culture shock of being the minority. I piped up that UCI was for Chinamen, at which Flavio asked and I confirmed I was Filipino. Tripping over his words he called Filipinos “just like Mexcians” and called me “exotic-looking.” “I can live with that,” I smiled. Gerardo, another member of that Escandolo crowd, insisted Flavio not “exoticize” although I thought it was a nice compliment. Or maybe a pick-up line. Sorry, not interested.
Many of the Escandolo crowd were in attendance: Nicolai, Gerardo, Luis, Jose, Anthony (the second mentioned here in this journal entry) and myself. It really was a homecoming and I wondered why it was that I fell out of touch with them. It couldn’t have been the non-stop partying – I mean, look at me now. It must have been my lust for staying with Shawn, the end of which my friendships were sacrificed in lieu of a failed relationship. A different satisfaction that comes only from perspective and time settled in as I realized I had simply grown up and that this was a time to reflect and remember the past and remember its lessons.
Then Albert kept paging and I thought, “What the hell?!!! In a minute!”
Pinata time came after dark where the beautiful-eyed Joe, one of Ray’s frequent compatriots when I see him, was teaching Ray’s 5-year old nephew how to “sizzle” before hitting. TTSssssss…..” he would say while doing a body wave not unlike those seen in “Showgirls.” He had us rolling until Anthony joined in, Ray’s nephew mimicking like a neophyte. “Ray says he’s a big queen,” Jose informed me of what Ray thought of his nephew. “Yeah, he’s going to be one,” Ray confirmed as he handed us baggies to catch our candy in. Kind of like passing down the family crown, I thought.
The night ended uneventfully, but sweetly what with a fruit-laden cake-sized shortcake that was lighted, blown out, and then served to the guests with Ray’s mother offering polaroids to anyone wanting to pose. After being shot, Jose and Mike and I went to the porch to wrap up the night with one last drink. Tired, but satisfied I noted how Albert would have hated to see so many feet at this barbecue and how many stares yielded no numbers. At least Howard, the least outrageous of us all, and probably the most enticing, gave Mike his number so that we could “all hang out sometime.”
September 19, 2000It probably would have been better to say nothing happened this week-end. But too many things happened this week-end resulting in not achieving the week’s goal. Before stepping out, my mother most likely jinxed me by sending me off with, “No sex, okay?”
Friday night, Albert and I visited an acquaintance, Carl, for his birthday. We were invited by Manuel, Albert’s friend. Realizing the “bore” potential, Albert wisely suggested we plan to stay only a while and then head out to OZZ. Even wiser, Albert suggested we bring our own drinks. So it was Jack Daniels and coolers from Albertsons, which are fast becoming our drinks of choice when choosing to go ghetto and drink before getting to the club. What we were greeted with was not promising when we caught Carl running into the house, barefoot and dressed like he’d just woken up. We were politely introduced to his mother and sisters, who were a picture of solidarity with their brother – they too looked like they weren’t expecting guests. “Oh, it’s that kind of a thing – a ‘get-together’, not a ‘party’,” I thought.
Outside, a DJ was playing with annoying lighting that was almost embarrassing. A couple women, a guy, and Manuel were on the porch, the blazing fire-pit oddly lighted on this sultry evening. I knew I was going to need a drink when Carl began to entertain his guests with a fire-pit dance to Madonna. Later, I would have another drink when the birthday boy simultaneously hit on Albert and me. I wanted to excuse his behavior to alcohol, but Manuel informed us that he was sober. All right, he’s the birthday boy, he can hit on us if he wants to. The greatest entertainment may have come from Albert and me – Manuel said, “I can’t wait to go out with you guys.” We really should take our act on the road, then, I thought. But the ‘curse of three’ as I like to call it made me hope that we never actually put him in that position. The curse of three begins when Albert and I have a third person come along with us. Either they are extremely bored with us and have to constantly go solo all night as our friend Anthony has done. One night I even forgot we took him with us, and even gave him a hug when he resurfaced to get a ride home with us. Other third parties just plain think we’re weird. And other times we wish there wasn’t a third party because they bore the hell out of us. Other third parties make potential hotties think we’re a threesome. Not long after accepting a slice of birthday cheesecake, we made our exit.
At OZZ it was almost a textbook night. Step 1) Say hi to inebriated friends. Step 2) Have a drink. Step 3) Go smoke (for me it’s actually, ‘Go outside with Albert. Let Albert smoke’). Step 4) Repeat steps 2 and 3 (a minimum of two times). Step 5) Flirt. Step 6) Go to Denny’s with persons flirted with.
Well, lately, it’s been all Albert and frankly it’s getting depressing on my side of the fence. I mean all I could manage was a couple ass-grabs from the inebriated friends, who one also proclaimed that he really liked me but added, “Forget Albert, since he doesn’t like me.” Gee, okaaaay. Like that doesn’t make me feel like left over toast. Oh well, I did get a rose made out of a napkin. Some guy whom Nick had brought with him (supposedly straight) was folding them and handing them out like, well, roses. I like to think he paid special attention to the way he made the petals on my rose flare out like real ones – YEAH RIGHT. That’s the talk of a desperate fag who wants sex.
Anyhoo, we did however, enjoy the company of an art dealer-guy that Albert “stole” from our friend Mike (the friend who helped us fufill Step 1). Albert was simply having a good-time. Hasn’t Mike ever seen anyone have FUN before? Lighten up, it’s a party, goddammit. Art dealer-guy was very nice, originally from…I can’t remember. At any rate he entertained us with conversation of…I can’t remember. Well, I DO remember that his friend reminded us of Beetlejuice, specifically, when Beetlejuice has his eyeballs pop out of their sockets. At the expense of Beetljuice, we enjoyed mocking him, popping our own eyes out. I don’t remember anything else we talked about besides how much Art dealer-guy liked the large laces on his sneakers. Albert didn’t like them and was probably more blunt about it that he intended.
Saturday we saw poppa and had an uneventful evening. Ask Albert if he remembers anything. I don’t so I guess there was nothing to mention besides an Italian man that we used to see at OZZ who was there with his boyfriend of seven months whom I should remember as a fellow UCI survivor. University of California, Irvine (University of Chinese Immigrants). Italian man’s boyfriend is Chinese, go figure. He provided probably the most entertainment of the night besides Albert and my usual banter. After he mentioned curiously whether I was still working out (Big, “Duh”) he teased and asked if I was getting myself ready for him. Gee, do you think? I don’t unless he plans on dumping the ball and chain, or as he considers it, the one who holds his leash. “I haven’t seen you at OZZ in a while,” I offered. “That’s because of my boyfriend,” he replied. “Oh, for how long?” I pressed as I studied his smile and wondered if he’d take his shirt off to show me his back tattoo and give me an opportunity to appraise his viability one more time for fun. “Seven months,” he answered miming the way his dog leash gets tugged by his boyfriend. I imagined some sort of S&M in the bedroom, but dismissed him before Fu-Manchu came over to check the reins.
We made our way to Mickey’s and after deliberating on the Asian to Cute guy quotient inside, we daringly opted to go to Mickey’s with the higher quotient (i.e. more Asians were there). Besides the cover was cheaper. We bought some drinks and on our first go around the club, I spotted Chad, my 34-year old Chad. I was very much happy to see him. Immediately I talked to him about how we needed to get together soon (i.e. to have sex). I could tell that he was a little drunk, so I let him take leave with his friend with the intention that I would see him later that night. Albert and I made our rounds to encounter a nice man from Wisconsin who immediately was taken by my Puerto Rican friend and occupied most of his time for the rest of the evening. I, on the other hand had the opportunity to befriend the man’s sister and husband, who readily admitted that Mickey’s was much more fun than any straight bar he’s been to. I smiled graciously hoping some gay man would save me from such mundane conversation. However it was still very encouraging to hear a straight, married man say he was having a great time in a gay bar (although I believe that the bartender may have thought he was gay and was trying to liquor him up to maybe hook up with him later).
As Mickey’s began to wind down I made sure to catch up with Chad. I caught him and began to spout words with no wisdom, words that Albert was quick to admonish me for. “Chad, you break my heart,” and “You never take me out” were some things I was ridiculously laying on my friend. We made plans to meet outside. I gathered Albert who amazingly was giving the Wisconsin man his phone number. I thought to myself that I’d have to start picking up on young kids if he was going to start getting older men – a matter of fair practice I rationalized. We made our way outside. Already, people were congregating outside as the house lights had gone on, scattering the club-goers like cockroaches. I looked around, but could not find Chad. Disappointed I turned around only to be accosted by some short (okay, let me qualify that, shorter than me) men that thought it wise to tell me how cute I looked. I succinctly agreed with them and whined that my “boyfriend” had left me at which they promptly tried harder to flirt with me saying how characteristically dumb he must be to do that to someone as good-looking as myself. I quickly hated myself for using the trump card in getting rid of people I didn’t want to talk to with the phantom boyfriend line. Already I had lost track on who was supposed to think that Albert was my boyfriend and how many were supposed to think that Chad was my boyfriend. I resolved that it didn’t matter, only that should any two people compare notes, I’d just look like a slut.
I made my way to Richard (“Cute Richard” as I differentiate between this Richard and his ex-boyfriend “Baseball Cap Richard”) who was with his roommates outside next to the infamous hot dog cart. He’d been visiting from Las Vegas, Nevada looking for an apartment in West Hollywood. His blonde friend who reminded me slightly of Slim Shady was inebriated and thought he could put his arms around me and pick up where the ugly short men had left off. How cute that made me feel – NOT. Before I took leave, I made a mental note however to file him away in my list of last minute tricks should Richard get them to move out to West Hollywood. And it didn’t bother me that I could feel that Richard was not wearing underwear since as drunk as he was, he frequently stood too close to me so that I could make and accurate “measure” of his goods as they pressed against my leg.
I quickly found Albert in the crowd and demanded we make a circuit down the street to at least try to locate Chad. Relenting reluctantly, Albert followed me down the street. At the corner on the opposite end of the street was Chad and his friend. I waited for them to cross and met him halfway into the street. I stopped him and hugged him as people rushed past us. “You break my heart,” I whined to him. “Don’t worry, we’ve just been busy,” he assured me. Realizing that we were now blocking traffic and that Albert had made his way back to the sidewalk, we ended our Breakfast at Tiffany’s moment. He assured me that we’d see each other soon. I promised to see him that week as he departed, noticeably unsteady in the direction he’d come from. Suddenly, I wasn’t quite sure if he had been serious or just drunk. I did hear an earful from Albert at how silly and ridiculous I had behaved (“You were all over him. What the hell was that about? I thought you were over him?) and took every chance to mimic my line of the night (“You break my heart” waaah, waaah, waaah).
I did have sex thought with Chad later that week, so it really was worth it.
September 23, 2000Some people don’t know how to handle my humor, which I can’t understand. Most just think that I’m weird. But one acquaintance really got offended this past week, securing a spot on my very small shit list.
OZZ was my destination on Friday with my partner in crime in tow, Martino, the Puerto Rican bomb-shell, the unwitting “juggernaut” as he is called by those who don’t have the self-esteem to actually speak to him. We had gotten there to find that our very favorite bartender on the week-ends was on the other side of the bar, actually ordering drink. Joseph was looking his usual handsome self, so much so that I couldn’t look at him as is my custom to mean, “You’re too beautiful, I can’t even look at you when we talk.” Joseph has the kindest, although sometimes misleading, smile and eyes that welcome you to speak to him. He has a nice build, though some would attribute it to steroids. Martino and I said our hellos, the two of them engaged in conversation while I ordered us drinks from Greg. Tall, blonde, buff, white Greg who looks like he should be in a West Hollywood bar rather than in this hole in the wall where everyone knows your name (especially if you’re a slut).
Martino and I were talking most of the night to Poppa Bear who always seems to know what’s up with everyone who anyone would want to know about. Who’s seeing who? Ask Poppa Bear. Is he worth anything more than a trick? Ask Poppa Bear. It is because of his disarming personality and ability to tell things like they are that make him an invaluable friend, and when necessary, ally in these that are the week-end “gay games.” Also in attendance were the other frequents of OZZ including Hank who had been in theater with Martino a few years back. Hank, who always has a head start in drinking by the time that Martino and I get to the club. So, it is Hank who grabs, Hank who jokes, Hank who will always be a friend who tells you how good-looking you are to the point you wonder if it really is the alcohol talking.
It was later in the night that I saw Armando, my one-time non-sexual fling from as early as April of this year. He had always unwaveringly professed how much he liked me ever since that romantic first night in the front seat of my car in the parking lot of Denny’s after a certain Friday night. Despite the romantic first beginnings, I had always managed to pass him up for the next cutest thing. The last time we’d spoken, I’d lied and told him that Martino was my moyfriend and although it was an open relationship, I’d get back to him whether or not my “boyfriend” would be cool with that. And it looked like I would have to coach Martino to back up my story as Armando spotted me and made his way over to our side of the bar.
We small talked to the point where we had to rehash the question: “What ever happened to us?” Nothing, I thought, “We didn’t even have sex.” I’ll blame it on the alcohol then when I relate how I ended up all over him, trying desperately to appear sincere and sober. It was a wasted effort as Martino was able to attest to. I eventually was caught in a wet and painful lip-lock with Armando whose kissing technique consists of a very unusual “tongue rake.” You see, while French kissing, he rakes your tongue with his teeth, much in the same way they probably did in Medieval times. At any rate we promised to catch up with each other before the end of the night, and we parted, much to my relief.
The night was well on its way when we happened across Ed, and his friend Manny. We had been expecting them as Martino had befriended Manny in lieu of a courtship. Manny evidently wouldn’t have minded, but as Martino calls the shots in these situations, Manny’s request was kindly denied and a friendship was a lock. Ed was the wild card as Martino and I had readily acknowledged his potential over that of Manny’s. Ed and Manny were only 19 and 20 (I think) and Ed has this very rough look with his plaid shirts and jeans and crew cut colored a light brown. Besides, his personality was almost unapologetic and refreshingly excited about the whole scene. Honestly we know he’s well on his way to becoming very “popular.” (wink, wink) But alas, Ed was supposedly already taken, much to our dismay since we’d frequently had seen him in WeHo with a host of different companions.
Some later time in the evening, Ed was talking to me in which he related he’s spotted this handsome white man sitting next to our group of friends. And I had thought he was really interested in hanging out with Martino and I. But I recovered quickly, wanting nothing more than to see this protégé get what he wanted. Encouraging him to just go up to this shaved head blonde with the nice build, I threatened to simply have Martino ask blonde guy’s name. And what that would have spelled would have been Martino hooking up with blonde guy. So, wising up, Ed came up with an idea – per my suggestion of course. I suggested he go to the opposite side of the bar and make eye-contact with him. Up until this point, blonde guy was intent on speaking to what seemed to be an older ugly man as Ed and I were referring to him as. His back was turned to us so eye-contact would have to be made on the opposite side of the bar.
Ed made his way to the other side and was well situated. I felt like a coach, occasionally signalling for Ed to pay attention and focus. My coaching consisted of winking and making lewd gestures beside blonde guy who was not reciprocating at all to Ed’s best efforts to mimic me. I decided to leave him to his own devices and work my own magic (i.e. slut around as best I could). I would prove unsuccessful and would only turn my attention back to Ed.
What I saw appalled me since it only made me realize that I really have no business coaching anyone since getting around is a skill that you are born with. It cannot be learned I reminded myself. No wonder Ed was not getting anywhere with blonde guy. Beside him looking a little too friendly was his friend, Randy. Ed was so focused on entertaining his friend that he was paying no attention to the task at hand. So I went over to re-focus him.
Well it turned out Randy and Ed were trying to hook up. When Ed left to pissoire, I interrogated Randy who affirmed that they were little more than acquaintances from earlier that week. I let Randy in on Ed’s prior goal (blonde guy) that night which didn’t seem to faze him. He did however, compliment me which made me want to stick around. Upon Ed’s return I hung around to shoot the breeze where the subject came up on where they would end up tonight. I lamented to the two that no longer could I offer my place as I no longer lived “just two blocks away.” Ed responded that he wouldn’t mind me joining them which I responded by massaging both of their shoulders. I lamented further the curse of threesomes (see last week’s entry). Although that would have been fun, I decided to refocus my efforts as matchmaker to Randy and Ed who had fast become my friends that night. ;)
I suggested that since the three would be company, they would be better off with just the twosome. Complimenting first Ed’s beautiful lips and then how Randy’s were cute too, I asked them why wouldn’t they kiss each other – for me. Happily they did and I couldn’t imagine what the sexual energy would have been like later that night. Ed smiled at me and said, “Did you like that?” I nodded as he grabbed my crotch to confirm it.
Things were fast requiring me to leave them alone when I noticed inside the bar area, Greg and Joseph were lip-locking with a good crowd of regulars looking on in awe. After all, Joseph supposedly had a boyfriend who was conveniently away that night, thus accounting for Joseph’s freedom of expression. I doubted that anyone expected that to happen even though we were treated to them doing the lambada earlier that night while Joseph lent a hand to Greg who was inundated with the number of people waiting at the bar. I gasped out loud.
It wouldn’t be until later that night that Ed would actually speak to blonde guy. So Ed got his wish although I wondered where he had stashed Randy in the meantime.
Funnier things would happen including Martino and me joining Ed and Randy and noticing a rather inebriated Joseph with a water bottle across the bar where blonde guy had been sitting. I motioned for him to take another sip of water which he didn’t understand and came over to ask what I meant. Realizing that he was more drunk than I, I happily looked him straight into his sleepy eyes and told him he should drink his water to avoid what would undoubtedly have been a hangover the next morning (as such is the thing that good people like myself are apt to do). Later we would tease Joseph about his scene with Greg and Martino would argue with Joseph about how he wouldn’t be man enough to handle him. I playfully listened in wishing somehow I could have once maybe argued the same with Joseph.
“No, YOU can’t handle me, Joseph,” I would say just as Martino was saying. “Oh, yes I CAN,” Joseph would retort. “Oh yeah, well prove, you bad boy.” “I’ll spank you,” he’d challenge. “I’ll spank YOU,” I’d reply at which point we’d lip-lock just as he had done earlier with Greg.
In the time continuum we recognize as our reality, OZZ was closing, and Martino made plans to catch up with Manny, whom we’d all but not seen all night since he was not behind the bar as we were most of the night, and the elusive Ed. Ed would bring Randy, who we discovered was originally from Syracuse, New York. We met up at Denny’s where we sat in a semi-circular booth, where Ed and Randy were the late comers by 15 minutes, making the remainder of us wonder what they had been up to. Randy had changed tops making us ever more suspicious.
At some point in the evening, blonde guy plopped himself next to Ed, even though Randy was hugging him much to the displeasure of the white trash couple sitting opposite us, who obviously didn’t realize that fags actually existed and regularly took over Denny’s from 2:00 am to dawn every week-end. They left, but without making some disparaging remarks about homos to which Ed and Randy responded by kissing in front of them. At any rate, I found it odd that Ed could simultaneously flirt with blonde guy while Randy simply sat there, his arms around him, the look of a mother protecting her young from a predator. I passed it off to Randy being blind because no sensible faggot would stand for being played on so blatantly, and in the presence of sensible guys like Martino and myself.
It was this that most likely precipitated the events that left the bad taste in our mouths by the end of the night. Martino would make a teasing remark to remind Ed that although he could juggle two at the same time, he wasn’t that cute. It was a joke, but evidently not to Ed who began to attack and make rude remarks musing about how Martino “had to use make-up to look good” and just because we were older, we “thought we were all that.” I almost helped close the door on things when I quietly and calmly reminded Martino that “some things are beneath our notice,” i.e. Ed’s outburst was nothing of concern to us and we were not going to become childish as he had become.
He needed a dose of civility which Martino imparted to him. “Look, I don’t know where this defensiveness is coming from, but I have nothing against you, and I don’t appreciate this nastiness.”
To which Ed could only reply, “We’re cool.” Martino and I sniffed at his “truce.” Evidently he was not saying it from the heart.
