Sorry for the delay but..

Hi, I apologize for no new exciting posts or stories where I make an ass out of myself. I am at the end of my semester and will resume very soon (really soon)!

Silver Sailor (another hot flash)

Yesterday I was walking down the street with my ear plugs in (my new thing, it helps drown out all the idiots) and I passed by a store window where I saw a silver lame' top for the holidays on a female mannequin in a disenchanted pose amongst a series of paper snow flakes. I suddenly broke out in a cold sweat and was sent spinning into a whirl of highly frothed whipped gay images from the past. The usual "STOP IT" flew out of my mouth before I knew it and I continued walking. Each step was a flash bulb going off in my head.

Flash
I am 18
Flash
A sailor hat
Flash
Bell bottoms
Flash
A silver lame' shirt
Flash
Me holding a clip board at a gay foam party

Next thing I knew I was walking into traffic, my face red with shame and my umbrella blown open.

When I was 16 there was nothing I wanted more than a silver lame' shirt to go clubbing in. I had remembered afternoons filled with Donahue and Sally where they interviewed the New York City club kids and all the flamers had on dramatic make- up, brightly colored hair and loud lame' shirts- it was my first real exposure to openly gay men. Now that I had come out to friends I had decided it was to time to fulfill my destiny as a gay, run away to New York, make it as Broadway actor by day and lead a fabulous life by night. I wanted a wardrobe filled with platform shoes, tight pants, loud shirts- but most importantly- a silver lame’ shirt. The idea haunted me- silver lame', silver lame', SILVER LAME'. It was like that damn "I want my golden arm" camp fire story.

When I turned 17 my friend LCL took me shopping in New York City. We visited Patricia Fields so she could pick up some make up and check out the shoes. When we walked in I began to sort through the racks and there it was- SILVER DESTINY. I let out a short yelp and snatched it from the rack. It wasn't lame' (I had since realized that lame' is an incredibly uncomfortable material) but it was shiny, reflective, stretchy and hot. I immediately ran to a mirror and put it up against my body.

There I stood in my cords, flannel, and converse draping the god awful shiny fabric over my emaciated torso. The music grew in my ears, the room began to swirl, and I saw it- the future I had planned. I was fantastic, I was hosting club nights, I was in magazines, I was on Maury Povich talking about my life, I was the "it" boy- I was a success! I had to try it on, I just had to! I stepped behind the glittering curtain and threw off the flannel. I put arms through the cold fabric and sapped it up carefully. My skin was quivering and light bit of sweat formed on my brow. I turned around to face myself in the dressing room mirror- It was exactly what I wanted. I was convinced I looked great in reflective clothing, LCL agreed. 80$ later I was sure this silver piece of garbage would buy my happiness and acceptance into the "community".

It sat in my closet for a year.

When I was 18 I finally was old enough to get into a club without the aid of slutty teenage girls. LCL invited me to visit her in NYC where we planned a night of debauchery at The Tunnel. I decided it was time to break out SILVER DESTINY. I was so excited to finally wear it out in public and display my glistening glory. I was here, I was definitely queer and well, everyone but me was used to it.

What goes best with a silver shirt? Why a little sailor hat, a pair of tight, tan, second hand bell bottoms and clunky 90s shoes of course! The outfit was perfection. I was perfection, sickly teenage thin, looking like I was 12 in my tight clothing.

We had a great night out- we danced our asses off and at one point there was a circle watching us, I even heard someone shout "Damn that boy can dance". I had never felt happier. LCL was a great host and showed me off like a new toy. We even relaxed and did some underage drinking in the bathroom that Chloe Sevigny had her "I have HIV and am freaked out" walk in KIDS- I was in love with my outfit, NYC and living the dream.

I should have put it away, a one time deal and a memory to be savored. However, that was just not my style at that point- I was still confused and needed more.

That same summer I was living in Providence with WAGIN and desperately in need of a job. I had found an ad for a club promoter at this new gay club "Generation X". I was sort of done with the whole club kid/Broadway actor idea and was onto the "starving artist" notion. However when I read the ad I heard it- the thumping techno pounding in my brain- I saw it - me, club kid extraordinaire, fabulous, loved by all, and living the life. I called the number and went for an interview where I met a beefy gay 32 year old pervert. I got the job.

My “job” consisted of me walking around this "club" with a clip board talking to men and getting them on the mailing list. This "club" also had male strippers who would give you a private dance in the back (blow job) for a fee. I was oblivious to this. I was so blinded by my path to the top as a club promoter all I saw was “nightlife” (as lame as it was in Providence).

The big promotion for two weeks was the "foam party". If anyone has been to one of those events you know it is a nasty dirty affair- at that time I had no idea. I promoted that event with all my heart from 9pm to 12am. I told people how much fun it was going to be and what a great chance it was to meet other single gay men (At 18 I did not know anything about dating but there I was BS'n away). The final night of promotion before the party Beefy Boss came up to me and said "hey wear something special for the party". Oh and I did…

That night I prepped like a girl on prom night. I took a long hot shower, scrubbed everything down, did my hair, and clipped my nails, walked around in my underwear, put on moisturizer- the works. Out of the clothing chest came the pants, the hat, my new John Fluevog boots and SILVER DESTINY. I slowly dressed and saved the hat for last. I slightly tilted it to the side for effect- I thought I was the BOMB.

I arrived at the club and clacked my way across the pavement in my wooden soled shoes (giving me shin splints). I had the confidence of a Miss America contestant. I walked in the door and said hello to the surly lesbian that worked the door. She looked me up and down and waved me past with a quizzical look and went back to reading her book. I sashayed over to the bar where Beefy Boss was and gave a giant confidant smile. His face was not the face I expected- it was a face of "holy shit he really did get dressed up" combined with holding in laughter. The other sporty lesbian at the bar said "what the hell are you wearing, that’s not YOU!” Beefy boss immediately jumped in and said "You look great! Absolutely great! I would put you on the stage with the strippers if I could" and handed me the clip board "Now go get em!”

My confidence was waning.

Did I look stupid? Had Silver Destiny lost its touch in those few weeks? How could that be, everyone loves reflective material in the gay community right? I mean, I love reflective material… right? I went to the bathroom on the verge of a breakdown to check myself in the mirror. I looked great. "Fuck this place- this is Providence god damn Rhode Island, New York LOVED me!" I shouted like a mad man. I washed my hands and slammed the bathroom door.

Confidence renewed I went out and talked to strangers asking them to sign up for mailings and told them to go out to the patio and enjoy the foam. After about an hour and only two signatures I realized I had not even seen this “foam party”. I headed on out to the patio for a peak of the "fun". There it was- a small group of shirtless strung out looking fags grinding up on each other squealing, bumping, and humping amidst a sea of frothy grayish colored foam. I was shocked; it was like a bubble bath with a bunch of people- dirty slimy people TOUCHING each other all over, not caring, worst of all with all that soap NO ONE gets clean! I went in for a closer look, careful not to get foam on my Fluevogs. I was spotted by one amorous older hairy man who began to beckon me over. He gathered up a bunch of foam and SPLASH - nasty human sweat filled foam got all over my beautiful shirt and some in my mouth. Suddenly I was awake for the first time in my silver haze.

This was not who I was. The sporty lesbian knew it but I obviously didn’t. I didn’t even like this shirt all that much anymore let alone the stupid hat and the terrible music blaring in my ears during my revelation. I enjoyed the Smiths, sulking, smoking pot and drawing with WAGIN not squealing in piles of foam. Why the HELL was I here listening to crap music pretending to be something I obviously was not?! I felt a fool. I had been playing a game for so long I thought it was who I was. I clacked off the patio, placed my clip board on the bar, took off my hat and headed out the front door. I never looked back.

I called WAGIN on my "car phone" and told her I was coming home. When I climbed the stairs in defeat there she was to welcome me. I changed out of my clothes and joined her in the living room. She was waiting with open arms, a bowl, my sketch pad and some old records for us to listen to. I never felt more confused in my life.

I still see myself, from the outside, standing there, smiling like a fool in that outfit, trying so hard. I just wanted to fit in with gay men. I wanted to make gay men like me. I wanted to do what I was “supposed” to do as a gay man as told to me by the media, Sally and Phil. I never thought about what I wanted to do for me and who I was as an individual. I had never realized that you don't have to be outragous to prove you are comfortable with your sexuality. I guess that’s what being 18 is all about right?

"Cuddle Party"...hmmm

When I was 4 years old my favorite game was "huggies". This game consisted of me and my mom cuddling and snuggling- that was it. There were only winners, no losers and I loved it. We would giggle, talk about colors and toys, anything and I just loved it. I loved this game more than I loved playing with my sisters Barbies- so you KNOW that was a lot. My mom was the best (still is) and she thought she was the luckiest mom alive to have such a "cuddle bug" for a little boy.

As I got older I grew less fond of "huggies". I tended to opt for Legos, action figures, transformers, dress up, make up, crossing gender lines etc. My mom would catch me watching He-man, Smurfs or Jem and shyly say "hey you want to play huggies?' and I would reply with "maybe later" and turn back to my overly sexualized cartoon where I either wished I was a big strong man or a sexy young woman. I still hugged my mom, loved my mom but I did not want to spend hours of my time cuddling and snuggling when I had some imaginary friends to play with in the back yard.

As a teenager my aversion to physical touch grew. I was involved in theater groups where everyone was overly touchy feely. Most theater kids where into touching. Any excuse a theater kid could find to reach out and touch someone inappropriately was great and encouraged. Between the "circle massages" and the "touch freeze" improve exercises I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with (and in) my body. I found it improper, it was intimacy without meaning. Touch was something special to me and I did not want to share it with people I barely knew. There was another level to this disgust- I was progressively learning about my sexuality and was more than a little confused so it did not help when a guy was massaging my shoulders and I got turned on. I just did not want to be touched until I was ready to be touched anymore- least of all by people who were fake and vying attention in any form they could get it.

The result of all this has brought me to where I am now. I don't even like the word "cuddle" or "snuggle". They gross me out. This is not to say I do not enjoy being close with someone, holding hands, lying around in bed all day and embracing but I do not do this with just anyone. If you meet me you will quickly learn, I do not hug, kiss or touch hello or goodbye unless I am drunk. Once again, not opposed, however for me there is an intimacy in touch of that nature.

The other day I was invited to an all male "Cuddle Party". "What the hell is that?!" you may be asking. Well it seems some therapist came up with the idea based on the lack of intimate touching in a non-sexual way in society these days. You pay 30$ bring comfortable clothes, meet strangers and "cuddle". The idea harkens back to days of yore where we would snuggle and cuddle with friends, hold their hands and it would all be ok and mean nothing more than I love you as a friend. The problem is- people grow up, hormones come into the picture and all those activities take on new meanings. (I also find it hard to believe NO ONE will get aroused or soon after their 30$ snuggle fabric softener experience go and have rough, tie me up sex.)

This idea makes me more than a little uncomfortable; it makes me shrink into the corner to find my happy place. Gay men, straight men, bisexual men, all in a big pile cuddling with dirty socks (there was a picture of dirty socks on the web site) holding each others sweaty palms as a moderator suggests activities for you to reach out to others. For me the real problem lies with the issue of intimacy and touch (again). I find that the act of embracing someone, holding their hand, snuggling or cuddling (ok I really hate those words and it is the last time I am using them) has a much deeper rooted meaning than the act of sex. It connotes comfort and trust with a person, letting your guard down and opening up, revealing your vulnerabilities. These are usually the feelings many people associate with sexual intercourse.

If you look at anything in the media these days you will see that sex sells- that once private act has been taken public therefore stripping it of its previous intimate notions. Sex seems to me to no longer be clandestine, it is "sexy, fun, provocative" a way to "shock, tantilize,and entice"- a way of getting your rocks off so to speak. What has replaced this- the idea of holding hands becomes more sacred, the idea of a deep embrace is more loving and private. Many people will not show public displays of affection like holding hands for they feel that it is too intimate. The small things have taken over for where the big things, namely sex, use to be. People can make sex into a physical act devoid of meaning however holding one another post coital (think of how many people run away to avoid that), kissing etc are still just as deep- think about the famous scene in "Pretty Woman" where Julia Roberts says she does not kiss on the mouth, too intimate. When she finally does and lets herself be held, she falls in love.

When I asked around to see what people thought of the idea of a "cuddle party". Usually I was greeted with an "eewwww". Some seemed receptive but many people, in fact most, said they would rather have a one night stand than just cuddle with a bunch of strangers. A few people I spoke with even said "wow those are some lonely people". Lonely? I think that may be unfair- but who knows. Progressive? Possibly. I just prefer to keep my touching to the person I plan on seeing more than once and establishing a resonant relationship with. I'll save my 30$ for a 20$ non-meaningful sexual experiences at Hot Brooklyn Party (no, I have never been, but thought about it).


***Now let me say the person who invited me is a nice person, nothing against their idea by any means, they feel the need to try things like this and that’s awesome- just not for me.***

Seriously- they need to shut up

I find this article disgusting but I had to share it. It was under the title "Bass Inspires New Term for Coming Out of the Closet" on imdb.

Former 'N Sync star Lance Bass has inspired a new term for gay celebrities who are outed by members of the media - they're being "lanced." Bass' boyfriend, reality star Reichen Lehmkuhl, says the term was coined after Bass revealed earlier this year that he is gay. Last week former Doogie Howser MD star Neil Patrick Harris was forced to admit he was gay after Internet media reports speculated on his sexuality. Lehmkuhl explains Harris' recent predicament saying, "It's to be outed by someone in the public media and to be a celebrity, and Neil Patrick Harris, I understand, has been 'lanced.'" Bass disclosed his sexuality in July, and said he decided to "speak my mind" because rumors surrounding his sexuality were starting to affect his daily life. He also announced at the time that he was in a stable relationship with Lehmkuhl, a former Air Force captain and winner of season four of CBS' reality competition The Amazing Race. Lehmkuhl adds, "People should be able to come out on their own. I don't know so much that it helps gay equality if a celebrity is outed by someone else and it shows that they're forced out. It just seems like it just continues the vilification of homosexuality in the media in this country."

Are they fucking serious "Lanced". I am tired of the D-list fags, go home and put it away.

Neil Patrick Harris, Like we didn't already know

Not really blog worthy as every other gay man with a blog in America is talking about this but here goes- stop the presses, be sure you are sitting down, hold Danny Pintauro close and get ready for this one- Doogie Howser is GAY!

Oh...
My ...
who the fuck cares!

I mean seriously, if one more lame ass D-List celebrity pops out of the closet I am going to puke. I don't care that you made it this far in an industry pretending you are something you are not and how "hard" it was for you. Why don't you go talk to the boy in the middle of the country who came out and was booted from his home and beat up everyday at school or the girl who came out and received death threats everyday until she moved away? Seriously...

Then again I guess anyone in the limelight (or just to the side of it) is good... right?

Hot flashes from the past

I have this tendency to think of past moments of embarrassment and relive them over and over in my head. I think most people do this. I however do this on a daily basis and sometimes it even prevents me from sleeping at night. I could be walking down the street and suddenly like a punch in the face I will remember some awful embarrassing moment and it won't leave my head. I often have to talk myself off the mental ledge. This “talk” usually ends with an outburst of “SHUT UP” or “STUPID ASS” that I fail to realize I said out loud until I see other looks on people’s faces that are next to me.

I have decided that rather than reliving these moments in my head and looking like a crazy person- perhaps a good way to bury the hatchet would be to reveal my most embarrassing, trying moments in my blog for everyone to enjoy. Halloween, having just happened I have been reliving the moment that drove me to hate the holiday...

In eighth grade most of the "popular" people had stopped dressing up to prove how adult and cool they were (this was before Halloween meant dressing up like a slut for our age group). They would still trick or treat - they weren't too cool for free candy- but they would just show up with a bag and an attitude then egg your house. If people mentioned they were dressing up around any of the "popular" crowd they would scowl and say something condescending about Halloween and it being for babies- most people avoided the subject as the struggle with adolescence and popularity raged on.

Eighth grade was the peak of my awkwardness. I was hideous- braces, acne, pubic chub and my hair started curling . I was a pretty big loser. I was known as a "fudge packing fairy" even before I WAS a “fudge packing fairy”. People avoided me like the plague and the few brave souls who were friendly with me were just as bad off. In previous years I would dress up for Halloween because I loved the damn holiday- a chance to escape my life and pretend I was someone else- it was theatrical and I was all about theater. When I had heard it was uncool to dress up I was saddened but made a mental note that if I came to school dressed up it would be social suicide- I was still recovering from my seventh grade disastrous turn as Puck in my English class's production of "Midsummer nights Dream" (A whole other fucking story that I don't want to think about- lets just say suspenders shorts, an ugly hat and wings).

Halloween night I wasn't invited to do anything and I stayed home with my parents while my older sister went to get drunk dressed up like a whore (seriously, that was her costume). I decided, hey no one will see me; I can dress up for Halloween. I went up to my room after dinner and took a good look around for something I could throw together as a costume. Amongst the many posters for musicals, my fake stage bunk beds (I made curtains around the bottom bunk and had a cardboard audience I pasted to the top bunk) and my shadow box sets- there it was, my sparking glitter green top hat tacked to the wall. I had bought this hat during the St. Patrick's Day blow out sale at our local Hallmark because it reminded me of the hats from "A Chorus Line"- but green- and I loved that show. (I used to dance around my room for hours with that hat on- pumping it off and on my head as I had seen them do in the movie). It hit me- "Leprechaun". I quickly grabbed it off its hanging tack and began to rummage through my chest of costumes (Yup I had one). I found a number of cheap St. Patrick’s Day items, like a paper vest, a green plastic bubble pipe, shamrock stickers- damn I had a lot of that Irish shit. I pulled out my clown make up and went to work.

The final outfit consisted of green sweat pants pulled up to “knickers” form, white athletic socks as tights, black dress shoes, a white button down shirt from my dad, the paper vest, the plastic bubble pipe, a "Crown Royal" velvet bag attached to my side for my “sack of gold”, green lipstick, shamrocks painted on my face and the piece de résistance- the green glitter top hat. I thought I looked pretty rocking. My mom was very impressed and I was put in charge of answering the door while she went to grab another glass of wine from the Carlo Rossi jug in the garage.

The bell rang- my first customers. My dad was super into Halloween as well so he rigged up this skeleton to stand when you opened the door- little kids would shriek with delight when this happened. I swung open the door to scare the kids watched their faces light up with fright. Parents laughed, I laughed, I would hand the candy out, graciously take complements from parents on my costume and all was good in the world.

This exercise in door opening went on for another hour and slowly tapered off. I went to the basement to watch "Child's Play" with my dad while my mom sipped wine in the family room because she "didn't want to watch that crap" (who could blame her really, if I had known how much fun it was to sip wine at that age I am sure I would have been right there with her.). Around 9pm the door bell rang. My mom shouted down in her customary manner for me to get the door. I looked at the clock in the basement and thought "huh, it’s late for little kids but oh well". I jaunted up the stairs in my little outfit and grabbed the candy bowl.

When I opened the door there they were- a group of "popular" girls from my class. They were of course dressed in black, attitudes in full swing clutching plastic gap bags. “Ugh… trick or treat …sigh”. When they finally looked up from their outstretched bags their eyes widened. They began to snicker. I was in shock, this was death- I dropped the candy bowl. I bent over to pick up all the candy that lay at my feet and my sparkling hat fell off into the pile, dusting glitter everywhere and rolling away from me. The girls shrilled with laughter and delight at my fumble. Eventually I gathered myself and the candy- gave each of them a piece and closed the door. I heard them shouting and howling outside saying things like "Oh my god what an ass! He looked so ridiculous- what a faggot!" as they tread down the front path.

I stood there, dumbfounded. I was caught. I was caught being as uncool as you could possibly be. My mom called out "who was that!?" and I responded with "I HATE YOU!" (Good pre-teen rational at work there). I then caught a glimpse of my ridiculous costume in the hall mirror and proceeded to run upstairs awash in tears.. My mom was yelling something at me but I couldn't hear, my face was burning and I was deaf with devastation. I slammed my door and ripped off my paper vest, rubbed off the make up as best I could and tossed my beloved hat aside. Eventually my mom realized something was up and came to check on me. She saw her little gay son sitting there in his curtained bed, weeping the green shamrocks off his face. Her face went from ready to yell to “Oh shit, what happened”. She sat down, rubbed my back and listened (She should have offered me some damn wine.). Her advice was if anyone said anything just say you were getting ready to go to a party next door- she assured me no one would care what a group of silly girls said.

The stupid thing is- people did care! The next day boys were asking me why I was wearing make up last night, “were you getting ready to let your dad fuck you?” (I always found that such a strange comment- that was molestation and incest-not gayness). To top it all off I had gym that day, which any artistic, theatrical, or just plain gay boy can tell you- is not our favorite class. When I was through changing into my sweats and on my way out of the locker room I was asked if I planned on jacking them up to my knees so I can “get fucked in the ass”- sans father comment. It was a shitty day to say the least. It took about four days that felt like a lifetime to live it down.

For the next few years in my life when October 31^st rolled around I didn’t think of candy and pumpkins- I thought of humiliation. Once I reached college and discovered that Halloween meant getting drunk and making out- I was sort of ok with it. It wasn’t until recently that I even thought about the middle school event - once again an unwelcome blast from the past. In retrospect there were far worse moments in my life but I think the reason this stuck was that one of the girls laughing at me that evening had been my very good friend the year before. She had turned on me. This same young woman even made a come back in my life as an insta-friend once I transfered out of that school. She never apologized for her remarks that night claimed not to remember a lot of her vicious behavior- her parents were going through a divorce at the time- I guess its all realtive when one really thinks about it. I don't talk to her anymore.

I still sort of hate Halloween and think that people use it as an excuse to act like bigger assholes than they already are- but with costumes on... or slutty outfits, so they think it makes it ok.

Customer Service

This is just a quick post- everyday I have to answer the most asinine questions like "um do I need to show a portfolio to apply to a Masters in Fine Arts program?" or "If I have an associates can I get a masters?". I am just not meant to talk to these people. I have no idea how I got this job as I have no patience for people, let alone stupid people. It is a good thing half these people can not see me when I am politely answering their questions. I am going to explode.