Friday, July 24, 2009

Vacationing in the Gay Valhalla, Recounts of Camping in Provincetown Part 1.

Tim and I just got back from our wonderful week-and-a-half trip to Provincetown. A lot went down, so I'll recap the best parts.

Tim and I decided that the best way to beat the traffic would be to head down on Wednesday morning (7/15/09). We packed up Lela (the name Tim gave to his Black Honda fit. Interestingly enough, Lela means "Night Beauty" in some foreign language. Can't remember which one...) and headed on down to Ptown.

Tim had made plans to visit his Grandmother (not gramma, heaven forbid we adopt a more social and loveable term. That is beneath us and menial. Pedestrian even.) and Grandfather (not grampa) who live in an antique salt-box home in Wareham. Being the good gay boyfriend I am, I made a berry pie to shove down their diabetic elderly throats.

We met up, visited with them for a while, put up with Grandmothers nudges on Grandfather ("I won't name any names... but someone at this table ::roles her eyes at her husband, Eddy:: EDDY! is a real fool - is something that she said while at the table) left the pie, flew into the car, and tore ass on down to Ptown.

Tim and I usually stop in Orleans to pick up some food stuffs at Stop and Shop, mostly because the Grand Union (Also known as "The GOO" by Ptown residents) food store in Ptown is kind of run down and disgusting.

I happened to run into my cousin Eve and her three children. We chatted it up for a bit, and then as we parted ways, she said "Be sure to stay away from the nude beaches!" and then made a creeped out face.

Ok, I will forgive her for this statement. She has kids; she has to look out for them and in doing so will remain away from said nude beaches. Tim and I, however, do not to my knowledge have any children. I'm not saying that there haven't been times when I got a few to many margaritas in me and I wound up puttin' Mr. Happy someplace he shouldn't have gone, but I'm sure I don't have kids. I'm digressing, where was I?

Oh, right, after my cousin said "Stay away from the nude beaches!" I promptly asked...

"Why?" and made a face back... but she didn't see that, and we continued on with our shopping.

We grabbed some cartons of juice, some cereal bars, and a box of cereal (pretty much anything that wasn't perishable) and headed back on the road.

We got to the camp site around 6pm, and then set up a new, lovely, awesomely huge tent that Tim bought from someone on Craigslist. This thing is huge: it has 3 rooms, one of them being a screened in porch. A goddamn luxury-liner of a tent! Then headed into gay mecca downtown Ptown.
For those of you who have never gone to Ptown, it can be described as this:

Very Liberal, Very Open, and Very Fun.

It was like when Harry Potter went to Hogsmeade, the completely wizard village. He didn't have to hide the fact that he was a wizard, because everyone else was a wizard too. So too does this apply to Ptown. Wizards... I mean Gayness everywhere. Human Rights Campaign stickers on every window, rainbow flags and stickers on every stoop, door, window, and building, and same sex couples holding hands on the street. Drag Queens run wild in the streets, calling everyone a bitch and being cunty up and down the street. Muscular men wear next to nothing, and big bearish and hairy men wear practically nothing. Lesbians put on their best flannel, strap on their fanny pack, and let their mullets down. Fantastic times.

For my straight friends who read this, imagine all year you are couped up and surrounded by gay people, and though it is accepted you still kind of get the feeling that nobody likes having your being straight rubbed in their face. Then for one week a year you go out to Straightville and it is ok to let your straight flag fly and be yourself. Oh, wait I have a better analogy.
Being in Ptown is kind of like being able to take off a really tight sweater you've been wearing all year, and you are free to be comfortable.

So here Tim and I are. We arrived in the middle of "Bear Week" which means that there is probably not going to be any young twinks running around (pretty much what Tim is) and instead there will only be big, hairy, bearded gay bears running around (pretty much what I am). I turned a lot of heads and felt pretty :).

Thursday night Tim and I walked around Ptown and took in the sights and all that good stuff. I got messages from my friends Patrick and Matty saying that they were going to be arriving at 10:30am or so and we should hang out.

Tim immediately sensed danger in this. "You know, tomorrow is going to be a perfect beach day... we should have them come to the beach and then walk around Ptown later." I said we'll see what they wanted to do.

Sure enough what they wanted to do was be confusing as hell and not get their shit together, but little did I know of this.

Tim and I find them on the streets of Ptown, perusing the streets and shops and men. That's fine, what the hell. The only problem was that it was turning out to be a gorgeous day, and the weather man said there wouldn't be that many coming up and to enjoy it while it was here.

Tim had a look of forced indifference at what we were going to do, but behind his veiled and poorly disguised nonchalance was a boiling sea of rage and frustration. I know this mostly because I spend a good chunk of time with him, and when he gets this look on his face, you should tuck your tail between your legs and slip quietly into the kitchen.

Patrick had met some of his friends that had rented an apartment for the week in Ptown. We shopped around with them, and then around 12pm, we decided to get some lunch.

"Ok, let's all head over to the Lobster Pot" said Patrick's friend.

Tim and I had set a budget for the week, and we were saving our big eat out dinner for our anniversary which fell later in the week. Grand. These flamers want to eat a 30 dollar-a-plate lunch. I looked at Tim and he just shook his head "no".

"Ok guys, have fun there, we are gonna go to the Portuguese bakery. They are pretty cheap." Luckily Patrick and Matty wanted cheap too, so the 4 of us headed over and ate there. Patrick was really nice and bought us lunch!

After lunch, we headed over to Patrick's friends apartment. There, these older (40 years old+) bears were there lounging by the pool. It was ok, but the leathery sack of a man that Matty was hitting on was constantly eye fucking Tim, so Tim and I decided to go back and get our swimsuits and go swimming at this pool where we know no one.

After reading what I just typed there, that totally makes no sense. A stranger is mentally banging my boyfriend, so we decide to go take of more clothing and go swimming in front of him. Hmmm. That may have lead to the confusion later...

We came back after changing, jumped into the pool and swam around for a bit. Then the weirdest thing happened. Matty and the overly tanned rawhide jockstrap bear decided to go make some "cocktails". Yes, infer everything you want here. Tim and I were kind of left swimming in a pool surrounded by complete strangers. At a strangers house. Were we knew no one. We decided to leave and go get a snack.

Now that I look back upon it, we kind of abandoned Matty. But then again Momma said to not take candy from strangers, and here Matty was eagerly eating a lollypop from a shifty looking fellow in the back of a van from no windows. I was sure he'd be fine.

We eventually met up, decided to go to the Tea Dance with everyone, and have a good time.

The Tea Dance. How can I describe it? Let's just say it isn't "Family Friendly".

We arrived, payed the 10 bucks cover fee, and waided into a sea of large guts, hairy bodies, scantily clad hotties, old leather daddies, twinks, jocks, computer geeks, drag queens, and the cluster of confused English Socialites who actually thought there was tea at the tea dance.

We had a good time! There was drinking, cruising, perusing, grouping, dancing, touching, and pretty much any other adjective you can apply -ing to. The dance went from the hours of 4-7, and it was wicked fun! After it was over, we all drunkenly shambled around commercial street in Ptown.

Matty, this time, bought us dinner! Burritos! Yum! While we were sitting eating our burritos, the urge to pee crept up on us all. There were only two bathrooms, and you had to go to the front counter and ask for a key to go use the bathroom. I asked, and the man said that the key was out.

Well, we couldn't find the damn key, so Matty took measures into his own hands and went pee in a little alleyway. I played goal keeper in that there were all these children running around and I kept directing them away. These retarded little meat sacks found nothing entertaining about the damn dark alleyway 10 minutes before, but of a sudden they can't stay away.

You know what? I should have let them go down there. What the hell? If their stupid parents haven't taught them about what happens in dark alleyways to people, then it is their own fault. Though it is Ptown... the kids probably would have been swept up by a Drag Queen and accessorized.

I finally found the key after seconds of looking and relieved myself in the bathroom. After I got out, Tim, Matty, and I met up with Patrick (he went to eat with his friends) and hung around at those strangers house again. We were there for a while, when the guy who rented it said "Patrick can I speak to you?" and stepped aside.

Immediately, Matty, Tim, and I stood up to get ready to leave. In saying "Patrick can I speak to you?" he really said "Ok guys, get the fuck out. You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here".

Tim and I were getting kind of tired, and were thinking of going to bed, but Matty and Patrick were going strong. We wanted to be with both of them, in case they needed a place to stay and decided to stay on the floor of our tent.

We went to the crown and anchor, and hung around with a bunch of gays having a beer dancing to Lady Gaga (the singer, not the drag queen... although now that I compare the two the similarities are striking). The night began to wear thin with Tim and I: There is only so much you can see of your friends trying to pick up men before it gets a little tiring.

I asked Patrick where he was staying, and he said that he would be staying with his friends later on in the night. I asked Matty, and he said that he didn't know. Patrick pretty much said that we shouldn't worry about Matty, he'd be alright.

I wasn't too worried. It was warm out and I'm sure there were dry places around if he couldn't, um, persuade? someone to let him stay with them. Maybe persuade is the wrong word. Convince? No... trick? Defiantly not. I dunno, but I'm sure he would be fine.

We didn't implore him, and instead drifted back to camp and promptly feel asleep on our under-inflated air mattress. More to come in the next posting!

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Commuting is fun!

A rather large woman (350lbs + ) sat next to me on the T today. I now know what it would smell like if I let some onions, shrimp, and sea scallops sit out in the sun for a week then dumped a whole bottle of Georgio Armani perfume on it.
For any of you who can't imagine what that would smell like; I can sum it up in one word:


Thanks lady. I know this recession has hit everyone hard, but soap is still pretty cheap. So is water. Hell, you don't even need the water! Just wedge a bar of Ivory soap in between that cavernous hell you call an ass crack, and the violent slapping / grinding / vibrations of your ass from walking 3 feet, combined with the buckets of sweat you obviously produce, should create enough lather and scent to at least minimize the smell of rotting carcass. You malodorous hag. You are the type of beast that gives fat people a bad rap about smelling bad. My god, it's rainy out: Go stand under a damn drain pipe and hose off.
Thankfully she got off a few stops before me, but unfortunately the stain and ass reek on the seat was left for everyone to enjoy. Some one call the HAZMAT team, the stain is starting to foam up!
God I love commuting!